Cartographies of Tsardom: The Land and its Meanings in Seventeenth-Century Russia 9780801472534

Table of contents :
Frontmatter
Acknowledgments (page xi)
Introduction (page 1)
1. Nesting Narratives: The History and Historiography of Muscovite Cartography (page 13)
2. Engaging with the Law: Cartography, Autocracy, and Muscovite Legality (page 29)
3. Signs in Space: Landscape and Property in a Serf-Owning Society (page 57)
4. "The Souls of the Righteous in a Bright Place": Landscape and Orthodoxy in Seventeenth-Century Russian Maps (page 99)
5. Messages in the Land: Siberian Maps and Providential Narratives (page 117)
6. "Exalted and Glorified to the Ends of the Earth": Christianity and Colonialism (page 149)
7. "Myriad, Countless Foreigners": Siberia's Human Geography and Muscovite Conceptions of Empire (page 171)
8. Under the Sovereign's Mighty Hand: Colonial Subjects and Muscovite Imperial Policies (page 194)
Conclusion (page 210)
Notes (page 215)
Bibliography (page 241)
Index (page 257)

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(artographies of Tsardom

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(artographies of Lsardom THE LAND AND ITS MEANINGS IN SEVENTEENTH-CENTURY RUSSIA

VALERIE KIVELSON

Cornell University Press Ithaca and London

Copyright © 2006 by Cornell University All rights reserved. Except for brief quotations in a review, this book, or parts thereof, must not be reproduced in any form without permission in writing from the publisher. For information, address Cornell University Press, Sage House, 512 East State Street, Ithaca, New York 14850.

First published 2006 by Cornell University Press First printing, Cornell Paperbacks, 2006

Printed in the United States of America

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

Kivelson, Valerie A. (Valerie Ann) Cartographies of Tsardom : the land and its meanings in seventeenthcentury Russia / Valerie A. Kivelson. p. cm. Includes bibliographical references and index. ISBN-13: 978-0-8014-4409-8 (cloth : alk. paper)

ISBN-to: 0-8014-4409-8 (cloth : alk. paper) ISBN-13: 978-0-8014-7253-4 (pbk. : alk. paper) ISBN-10: 0-8014-7253-9 (pbk. : alk. paper)

1. Cartography—Russia—History—17th century. 2. Cartography —Social aspects—Russia—History—17th century. I. Title. GA933.6.A1K58 2006

526.0947'09033—dc22 2006008388

Cornell University Press strives to use environmentally responsible suppliers and materials to the fullest extent possible in the publishing of its books. Such materials include vegetable-based, low- VOC inks and acid-free papers that are recycled, totally chlorine-free, or partly composed of nonwood fibers. For further information, visit our website at www.cornellpress.cornell.edu.

Cloth printing i 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

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To three extraordinary people:

Daniel Kivelson, Margaret Galland Kivelson,

and Tamar Hofer

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Once, as I went past, I drew a sign at a point in space, just so | could find it again two hundred million years later, when we went by the next time around. What sort of sign? It’s hard to explain because if I say sign to you, you immediately think of a something that can be distinguished from a something else, but nothing could be distinguished from anything there. ...As to the form a sign should have, you say it’s no problem because, whatever form it may be given, a sign only has to serve as a sign, that is, be different or else the same as other signs: here again it's easy for you young ones to talk, but in that period I didn't have any examples to follow, I couldn't say I'll make it the same or I'll make it different, there were no things to copy.

ITaALo CALvIno, “A Sign in Space,” in his Cosmicomics.

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CONTENTS

Acknowledgments xi

Introduction 1 1 Nesting Narratives: The History and Historiography of Muscovite

Cartography = 2 Engaging with the Law: Cartography, Autocracy, and Muscovite

Legality 29 3 Signs in Space: Landscape and Property in a Serf-Owning Society 57 4 “The Souls of the Righteous in a Bright Place”: Landscape and Orthodoxy in Seventeenth-Century Russian Maps — 99

5 Messages in the Land: Siberian Maps and Providential Narratives 17 6 “Exalted and Glorified to the Ends of the Earth”: Christianity

and Colonialism 149 7 “Myriad, Countless Foreigners”: Siberias Human Geography and

Muscovite Conceptions of Empire 171 8 Under the Sovereigns Mighty Hand: Colonial Subjects and Muscovite Imperial Policies — 194 Conclusion — 210

Notes 215 Bibliography 241

Index 257

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ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

A number of institutions and agencies have assisted me in researching and writing this book, and I would like to acknowledge their support. The University of Michigan and

the Department of History granted me a sabbatical and an additional term free of teaching, as well as research funds to pay for the travel and photographic expenses that

I have incurred. Concurrent grants from the ACLS/SSRC/NEH International and Area Studies Fellowship and the University of Michigan Institute for the Humanities, where I held the Hunting Family Faculty Fellowship, allowed me to complete the bulk of the writing. An IREX Short-Term Travel Grant permitted me to squeeze in a crucial research trip to Russia. Further support from the Office of the Vice President for Research, the College of Letters, Arts and Sciences, the Department of History, and the Center for Russian and East European Studies at the University of Michigan made possible the publication of this book. I would like to thank the many people who have helped me along the long journey of writing this book. First, Andrei Bulychev inspired the entire enterprise by sending me photocopies of a few maps as illustrations for my first book. He also helped me enormously with archival research, as did Olga Kosheleva and the staff at RGADA. Daniel Rowland pushed me to start thinking seriously about this project with his invitation to participate in a workshop on Architecture and Identity in Russian History,

which produced my first paper on the topic of maps. In the embarrassingly long stretch of years since the workshop, many people have read and heard my work and have given me valuable criticism and suggestions. Rudolph Starn kindly directed me toward a literature on the history of cartography that I had not yet discovered. Eve Levin nurtured the project by inviting me to publish the resultant article, an earlier version of chapter 4, as “The Souls of the Righteous in a Bright Place: Landscape and Orthodoxy in Seventeenth-Century Russian Maps, Russian Review 58 (January 1999): I-25,

A heroic frve—my friends Sue Juster, Michael Khodarkovsky, Vic Lieberman, Dan Smail, and Elise Wirtschafter—have read the manuscript in entirety, some of them more than once. I am sure that I have not managed to meet their rigorous standards, but I want to assure them that I have listened and tried hard to answer their penetrating questions, and I have relished every bit of the debate. You are model friends, colleagues, and interlocutors. Other people have engaged critically and helpfully with pieces of the work, and I want to thank each of them, and I hope I dont leave anyone out. A long list is not as satisfying as an individual recognition, but I hope that each of these people will understand that I cherish their helpful suggestions, searing critiques, and animated arguments. At the University of Michigan, I have been blessed with supportive, interested, and interesting colleagues in the History Department, at the Center for Russian and East European Studies, and at the Institute for the Humanities. For their help, suggestions, and encouragement, and for taking the time to read my work in progress, I thank Julia Adams, Gene Avrutin, Jane Burbank, Fred Cooper, Laura Downs, John Fine, Bob Greene, Gabrielle Hecht, Web Keane, Sonja Luhrmann, Michael MacDonald, Rudolf Mrazek, Helmut Puff, Doug Rogers, Bill Rosenberg, Scott Spector, George Steinmetz,

and Tom Tentler. Sueann Caulfield, Phil Deloria, Mark Elliott, David Frye, Tom Green, Rebecca Scott, Katherine Verdery, and Michael Witgen were all extraordinarily generous in leading me through other fields that I needed to explore for comparative purposes. The University of Michigan Mappists—Matthew Edney, Karl Longstreth, Mary Pedley, Neil Safer, and Val Traub—have been helpful in all map-related matters. Mary Pedley, a model of scholarly erudition and kindness, has helped to steer me gently in the world of cartographic history. Outside of the University of Michigan, I have benefited from the generous support of many people. My friends and colleagues at the American Association for the Advancement of Slavic Studies (AAASS) have provided generous feedback to my work. I

thank Mark Bassin, Leonid Chekin, David Goldfrank, Charles Halperin, Sasha Haugh, Dan Kaiser, Nancy Kollmann, Eve Levin, Marshall Poe, Isolde Thyrét, and Dan Waugh. Catherine Delano-Smith has also been supportive of the project and published an earlier version of chapter 2 in the journal Imago Mundi (Cartography, Autocracy and State Powerlessness: The Uses of Maps in Early Modern Russia,’ Imago Mundi 51 (1999):83—105). Thanks too, to John Ackerman and Karen Laun at Cornell University Press and to Carolyn Pouncy, who have combined enthusiasm, flexibility, and rigor throughout this publication process.

Phil Ethington and Ron Suny, without whom none of my work can pass muster (whether it can even after their reading is a separate question), again rose to the occasion, reading sections of the book and handing out critique and praise in delicate balance. Discussions with them have made this process all the more enjoyable. Vicente Rafael offered inspiration and insight in a short visit, and his ideas crop up in more than one spot in the book. Toward the end of the process Don Ostrowski invited me to present a part of the

X11 ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

book at the Harvard Early Slavic Seminar, where I was able to float some of the ideas developed here. I appreciate the opportunity that gave me, and the helpful and energetic feedback I received from him and from Eric Zitser, Erik Lohr, Jarmo Kotilaine, John LeDonne, and Michael Flier. To Harvard University’s Houghton Library and the Pusey Map Library, I owe my thanks for access to the Bagrow collection of Russian maps, including Semen Remezov's Khorograficheskaia kniga, his general map of Siberia, and the Spafarius map of Siberia, and a wide array of early modern European maps and maps of the New World, to which I turned for comparison. In Russia, I have been blessed by the assistance and support of many people and institutions. | am enormously grateful to the late M. P. Lukichev, director of the Russian

State Archive of Ancient Documents (RGADA), for his unstinting support of my work and his permission to photograph and reproduce as many maps from the collection as possible. The staff has been tolerant of my greedy requests for countless, unwieldy, oversized maps and the stacks of legal documentation that accompanied them. In recent years, the RGADA staff has been most helpful in directing me to the appropriate unpublished archival guides and directories. I am also grateful to the Manuscript Division of the Lenin Library for permission to use the Chertezhnaia kniga, the masterwork of Semen Remezoy, to the staff of the State Military-Historical Archive for allowing me to view and reproduce the General Map of Siberia of 1673, and to the Manuscript Division of the Russian National Archive in St. Petersburg for giving me access to Remezovss Sluzhebnaia chertezhnaia kniga and for permission to photograph and repro-

duce those as yet unpublished images. I also would like to thank Jim Akerman for his

help with the Newberry Library Map Collection, and Pasha Johnson and Predrag Matejic at the Hilandar Library at Ohio State University and the monks of the Hilandar Monastery on Mt. Athos for allowing access to microfilmed cosmographies.

For his help in opening archival doors to me, I would like to thank Alexey Vladimirovich Postnikoy. Erudite and elegant, he unhesitatingly welcomed me as a newcomer to the history of cartography and has been unfailingly helpful and supportive since the beginning. Vladimir Sviatoslavich Kusov and Svetlana Ivanovna Sotnikova have set an inspiring standard of creative analysis. My Russian friends and colleagues from non-cartographic fields have also offered constant support, translation assistance, and logistical and scholarly assistance: Elena Borisovna Smilianskaia, Elena Nikolaevna Shveikovskaia, Olga Kosheleva, and Mikhail Krom. In Moscow, Sergei Romaniuk, Galina Ovchinnikova, Liudmila and Polina Belkina, and Robert and Katya Langer have

fed and housed me, buoyed my spirits and fueled my interest. In Petersburg, I have been fortunate in being welcomed into the circle of the Two Tanyas. I thank Joan Neuberger and Louise McReynolds for inviting me into that fascinating kruzhok. Joan Neuberger has been part of this project at every step of the way. Who else can be as lucky as I, in having a friend, traveling companion, colleague, collaborator, and critic who just happens to be interested in Ivan the Terrible and 1s also a cousin? My only regret in bringing this project to a close is that we wont be able to work on it together any more. I have enjoyed every minute of it.

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS Xiil

TI am lucky in more ways than one. My parents, Margaret and Daniel Kivelson, have read my articles as they have come out and have always been interested in hearing about my work and ready with critical insights that have made the work better. Had my father lived, he would have read this manuscript in its entirety, as he did my last one, and his commentary would have made it a stronger, clearer, more intelligent, and wittier book. It has suffered from his loss, as have I. My mother has bravely stepped in to try to fill the gaping absence, and I cannot express how grateful I am to her for reading my work and giving me her always smart and accurate suggestions.

Finally, my husband, Tim Hofer, and my bevy of beautiful daughters—Rebecca, Leila, and Tamar—have put up with this obsession of mine for more years than I like to remember. In fact, this book has fascinated and frustrated me for Tamar’s entire life to date. They have put up with my extended absences in Russia, with my disappearances into my study, my antisocial writing phases, and my periods of hand-wringing despair. Tim has read, discussed, edited, and sorted out countless muddled versions of chapters, and the girls have even managed to look interested on occasion. I thank them all from the bottom of my heart.

X1V ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

Cartographies of Tsardom

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— Seas sSsBsIjIk ae Introduction A good map is worth a thousand words, cartographers say, and they are right: because it produces a thousand words: it raises doubts, ideas. It poses new questions, and forces you to look for new answers. Franco Moretti, Atlas of the European Novel, 1800-1900

Maps exert a marvelous fascination on the human imagination. They suggest travel and adventure, exploration and discovery, and the scientific maps that we know today offer a coolly removed, objective, godlike perspective on the world from above. The colorful and decorative maps of the medieval and early modern world have a different, more aesthetic, visual appeal, with their ornamental flourishes, illustrative cartouches, and oceans populated with sea monsters. Endless consumer possibilities play off the attraction to early maps: elegant stationery, high-quality wall calendars, sepia-toned globes, and Fathers’ Day ties all lure the shopper with antique cartographic themes. Some years ago, searching for some illustrations for a book on provincial landholders, I stumbled across a large collection of hand-drawn property maps from the seventeenth century. These Russian maps, like the European ones, proved charming and intriguing. Sketched by hand, often in several preliminary drafts and then in a final copy, highlighted with a watercolor wash, the majority of the maps were drawn by low-level

provincial administrators and retired military men for use in trials concerning realestate disputes. Not drawn by professionally trained cartographers, not printed in lucrative market editions like the famed Dutch and English maps, not aspiring to depict the entire world or even much territory at all, the Russian manuscript maps were as humble as the purposes they served. As soon as I saw these beautiful drawings, I realized that it was not sufficient to reproduce them as illustrations; this was a source crying out for interpretation, and little such interpretation had yet been done. The very existence of these maps was worth considering. Muscovites were generally a taciturn lot, reluctant or unwilling to set abstract ideas or emotive responses on paper. The “silence of Muscovy” has attained iconic status in the scholarly literature. Western travelers in the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries already noted the Muscovites’ lack of curiosity about their environment, and their marked indifference has become an integral part of an enduring image

of Russia up to the time of Peter the Great. Early modern Russia produced few of the critical descriptive or analytical sources that became standard works in Western libraries. Written sources, by and large, were limited to administrative and ecclesiastical genres until quite near the end of the seventeenth century. Visual media tended to cluster at the decorative or theological ends of the representational spectrum, indicating a limited energy for recording the natural world. Yet Muscovites did produce maps, called chertezhi or sketches, in the century before Peter and during the early years of his reign, and they produced them in the hundreds. Unusual in their worldly subject matter and beautiful in their decorative, vernacular aesthetic, the sketch-maps have yet to receive significant publicity or interpretive analysis. Russian and Soviet geographers and cartographers have described their cartographic and (slight) scientific merits, and a few Western historians have mentioned them briefly in passing. Occasional fragments of maps have appeared as illustrations to works on other subjects, but little has been done using the maps as sources carrying meaning in their own right.! Executed by local clerks, provincial servitors, and townspeople, the maps depict the immediate environment as the amateur artists saw fit to represent it. In carrying out their task, untrained mapmakers made choices about what to include and what to exclude, how to represent various features of the landscape, what to highlight as relevant and important, what symbols to employ in representing the physical world. These simple, brightly colored sketch maps, adorned with trees, rivers, churches, and small houses, provide a unique means for exploring some of the most interesting questions in the history of early modern Russia. Their detailed imagery helps unlock the puzzle of how great issues in state policy or high church theology reverberated on the ground, in the lives and experiences of ordinary people, and, more specifically, how geographic and environmental perceptions shaped and were shaped by the social experiences of the population. Reading the maps’ imagery in the context of the associated documentation, this book explores the power and practice of Muscovite autocratic rule and Orthodox culture in the lived experience of distant subjects of the tsar. According to V. S, Kusov's catalogue, almost one thousand maps of Russia survive from the seventeenth century, including both foreign maps of Russia and maps by indigenous cartographers.* Over half of the surviving maps are detailed sketches of very small regions, large-scale topographic maps, and were drawn in conjunction with property litigation. This kind of map provides the source base and focus of the first half of this book, which concentrates on property issues in European Russia. Close to five hundred such maps (492 at my last count) are preserved in the archival collection of the Chancellery of Service Lands (Pomestnyi prikaz), the main administrative body in charge of supervising landholding. They document property disputes from all over the European parts of Russia. Figure Intro. 1 shows their distribution. Chertezhi survive from each of the towns and provinces named on the map. Thanks to the meticulous filing procedures followed by Muscovite administrative clerks and later by their impe-

2 CARTOGRAPHIES OF TSARDOM

rial and Soviet heirs, most of the maps survived along with the court records of the legal cases in which they were submitted, so they can be accurately dated and the circumstances of the litigation can be established. All the maps from Chancellery of Service Lands collection that can be dated originated in the second half of the century, and all but sixty-nine in the last quarter of the century. The survival of the maps together with related documentation turns out to be somewhat unusual in the history of early modern cartography. Where historians of Muscovy normally look to West European archives with envy, coveting the number and variety of surviving source materials, in this case scrupulous Muscovite bureaucrats preserved and conveniently crossindexed a trove of archival material of a kind to make historians of the early modern West turn green. With the court records to provide context, the maps divulge far more information than their pictorial content alone. Most of the surviving real-estate maps were roughly sketched in black or sepia ink, but many were painted in beautiful autumnal colors: rivers in green or blue; roads in brown or gray; villages in shades of yellow and ochre. They instantly charm the viewer with their delightful trees growing up, down and sideways along roads and rivers, their mixed or splayed perspectives, and their complete lack of consistent scale or orientation. An occasional map will place a smiling sun (or two!) at the top, to signify the east, as in the map from Kaluga reproduced as Plate 1, where one of the suns 1s labeled “Summer East,’ indicating the location of the summer sunrise. Most of the maps, however, eschew cardinal directions and contain multiple, simultaneous orientations. Many of the maps are quite large, on the order of three feet or four feet on a side, and so were painted from several directions as the draftsman moved around the paper. Buildings and trees head up, down, or across, depending on the location or point of view of the artist at a given moment. Thus they have more than one orientation, and have to be read from all four sides. The most commonly used indicator of relative orientation is the direction of flow of rivers and streams, which would have had more local relevance than abstract points of the compass. On many maps the direction of the written labels along rivers indicates the direction of the rivers’ currents. In others the clue will be the positioning of a church, with its altar located in the east.3

The second category of maps, the focus of the second half of the book, depicts far larger stretches of territory on a much smaller scale. These include early maps of the Muscovite tsardom and its neighbors, with particular interest in borderlands and frontiers, areas newly conquered and incorporated or awaiting Muscovite conquest. As the largest and least-known frontier region, Siberia received a good deal of attention from seventeenth-century mapmakers, who recorded newly discovered lands and peoples during their explorations in the east. Unlike the property maps produced by local initiative and serving more or less private interests in the Muscovite provinces, these maps on a national scale were generally commissioned by branches of the Muscovite state administration and served the strategic interests of the tsarist regime. On

INTRODUCTION 3

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these maps political borders, military supply routes, fortifications, and communications lines feature prominently, as well as places of strategic importance, such as wells and the routes followed by nomadic peoples. Many of these maps, too, survive in conjunction with chancellery orders or the reports of the explorers, soldiers, or administrators who made them. Together with maps and documentary records, commentaries on the geography of Siberia and the meanings imputed to its dramatic landscapes survive in chronicles, tales, and cosmographies. These related texts enrich the source base for an investigation of Muscovite geopolitical and religious understandings of the world. These documents and maps, reflecting as they do issues of high political import, have recetved more scholarly attention than the modest local maps, and some have appeared in print. The dominant questions in the study of these maps have derived in large measure from the traditional concerns of scientific cartography and diplomatic history more generally: Were the maps scientifically accurate? What techniques were used for surveying and establishing longitude and latitude? What tools were used in making them? How precisely were borders established with neighboring states? As the history of cartography has undergone a sea change, the kinds of questions it addresses have shifted altogether. Studies by cultural geographers, in large part inspired by the work of Henri LeFebvre, have pried under the surface of scientific neutrality and found that maps effectively mask their own power as tools of state building, political domination, and social control. As Mark Monmonier writes in a colorful passage ina wittily titled book, How to Lie with Maps: The map 1s the perfect symbol of the state. If your grand duchy or tribal area seems tired, run-down, and frayed at the edges, simply take a sheet of paper, plot some cities, roads, and physical features, draw a heavy, distinct boundary around as much territory as you dare claim, colour it in, add a name—perhaps reinforced with the impressive prefix of “Republic of’—and presto: you are now the leader of a new, sovereign, autonomous country. Should anyone doubt it, merely point to the map. Not only is your new state on paper, it’s on a map, so it must be real,4

Monmonier suggests some of the assertive power inherent in maps. Empowered by this kind of skeptical attitude toward the neutrality and factual content of maps, cultural historians have jumped into the history of cartography and have found ways to read messages about gender, class, religion, and other cultural currents in the seemingly starkly factual outlines of maps.° Inspired by this exciting literature as well as by the growing fields of cultural geography and spatiality, I have chosen to set aside all questions of scientific accuracy and surveying methods in this book, deferring to my geographer colleagues to establish the

cartographic merits and transactions that underlay the mapping of Siberia and the eastern and southern frontiers of Muscovy. Along with their instrumental function, Muscovite maps serve important expressive functions, and it 1s primarily this expressive

INTRODUCTION 5

side that I have tried to understand. Although created for administrative purposes in the tsar’s official ministries, frontier outposts, or courts of law, maps reflect the deeper assumptions and attitudes of their creators and thus paint a vivid picture of the intersections of politics, culture, and belief. A second trend in the history of cartography and cultural geography has proven equally fruitful: its focus on the transformative power wielded by maps, especially by the authoritative, scientific representation of territorial divisions, property rights, and political control that has characterized Western cartography since the Scientific Revolution. Maps not only establish divisions of territory that can later be enforced but also can transform the way that viewers understand and experience space, place, and power. Because of the scarcity of evidence on reception, reproduction, or distribution of Muscovy's manuscript maps, which are preserved in unique exemplars in official archives, such arguments, even as modified to account for the utterly unscientific form of seventeenth-century sketch-maps, can be extended to the Muscovite case only to a limited degree. Nonetheless, I hope the book will make the case that the maps not only reflected Muscovite attitudes and mental frameworks but also served, together with other texts and practices, to buttress and naturalize particular ways of understanding and enacting claims on land and space. Muscovite maps illustrate deeply held conceptions about the natural and proper relation between people and places, and those conceptions in turn exerted influence in the real world of policy, law, and entitlement claims. Mapmakers represented the world in ways that made sense to them in the context of their experience and their mental universe. Those representations in turn established rough parameters through which subsequent users and viewers could understand the right and natural lay of the land. Once drawn, maps were generally retained in administrative and military offices, where the circle of users and viewers comprised a small but highly relevant group in that it included the officials, administrators, military strategists, and landowners most immediately concerned in the actual processes of assigning, validating, and asserting control of land. In his innovative study of the geography of European novels, Franco Moretti suggests that maps can be useful “as analytical tools: that dissect the text in an unusual way, bringing to light relations that would otherwise remain hidden.”’ It is in this spirit that I approach the seventeenth-century Muscovite maps that form the basis of this work.

Maps push us to rethink Russian history from a new perspective, that of space. That spatial perspective, in turn, raises new questions and suggests new answers to the older, more familiar ones: the nature of autocracy, the rise of serfdom, the expansion of imperial domination, the significance of Orthodox Christianity, the role of the subject in the political community. Revisiting the standard issues of Russian history from a geographical and cartographical point of view highlights the otherwise hidden significance of physical location and natural environment in the Muscovite political and cultural order. Spatial and territorial factors contributed to shaping the way that Muscovites made sense of their place in the divine and human world and, by

6 CARTOGRAPHIES OF TSARDOM

extension, to shaping the Muscovite political and social system. Through their particular locations in the Russian tsardom, Muscovites understood their relationship to the greater whole. On the basis of their spatial affiliations, Muscovite subjects derived their livelihoods, made claims on the protection of the tsar and his courts, received acknowledgment as members of the broader political and social community, and communicated directly with their God. It is the central argument of this book that a geographical perspective opens new vistas on the way that Muscovites constructed a political society out of the far-flung pieces of an autocratic empire. Historians of Russia have been examining the “strategies of integration” that the tsarist regime developed to build its own legitimacy, to supplement its coercive might with a consensual basis among its people.® I contend here that space was one of the most important mediating and integrating factors that bound subjects to their tsar in a relation of servitude and, to a limited degree, of entitlement as well. In overlooking spatial relations, historians have missed one of the unique features of Muscovite political culture. A vast territory, Muscovy stretched across Eurasia to the Pacific already by the 1640s. In that expanse, locating people, identifying them, and binding them into position assumed as much urgency as identifying and binding people in rank and degree. At the same time, both the state and its unruly subjects continued to move through space and across the continent. Mobility and immobility danced in counterpoint throughout the Muscovite era.’ It is my ambitious hope that the study of maps and geographic imagination that follows can contribute to resolving the perennial question of what is Russian about Russia. What, if anything, makes it different and unique? This is a question that haunts discussions of this enigmatic state and people. It crops up in newspapers and television shows, in endless books and novels, in Russia itself as well as abroad, and it has done so since the early nineteenth century. The quest for determining and defining an essential nature of Russia seems to generate perpetual speculation. Even determining where Russia is provides fuel for debate. Geography contributes significantly to Russia's fascination and elusiveness. Since early modern times people have wondered whether it lies in Europe or in Asia. Struggling with this question, commentators have settled alternately on one or the other, imagined a divided Russia split in two by the Urals or by the Don, or, most inventively, created for Russia a specific neologism, Eurasia, complete with a hybrid cultural profile to go with it. Only in the late sixteenth and then more extensively in the seventeenth century did Russians themselves attempt to map their country in any vaguely systematic way. Their maps were untroubled by the ambiguities of straddling two nominal continents, but instead they dedicated their energies to charting the huge, little-known stretches to the east, between Muscovy and the Pacific, the North Sea and the Gobi Desert.!° On one topic, however, everyone with even passing familiarity with Russia is agreed. Russia is vast, “so vast it sprawls across 1o time zones and two continents,’ to quote I, he New York Times.!! Russia's size is an obvious geographic fact, but its meaning remains as

contested as every other aspect of Russia's mysterious people, politics, and culture.

INTRODUCTION 7

Commentators have invoked geography to explain a number of aspects of Russia's historical development. The nineteenth-century historian Vladimir Solov'ev attributed the decline in cultural achievements between the Golden Age of medieval Kiev and the harsh centuries of Muscovite rule to the shift in climate from the sunny warmth of the Ukrainian south to the unforgiving cold of the Muscovite north. The great social historian V. O, Kliuchevsky explained the rise of serfdom as a natural response to the wide-open expanses of the Russian steppes, which beckoned laborers to freedom and thus threatened to sap the Muscovite economy of its needed workforce. Landlords had no choice but to tie their peasants to the land. Catherine the Great explained to the French philosophe Denis Diderot that Russia was far too vast and too diverse to rule like other states. It required a firmer, more autocratic hand.!* The idea that Russia's expansionist foreign policies grew out of an “urge to the sea,’ or a drive for a warm-water port, achieved great and lasting popularity during the Cold War. In post-Soviet Russia the mystical geographic theories of the neo-Eurasianist Nikolai Gumilev have captured the imagination of a broad, nationalist public and have made Russia’s geography a politically charged touchstone of nationalist mobilization. These and other sweeping interpretations of Russian historical development grow out of geopolitical readings of Russia's place on the map. Maps can be read in less instrumental or doctrinaire ways, however, as expressive metaphors of the culture that produced them. Reading maps and geographical reports as textual and visual sources allows us to view the story of Muscovite history differently, or to tell a different story. If this book cannot promise to answer fully “what is Russia?” it can use a focus on space, place, and landscape to offer an interpretation of how Russians understood and actively shaped their place in the natural and man-made world, in their social environment, in the political community of the Russian tsardom, and in the divinely created

cosmos. Read as cultural constructions rather than as transparent records of geographic reality, maps can help us recreate Muscovite attitudes toward property and serfdom, wilderness and arable fields, political membership and community life, colonial expansion and missionary enterprise, all in the context of the great narrative of Christian salvation.

The central premise of this book is that Muscovites conceived of their role in the world to a significant degree in spatial terms. This premise allows for an exploration of the uses and understandings of space not only as an important piece of a top-down enterprise of state conquest and control, a position suggested by the Monmonier quotation above, but also as a crucial arena through which ordinary Muscovites made sense of, altered, and negotiated for position in their world. The tsarist state defined its subjects, their lives, and their fates according to the space they occupied, and Muscovite

subjects reciprocally represented themselves as denizens of particular places. The russkaia zemlia, “Russian Land,” was a concept endowed with cultural strength and mobilizing power already in medieval sources. Chronicles and tales called on princes to

8 CARTOGRAPHIES OF TSARDOM

rally to defend the Russian Land from assault, and churchmen appealed to princes to cease their feuding, lest the Russian Land come to ruin. Land and people were only indistinctly differentiated in Muscovite terminology. Words for a “people” (rod) or a “land” (zemlia) could be used interchangeably, and they are used in this way on maps as well as in chronicles, tales, and diplomatic documents. Although the political and dynastic implications of the invocations of “the Russian Land” or “Holy Russia” have been deeply investigated, the meanings imbedded conceptually in the land itself have remained unexplored. Whether interpreting the boundaries of particular plowlands and pastures or the vast expanses of the Siberian steppe, Muscovites found social and political identity inscribed in the rocks, forests, and fields of the places they inhabited. The landscape took on both a political and theological significance far beyond its objective geographic features and contributed to defining and enacting the meanings of belonging to an Orthodox Muscovite realm. The late sixteenth and seventeenth centuries are periods in which spatial thinking and spatial movement assumed extraordinary urgency in Muscovy. The two great developments of this era in Russian history fundamentally concerned spatial control and conceptions of movement in space: the enserfment of the peasantry; and the conquest of a territorial empire. At home, in the heartlands of Russia, serfdom became entrenched as a legal system and mode of social and cultural organization in precisely this period. From the early decrees eliminating peasant movement in the late sixteenth centuries, through the abolition of the statute of limitations on the recovery of runaway serfs in 1649, to the gradual closure of loopholes for escape and the increasing enforcement of serfdom regulations in the late seventeenth century, this was the era during which people came to be defined by the place where they lived. Not only peasants but also townspeople, clerics, and even military servicemen derived their identity, their privileges, and their subsistence from their legal connection to a particular piece of land. Muscovites of all strata identified themselves in public interactions by their social order and their territorial affiliation, and they received acknowledgment of their requests or petitions because they belonged to a certain place. Travelers, whether moving about within Muscovy or crossing its borders, needed transit papers authorizing their movements, because when they left their prescribed position in the land, their established social position grew vague and precarious. This fundamentally spatial mode of conceiving of society and of the realm, I argue, allowed Muscovites of all stripes access

to membership in the great Russian political community at the same time that it slammed shut doors to geographic or social mobility. Sharply limited in their movement by the new developments in legislation, Muscovites simultaneously derived a limited degree of civic identity and protection of their claims to the land and its produce through public recognition of their bond with a certain place. Imperial expansion and conquest, too, are fundamentally about movement through and settlement in space. Conquest and colonization involve many interests, primarily economic and political, but an imperial spatial imagination necessarily accompanies

INTRODUCTION 9

the search for profit and power. Muscovy, like its contemporary imperial powers in the New World, had to work out ways to imagine its conquest of vast territories and to fix its population, both colonized and colonizing, in those lands. In a complex and often contradictory set of moves, Muscovite authorities had to contravene many of their own fundamental premises in order to people the expanses of the Eurasian plain or to secure the defensive lines in the south. Constantly requiring more Russian peasants and soldiers to feed and man its fortress outposts, the regime had to undermine its own commitment to the stable immobility of serfdom and encourage, covertly or overtly, the resettlement of Russians along the imperial frontier.!° At the same time, hungering for furs and tribute from the conquered Siberian tribes, the authorities attempted to recreate the ordered, registered immobility of the heartlands among the nomadic tribal peoples of taiga, tundra, and steppe. Pulled in two directions, toward laxity and regulation, toward mobility and immobility, Muscovy found itself confronting immediate and pressing matters of territoriality in its colonial as well as its interior holdings. In exploring these two arenas of political-territorial thinking, about serfdom in the heartlands and imperial expansion in Siberia, the book addresses the two most signif1cant aspects of Muscovite history in the seventeenth century. Some readers may experience the shift in focus and in source base between the two halves of the book as a dis-

concerting rupture and their amalgamation in a single book as a forced union, but | hope to show that the two halves indeed form an integral whole in their treatment of complementary aspects of a seventeenth-century preoccupation with the uses and meanings of space. From the point of view of the state, and as experienced by its subjects, mapping the heartlands and the frontier constituted two pieces of a single project: the creation and imaginative consolidation of a territorial tsarist empire; and the integration and incorporation of a heterogeneous population grounded in and identified through affiliation with particular places. Places created subjects of the realm, and an agglomeration of places comprised the realm in its entirety. The political-territorial imagination at work in seventeenth-century Muscovy was a powerful one, with lasting, real-world consequences still traceable in the contours of the post-Soviet spaces and states. !4

Within the context of serfdom and empire, I explore the spatial implications of two interconnected sets of issues. The first set of questions addresses Muscovite political and social structures. The most commonplace assumption about Russia's political system, often repeated, is that it was an autocratic state run by a despotic tsar. The truth of this statement is multiply confirmed by the impressions of contemporary Western travelers who saw none of the comforting protections and liberties of home, and by the historical record, which reinforces the impression of a total disregard for individual liberties and inalienable, natural rights. Lacking even a concept of equal rights and freedoms, the logic continues, Muscovites must have suffered under the tyrannical control of an untrammeled ruler. This argument has proven durable and difficult to rebut from within the terms set by a West European model of rights.

10 CARTOGRAPHIES OF TSARDOM

If we look for what was there, however, rather than what was not, we find correctives

to this picture that show a society with its own, very different forms of rights, entitlements, and status as subjects of the tsar. Spatial and territorial thinking contributed to shaping a far more interactive, inclusive polity than has generally been imagined in discussions of Muscovy under the Romanov autocrats. Muscovite maps and geographic sources illustrate a spatial conception of membership in a community of subjects of the tsar and of the Christian faithful. Maps allow us to see Muscovite subjecthood expressed as a set of obligations and entitlements rooted in the land itself. Inextricably intertwined, religion, law, and spatial relations combined to create a strong basis from which the powerless and defenseless—peasants, serfs, conquered tribes—could identify themselves as subjects of God and Tsar. As subjects of the Muscovite empire, as demonstrated by their spatial position within the empire, they could legitimately imagine themselves to be active, fully acknowledged members in an inclusive and particularly blessed community. As dependents of the tsar and members of his realm, they were deserving of basic protections, justice, and guarantees of subjecthood. The chapters that follow pursue this line of spatialized thinking and the geographical basis of popular entitlement claims from the meadows and marshes of central Russia to the expanses of the Siberian steppe. Successive chapters trace the implications of such thinking for landownership, serfdom and dependent labor, imperial expansion, and for the non-Russian subjects of colonial conquest. Within a harshly inequitable system, in which coercive hierarchies of domination were assumed and enforced, even the lowliest serfs and Siberian nomads had a place in the polity. Recognizing differential rights based on geographic position and offering legal protection of those rights in its courts, the Muscovite empire developed an early modern imperial system that relied on a form of administrative integration based netther on assimilation nor on pure coercive might. Instead it relied on the acknowledgment and incorporation of particularity and of categorical distinction.!> Spatial categories of rank and affiliation provided one of the most pervasive means through which this inclusion was effected. Looking at spatial claims as a basis for entitlement and recognition in the polity, then, gives us a powerful way to question and reformulate the entrenched clichés about tsarist tyranny.

The second set of questions, developed primarily in the middle chapters of the book, responds to the highly religious, specifically Orthodox, aspect of the visual and textual treatments of the natural environment in Muscovite maps and geographical treatises. In imagining space, Muscovites always also imagined their position and the role of their land in a Christian cosmos. In keeping with the positive eschatology and confident theology of salvation developed at the Muscovite court, the low-ranking administrative officials—scribes and provincials who drew up maps and the variety of

literary and military men who meditated on geographical topics—expressed a supremely sanguine, self-righteous, and even arrogant sense of Russia as paradise and Russians as the Chosen People, whose very presence could convert ordinary land into edenic gardens. Evident in the small-area real-estate maps of the Russian heartlands,

INTRODUCTION 1

this same religious confidence colored the Muscovite version of imperialism and conquest 1n its contiguous empire across the Siberian mountains and plains, reaching to the North Sea, the Pacific Ocean, and China. Their religious vision molded a unique sort of imperial mission, based on a tangibly territorial sense of the meaning of expansion, which involved a divinely dictated destiny of spreading Orthodoxy through spreading Russianness throughout the land and rivers of the Far North and Far East.

12 CARTOGRAPHIES OF TSARDOM

Nesting Narratives ] The History and Historiography of Muscovite Cartography

It would be a useful exercise to present a straightforward narrative of the history of mapmaking in Russia as background and historical context for the source analyses in the following chapters. Such an enterprise is, unfortunately, quite impossible. Nothing about early Russian history seems to lend itself to straightforward retelling, and mapmaking proves no exception. Fortunately, the contested history of mapmaking runs parallel with the more general debates about Russian history, and so through a survey of the development of mapmaking, we can also run through an abbreviated course in Russian history. The history and the historiography of Russian cartography are closely intertwined, with themes of nationalism, autocracy, imperialism, secrecy, and distrust playing back and forth, creating a fascinating resonance between the topic studied and the act of studying it. Cartography provides an interesting lens for viewing debates over state building, cultural development, and characteristics of the Russian people and the tsarist regime. The discussion in this chapter, then, sets both the scholarly and the historical context of the chapters that follow.

THE BEGINNINGS OF RUSSIAN MAPMAKING Evidence of mapmaking in Russia is largely lost to us prior to the late sixteenth century. In the absence of extant sources, historians of cartography have often felt liberated to postulate more or less at will the presence or absence of maps in Russian culture. The scholarly literature on the history of cartography has suffered disproportionately from the pulls of nationalist polemic, perhaps because a long tradition of mapping would ground claims to a record of rational scientific accomplishment. Nonetheless, by scouring archival traces and reading closely for any direct or indirect mentions of maps in textual sources, historians and historical geographers have produced some excellent empirical research on early Russian mapping. Their work provides a rough indicator of the path of cartographic development and allows for a

brief survey of mapping practices in Kievan (medieval) and Muscovite (early modern) Russia. According to A. V. Postnikov, unquestionably the leading historian of Russian cartography, the first surviving map appears carved crudely into a stone slab, known as the Stepanovo kamen! or Stepan's Stone. Dating to the twelfth century, a period of florescence of Kievan Rus, the Stepan’s Stone may well have served as a boundary marker. It was found in Tver Province, just north of Moscow. If it really should be considered a

map, this unique object holds undisputed pride of place as the sole surviving map from the Russian lands for several centuries.! The next extant cartographic source, an exciting recent discovery, has pushed back the date of the earliest surviving Russian map on paper by as much as a century and a half. Dated by G. M. Prokhorov to the very end of the fourteenth or first quarter of the fifteenth century, the map appears to be a very rough sketch of the layout of the Kirillo-Belozersktt Monastery in northern Russia. According to Prokhorov’s quite plausible argument, St. Kirill, the eponymous founder of the monastery, may have penned the map himself. It shows crudely drawn monastic cells forming three sides of a square, with the open side facing a squiggly line indicating the shore of Siverskoe Lake. A small oval in the middle of the square indicates a church, while freestanding squares mark the locations of storehouses or workspaces of some sort. Crude though it is, this abstract plan represents an astonishing development in these otherwise map-free centuries, but Prokhorov explains its appearance at precisely that time, situating it in a moment of flowering in both the literary and visual arts, a time when efforts to represent real people and real places produced the glorious frescoes of Feofan the Greek and Andrei Rublev. “At that moment in our history,’ writes Prokhorov, “our artists literally looked around themselves,” and registered God's creation not only theologically, “through the eternal eyes of the mind,” but also through the testimony of their “corporeal eyes.” Next in line chronologically, having just yielded precedence to the Kirillo-Belozerskit

drawing, is another property map, coincidentally also from Tver Province, a little sketch map on paper, dated 1533.3 These three artifacts constitute the sum total of surviving cartographic sources in Russia until the mid-sixteenth century. There is always some question about whether such an absence represents unlucky source survival or is a true indicator of the lack of such sources in a given society. In other words, were many maps produced, but they simply all perished, or were no maps produced during these centuries? Although the discovery of the Kirillo-Belozerskut sketch significantly complicates the picture, it still seems more likely that very few maps were produced until the late fifteenth century, or even into the sixteenth. The chronological gap between surviving maps makes good historical sense, both because of the general political and cultural turmoil of those centuries and because of specific developments in the pictorial repre-

sentation of nature, discussed below. The twelfth century marked the end of the Kievan era, a period of cultural efflorescence, when the literary and artistic elite produced extraordinary masterpieces, and international trade and diplomatic contacts

14 CARTOGRAPHIES OF TSARDOM

took Rus merchants and warriors across great distances, to many lands, but like many medieval societies, Kiev Rus appears to have produced verbal rather than visual descriptions of territory.+ Between the decline of Kievan Rus and the rise and consolidation of a new state polity, the Grand Principality (later Tsardom) of Muscovy, in the fifteenth century, the cultural production of the East Slavic lands declined and many

crafts and skills fell into desuetude. The early fifteenth-century moment that Prokhorov justly praises signaled the very beginning of a new cultural vitality. The practice of minting coins, introduced with grandiose ambition in the late tenth and early eleventh centuries, apparently faded during the intervening centuries, but made a comeback in the late fifteenth century, under Ivan HI. Similarly, sophisticated techniques for firing bricks were forgotten during the turmoil of the collapse of Kiev Rus and the period of Mongol overlordship, only to be reintroduced in the late fifteenth century.

The absence of an ongoing practice of mapmaking before the rise of Moscow thus makes good historical sense, although some try to dispute it. Undaunted by the fact that only two very rough, schematic maps survive from before 1533, a few stalwart authors have postulated the existence of a rich tradition of maps in the interim. The most entertaining of these is A. A, Tits, whose enthusiasm for Russian maps and charts makes his book delightful to read, even when his arguments are less than convincing, Tits argues that Kievans and early Muscovites clearly must have made maps, as well as closely analogous architectural plans, because they were able to travel long distances and construct beautiful buildings. In fact, he says, the practice was so routine that such plans were drawn on commonplace, disposable materials, even on snow and in sand, and hence, it was their very ordinariness that led to their complete disappearance.° The argument has a beautifully irrefutable quality to it, but unfortunately, there is no evidence to support it. Sand and snow having an irritating tendency to shift and melt. The retrospective argument, working backward from the sophisticated end result to a hypothetical need for drawings, has been neatly put to rest by David Turnbull's research on the construction of Gothic cathedrals in Western Europe. He has shown that these cathedrals, immensely more complex than the lovely little stone churches of Kiev Rus, were built and huge labor forces coordinated through the use of templates rather than any kind of drawn plans.° Moreover, asserting that Rus did not produce maps during the medieval period does not in any way suggest that Rus was lagging behind its Western contemporaries. Medieval societies rarely produced maps. This generalization holds historically throughout Eurasia, from England to Japan. Mapping was not a routine part of any official transactions or procedures in medieval times. The historian Mary Elizabeth Berry, considering the development of mapmaking in early modern Japan, suggests that an epistemic shift was required to allow people to imagine graphic, schematic representation of what had traditionally been rendered in words, as cartes parlantes. Berry suggests that mapmaking began, or at any rate gained currency, in early modern Japan in the late fifteenth century due to the breakdown of old patterns of local, highly par-

NESTING NARRATIVES 15

ticularistic loyalties and ways of imagining and their subsequent replacement with more abstract, general, and generalizable ways of thinking. With this new way of thinking, the abstract symbolism of maps took on increasing relevance. Mapmaking, then, rose on the ashes of localism and particularism, of regional patronage and affiliation, and served both as a tool and as a product of broader state formation and national integration. But a mapmaking mentality cannot be mandated from above. For the practice to become widespread and for resistance to the kind of codification involved in cartographic abstraction to give way to “pervasive acceptance, Berry says, a “code-making mentality” must first develop. “Beyond skill and need, | mapmaking| first requires disposition to translate an environment into code. That 1s, there must be a strong inclination to convert everything particular, personal, unique, and experiential about that environment into signs that are general, impersonal, categorical, and static.” The new “supra-local categories” allowed for the conceptual schematizing of space and importance that was required before mapmaking could become a standard practice.’ As in Japan, maps remained rarities in medieval Europe, where they were only occasionally included as a schematic representation of the regions of the world or symbolical depictions of a Christian cosmos. Aside from the occasional itinerary map of pilgrimage routes to Jerusalem, rare estate plans, and the portolan charts of coasts and sea routes, developed from the thirteenth century on in Italy and Iberia, maps as usable

tools remained the exception rather than the rule in the West until the mid-fifteenth century. At that time, mapping took off definitively in Europe. It is no coincidence that the rise of European mapping correlates with the rise of centralizing monarchies and, as in Japan, with the first successful efforts at incorporating the welter of local regimes into bigger, more uniform states.® The late fifteenth century seems a logical place to expect a growth of cartographic

practice in Muscovy, as well, since the political profile there is very similar to that found in its centralizing European and Asian counterparts, but little Russian mapping actually took place at that time, and none survives. The reign of the great Ivan III, 1462-1505, witnessed the dramatic growth of the Muscovite grand principality, both in terms of territory and administration. Ivan conquered or incorporated enormous territories. In the course of his reign and that of his son, Vasilit HI (1505-33), Muscovite holdings increased threefold. Ivan HI oversaw the creation of the first rudimentary bureaucracy in Muscovy and began to broadcast a political and religious ideology to legitimize his power. The ruler minted coins, issued a new unified law code, and generally set a course toward building state control. From at least the late fifteenth century, if not well before, Muscovite grand princes ordered extensive written surveys of their

lands, but whether actual maps figured in these surveys remains a point of dispute. The first record of a map used as evidence in a property suit dates from 1483 and is cited by D, M. Lebedev. In this case from Pskov Province, grand princely officials sketched a map of the site in question on a strip of birch bark. They then presented their sketch to the sovereign to help him understand the lay of the land. The birchbark map unfortunately does not survive.?

16 CARTOGRAPHIES OF TSARDOM

Maps of all or of large parts of the Russian lands were made from the fifteenth century on, and although probably all or most were the work of foreigners until the very late sixteenth century, they incorporated geographical information provided by Russian informants. Famous maps by Paolo Giovio (1525) and Sigismund von Herberstein (1549) acknowledged debts to the Russian envoy to Rome, Dmitrii Gerasimov, and a Lithuanian, Ivan Liatsku, respectively, for sharing their knowledge of the Muscovite lands.!° B, A. Rybakov speculates that the best-known maps of Russia and Tataria published in Western Europe were based on a lost Russian map of 1497, but Samuel Baron has argued convincingly that although such a map probably did exist, it, too, was most likely made by a foreigner.!! An assessment of the existing evidence suggests that Russians, like people of many other societies, were not in the practice of making maps themselves until the late sixteenth century, but that they had adequate tools for familiarizing themselves with the geography of their lands without taking that final step.!? Thus, the step from geographic knowledge to graphic mapping 1s not a necessary one, and the absence of an established indigenous Russian tradition of mapping before the sixteenth century casts no stigma on Russian cultural development. The field of the history of cartography 1s still a dynamic one. New archival finds frequently surface, and the contours of the field may change radically with new discoyertes.13 S, M. Kashtanov's finding of the property map of 1533, discussed above, moved the date of the first known Muscovite map back by nearly a century.!4 More recently, a copy of the original “Jenkinson Map” of 1562, long presumed lost, surfaced in Eastern Europe. This discovery allowed for fascinating reconsideration of the charting of the Russian lands and the relationship between Russian and Western geographic knowledge.!S Prokhorov's publication has again shifted the entire discussion, and future discoveries may yet force even more profound revisions of current understandings of early Russian mapping.

THE SIXTEENTH AND SEVENTEENTH CENTURIES By the time of Ivan IV, the Terrible (1533-84), the evidence for Russian interest in maps becomes firmer. Ivan or his administrators collected copies of Western maps and atlases. Several documents from the early years of his reign, during his minority, indicate concern on the part of the central administration with mapping disputed property holdings. Dated 1534 and 1535, these documents contain orders to local officials to investigate the conflicting claims of litigants and to draw up maps (chertezhi) of the contested lands. The instructions, purportedly from the four-year-old Ivan himself, are quite explicit. In the 1534 case, a local official (posel’skii) in Beloozero Province was told to investigate and issue a verdict in a suit between the same Kirilloy Monastery mentioned earlier and two peasant brothers, Mikita and Andrei, Mikhail’s sons. He was to “sketch a map of the disputed land, and having written up his judgment and the results of his investigation truthfully and having sketched the map, report to me, the grand prince, and place before me both of the litigants for an eye-to-eye confrontation. '!° These investigations presumably produced sketch maps similar to the surviving 1533

NESTING NARRATIVES 17

map, the precursor of the more elaborate and numerous property litigation maps of the seventeenth century. By Ivan’s reign, moreover, the central tsarist archive held chorographical or topographical maps of various regions of the Muscovite tsardom. Although none of these regional maps survived the centuries, their existence is recorded in careful shelf-byshelf listings of the holdings of the state archive made by state officials in the 1570s and 1580s.!7 Mapping was just one of the many innovations of Ivan IV's reign. Known

to history as “Terrible” because of his violent and erratic policies of the 1560s and 15708, Ivan IV also accomplished a great deal in building a powerful centralized state. He built on the legacy of his grandfather, Ivan HI, continuing the processes of territorial acquisition and control. Conquering Kazan and Astrakhan, Muslim khanates on the Volga River, Ivan IV transformed Muscovy into a multi-ethnic empire, or tsardom, composed of a variety of formerly sovereign polities. His reign witnessed the spectacular conquest of western Siberia, which opened vast reaches in the east to Russian expansion. Building on his predecessors’ example, he issued a new law code, regulated and routinized military service, reformed procedures for taxation and local administration, and built a system of state chancelleries staffed by full-time clerks. To administer his newly aggrandized holdings he dispatched his ever-growing staff of clerks to carry out cadastral surveys (pistsovye knigi) of the extent, location, population, and ownership

of land throughout the realm. Cadastral surveys, which served as a basis for taxation

and military service obligations, were implemented by centralizing monarchies throughout most of Europe during the fifteenth through seventeenth centuries, and Russia kept up with the pack. Without detailed surveys of land and ownership, states had no way to attach responsibility to particular people and properties. Cadasters served a crucial agenda of centralizing monarchies by making territories, populations, and resources “visible” or “legible” to the governing regimes. Sometimes, but not always, early modern monarchies translated their written surveys into visual form, as cadastral maps. Some evidence suggests that Ivan IV also ordered a general mapping of his realm, but the source record is ambiguous, and there 1s no evidence that such an order was ever implemented.!® Cadastral registers provided verbal maps to the realm and its resources, but actual visual mapping did not become a routine part of state surveys until the second half of the eighteenth century. The first well-documented indigenous attempt to compile a comprehensive, composite map of the entire tsardom was undertaken at the very end of the sixteenth century under Boris Godunov and continued into the early seventeenth century. Godunov reigned as regent for Ivan IV’s son, Fedor Ivanovich, and then assumed the throne in his own right after Fedor died without an heir in 1598. Godunov was interested in maps and collected a number of Dutch publications for the royal collection. His young son, Fedor Borisovich, may have commissioned a map of Moscow, since his name appears on an excellent map of the city dating from the first years of the seventeenth century.!? The Godunov dynasty proved short-lived. Tsar Boris died in 1605, at a ttme when unrest already stalked the realm, and his son was murdered by the invading troops of the

18 CARTOGRAPHIES OF TSARDOM

first of a series of pretenders to the throne. A period of instability and open warfare, known as the Time of Troubles, stalled any cartographic progress, but Tsar Boris’s mapping project was completed after the reconsolidation of the tsardom under the new Romanoy dynasty in 1613. The end result, the “Great Sketch Map” or Bol’shoi Chertezh, no longer survives, but in this case, there is good evidence that it did once exist. The original perished in the Moscow fire of 1626, In 1627 the Chancellery of Military Affairs commissioned a replacement, along with a second map showing the strategic Ukrainian territories in the south and the route to Crimea. The latter map survives in several late copies, together with numerous documents relating to the maps’ compilation (decrees, instructions, receipts of payment to the draftsmen) and a Book of the Great Sketch Map, a lengthy list of geographical information compiled on the basis of

the original Great Sketch and supplemented with additional information from cadastral books.?°

Cadastral surveying, although still only loosely connected with actual mapping, continued apace in the early seventeenth century and was integrally linked to the central developments of state control and social transformations in this period. A significant manifestation of the growth of bureaucratic record keeping, the extension of cadastral practices accompanied the radical remaking of social relations in Muscovy, and so it again links our survey of the development of mapping with the development of the Russian state. Historians of state practices have noted that cadastral surveys, like other administrative documents, do more than record existing realities; they transform those realities, and the lived experience of those they record. Roger J. Kain and Elizabeth Baigent, authors of The Cadastral Map in the Service of the State, write:

The cadastral map is an instrument of control which both reflects and consolidates the power of those who commission it.... The cadastral map is partisan: where knowledge is power, it provides comprehensive information to be used to the advantage of some and the detriment of others. ... Finally, the cadastral map is active: in portraying one reality, as in the settlement of the new world or in India, it helps obliterate the old.2!

Developing the same theme, James C. Scott writes: “[t|]he shorthand formulas through which tax officials must apprehend reality are not mere tools of observation. By a kind of fiscal Heisenberg principle, they frequently have the power to transform the facts they take note of.”?* In the Muscovite case, the cadastral surveys and the scribes who composed them effected a complete transformation of the rudimentary facts of Russian life. Muscovite cadastral books recorded the location, boundaries, and size (corrected for quality) of each plot of land, as well as its owner and its resident peasant laborers.** Having taken the time to scour the countryside, recording the names, ages,

sexes and locations of each peasant and each landlord, state administrators understandably developed an interest in guaranteeing that its taxpayers and military servitors

stayed put, that no one moved around to upset the recorded order of things. Petty landholders had long been agitating for the state to lock their peasant laborers in place

NESTING NARRATIVES 19

and to secure their labor force against the depredations of richer, more powerful landlords. Each time the state carried out a survey, it mandated that peasants should remain legally bound to the location in which they were last recorded. Having completed a comprehensive survey of the rural population in 1645, the Romanov regime finally granted the wishes of the petty landlords and cemented its own version of social stability by mandating the permanent binding of peasants to the land where they were registered. The new law code of 1649 finalized the gradual process of enserfment of the Russian peasantry.*4 Legislating social immobility allowed the state to guarantee that demographic distribution matched the picture created in its massive registers; it made the countryside look the way the state thought it should. Enserfment followed as a consequence of a descriptive act, demonstrating the specific relevance of Scott's more general statement: “A state [cadaster| created to designate taxable property-holders does not merely describe a system of land tenure; it creates such a system through its ability to give its categories the force of law.’*° Textual mapping, then, was integrally linked to the biggest development in Russian history since the Mongol invasions and would shape the experience of the majority of the population until the Emancipation in 1861, and beyond.

In spite of the cryptic mentions of regional maps in Ivan IV's archives, it seems probable that no actual cadastral mapping developed even in the seventeenth century. Cadastral records appear to have remained purely verbal throughout the Muscovite period, Consequently, maps played no direct role in the enserfment of the population. In fact, as we see in later chapters, the relationship between peasants and maps was a far more complex and interactive one in Muscovy, for the maps that recorded peasant lands and houses were local ones. Although they displayed information certified by cadastral scribes, real-estate mapping was locally initiated and reflected local interests. Among those local interests, landlords, magnates, and monasteries figured most prominently, but local maps allowed peasant voices to be heard as well. Peasant villages and houses feature prominently in the real-estate maps and the court records that accompany them. This unusual presence makes Muscovite property maps far more multivocal, multiva-

lent artifacts than one might expect from the larger narrative of early modern state mapping projects as just described. Moreover, as Scott reminds us, the process of social transformation through official description never works quite as smoothly and unilaterally as state operatives might hope: “We must keep in mind not only the capacity of

state simplifications to transform the world, but also the capacity of the society to modify, subvert, block, and even overturn the categories imposed on it.”?° Russian peasants found themselves shunted into newly created categories of confinement after 1649, but even in their newly circumscribed boxes, they were not without mechanisms for evading, avoiding, and powerfully redefining the encroaching system of enserfment.

MAPS OF EMPIRE The pace of mapping accelerated during the seventeenth century at both the state and local level. Communications maps were drawn up to show the routes used by mil-

20 CARTOGRAPHIES OF TSARDOM

itary and civilian couriers for carrying information back and forth throughout the enormous, sprawling Muscovite lands. Maps were used for the extensive projects of town planning undertaken in the seventeenth century by the Muscovite state.” Officials in the Chancellery of Diplomatic Affairs ordered maps of Muscovys borders and those of its rivals and neighbors. In undertaking the enormous task of building a line of defensive forts along the southern front, the Chancellery of Military Affairs ordered maps made of the entire, ever shifting abatis line, of individual fortresses, and of potential locations for new fortresses. The seventeenth century witnessed almost constant warfare, so the fortified lines assumed crucial importance. With Muscovite victories, the frontier advanced, and new fortresses cropped up, necessitating new plans and

new maps. Throughout the century, Russia fought recurrent border wars with its neighbors to the north and west, Sweden and Poland-Lithuania. As a by-product of its struggle with Poland, Russia found itself embroiled in a war over the Ukraine, which it successfully incorporated, piecemeal, after 1654.78 Clashes to the south and east with

the Crimean Tatars and other nomadic people persisted through the seventeenthcentury and into the eighteenth, with Russia advancing its frontiers ever deeper into nomadic territories. Siberia, first opened to Russian control when the Cossack Ermak and his small company of men defeated the khan of Siberia, Kuchium, tn 1581, continued to beckon Russian settlers and adventurers throughout the subsequent century. Seventeenth-century Russia explorers trekked through the Far North. Already by the 1640s they had reached the Pacific, and before the end of the century they had charted much of the frozen northern coastline and the contours of Chukotka and Kamchatka: and they understood that a “great land” lay to the east, separated from them by the ocean.2?

The Siberian territories were mapped, in fragments and as a whole, from the 1660s

on. The first surviving map of Siberia, the Godunov map, was commissioned in 1666/67 by the governor of the main administrative center of all Siberia, the city of Tobolsk. If the Godunov map served administrative interests, other milestones in mapping Siberia emanated from commercial and diplomatic imperatives. Beginning with Ivan Petlin'’s expedition in 1618-19, Russian diplomats repeatedly slogged across the steppe to China in hopes of establishing trade relations with this potentially lucrative commercial partner. Each mission reported in detail not only on the diplomatic and commercial negotiations but also on the route taken and the roads and obstacles encountered. They invariably included maps with their reports, and several of these survive.°° Although the missions to open trade between Russia and China proved fruitless throughout the century, usually grinding to a halt over missteps and miscues regarding court protocol, the maps made significant contributions to Russian cartography. The geographic information they contained passed into West European cartographic efforts as wells! Consolidating the cartographic accomplishments of the entire century, while building and expanding on it with his own extraordinary vision, a Siberian mapmaker, Semen Ul'tanovich Remezov, produced a dazzling corpus of cartographic material in the 1690s and into the early eighteenth century. Remezov—an energetic man

NESTING NARRATIVES 21

of many talents, born and educated in Tobolsk, chronicler, cartographer, and city planner of the steppes—forms the focus of the final chapters of this book. By the late seventeenth century, mapping had begun to take root within Muscovite propertied society as a useful, utilitarian practice. Close to a thousand maps survive from the seventeenth century, the vast majority from the last quarter of the century.°? This survival pattern seems to reflect the increase in mapmaking in Muscovy in the seventeenth century, particularly the precipitous surge in the last quarter of the century. Maps took up a position alongside cadasters, deeds, bills of sale, and administrative decrees as a means for establishing official title to land or marking out property lines. Still not part of routine real-estate transactions in the seventeenth century, property maps became an accepted feature of particularly complex real-estate litigation. One-half to two-thirds of the surviving seventeenth-century maps were created in conjunction with administrative investigations of property disputes, and fortunately many of these have been preserved together with the relevant court records.*° Property maps were local and drawn on a very large scale (that 1s, maps of small areas with a high degree of detailed resolution), A case heard in Kursk by the governor, Prince Petr Khovanskoi, concerning the property of Kursk landholder Petr Kekin illustrates the process by which the maps were commissioned and drawn. By a decree from the Great Sovereign, {the governor of Kursk] was ordered to send someone suitable from among the retired military servitors (dvoriane) from Kursk to the Miropole District, and with him to send a local administrative clerk, both good men. And in accordance with the petition of Petr Kekin, they were to question townspeople and provincial people of Mitropole, many people of all sorts, and to investigate assiduously and honestly. And they were ordered | to find out by what deeds he, Petr, owns the lands and hayfields and woods and various resources. ... And having described | all the above, they are to] measure | the property] in desiatiny and to put [the information| in descriptive and measurement books, and to mark out the boundaries using local landmarks truthfully. And in accordance with these books | they are] to sketch a map with the measurements and using truthful information.*+

Russia instituted no formal training program for mapmakers until the eighteenth century. In fact, many of the men who produced the local real-estate maps were not “cartographers” by any stretch of the tmagination but, like the retired military servitors and local clerks mentioned in this passage, were stmply any literate man who happened to be available for service. The authors of the maps came from various social strata, with basic literacy forming the sole common criterion of selection, About one-third of the mapmakers were employees of the central chancelleries 1n Moscow, mainly of the primary ministry in charge of landholding, the Chancellery of Service Lands. The remaining two-thirds came from the ranks of petty clerks, local administrators, scribes,

soldiers, townspeople, or retired military men. Some of the clerks from the central

22 CARTOGRAPHIES OF TSARDOM

chancelleries had experience as cadastral surveyors, but the majority of mapmakers served in this capacity only once or a few times and learned on the job. Remezov, the Siberian cartographer, for instance, appears to have trained himself, although at a remarkably high level. Nonetheless, the maps of the seventeenth century show some degree of standardization of technique and imagery. They rely on a similar palette and use similar symbols for denoting villages, forests, roads, rivers, and fields. Some of this standardization of imagery may have resulted from shared experience at the central chancellery offices in the Kremlin, but the dissemination of representational norms to the casual, one-time mapmakers who drew up the bulk of the maps is less easily explained. Although it might be tempting to attribute this homogeneity to a growing “professionalization” among chertezhniki (mapmakers), the absence of any mechanism for producing such a result—training, apprenticeship, or even specialization as mapmakers—makes alternative explanations seem more compelling.°> A shared visual culture, in which religious icons offered the primary encounter with pictorial imagery, and a shared set of materials (paints, inks, and paper) would seem to offer a more probable, if more diffuse, explanation for the surprising likenesses we see 1n the maps. Employing techniques that had been practiced since the first mapping had been done in Russia, mapmakers structured their sketches around itineraries or paths that they actually could travel, following roads or rivers. They usually measured long distances in days’ passage, by river or overland route, and shorter ones in versts and sazhen, the preferred units of distance. These were determined by use of a measuring chain or rope, painstakingly doled out and placed end to end.*° The compass, known in Russia since the fifteenth century, played little role in cartographic work, and cardinal directions rarely were noted on maps. As Postnikov writes: “Russian cartography before the eighteenth century knew none of the mathematics and geographic fundamentals prac-

ticed in Western Europe to map vast areas of the earth's surface by using latitude and longitude coordinates, projection, and scale. Instead, a single cartographic canvas was composed of structurally heterogeneous materials, which were spatially arranged around the ‘skeleton’ of routes. These routes extended along main rivers and roads.” Instead of latitudes and longitudes, Muscovite mapmakers anchored their images in topographical detail. They noted a plethora of landmarks and specific features of the landscape, making their sketches “extremely rich in toponymy.’3” They used no standard projection, orientation, or scale, often varying all of these within a single map. Nikolai Komedchikov points out that some maps use the directional indicators of churches, with their eastern orientation, or an Orthodox cross with its foot-bar tilted eastward. On occasion he finds that trees are painted pointing toward the south, although elsewhere trees grow out from roads or point in different directions in different areas of a single map.°° It would take until the eighteenth century for Russia to appreciate the important complement that graphic representation of space offered to textual description. Muscovites gradually became what scholars have labeled “map-minded people” in the late

NESTING NARRATIVES 23

seventeenth century, and so were mentally and culturally prepared for Peter the Great's bold cartographic initiatives and for the all-encompassing General Boundary Survey conducted under Catherine the Great.

Fighteenth-century maps are both indicators and symptoms of the pace of reform and changing culture of the period from Peter to Catherine. As part of his general fascination with Western technology and scientific rationalism, Peter recognized the benefits of systematic surveying and mapping of his lands. Already in 1698 a “School of Numbers and Land Measurement (Shkola tsifiri 1 zemlemeriia) was organized under the auspices of the Artillery Chancellery (Pushkarskii prikaz). According to Postnikoy, little information about it survives, except that State Secretary A. A. Vinius founded it, and the main instructor was a certain Master Zertsalov. In 1699 the school building burned down, and the school is not mentioned again in the documentary record.

Following on the heels of this short-lived experiment, Peter founded what seems to have been the first professional school in Europe dedicated to training full-time cartographers, or, as he called them, geodeisists. Already in 1701 he set up the Moscow Mathematical-Navigational School in the Sukharevsku Tower of Kremlin, and in 1715 he established a geodeisic institute at the Naval Academy in St Petersburg, Lacking Russians trained in cartographic techniques, Peter invited skilled foreigners to staff his institutes, but within a generation he had trained impressive cadres of Russian geodeisists, and had sent them throughout the realm to survey and compile complete atlases of the Russian Empire.*? The interplay between foreign and Russian cartographers continued, sometimes in harmonious collaboration, sometimes with bitter conflict, throughout the century. The first generations of Russian cartographers produced interesting hybrids of indigenous and Western mapmaking. Kiev Regimental Lieutenant Ivan Putil'tsov’s 1759 map of some disputed islands, seen in Figure 1.1, has the appearance of a Western map, with a very precise-looking scale and a compass rose indicating a northern orientation, but little pictures of trees and buildings still dot its spaces and it lacks a grid. The first effort to produce an atlas of the empire eventually split in two, with a philosophical rift sundering the two men in charge, the French astronomer and cartographer, Joseph Nicolas Delisle, and the Russian director of mapping and surveying projects, Ivan Kirilovich Kirilov. Delisle endorsed an ambitious plan of creating a fully accurate series of maps, based exclusively on scientific survey data and triangulation of the entire realm in the fashion of the Cassini survey of France. Kirilov backed a less ambitious but more realistic scheme of completing an atlas on the basis

of traditional Russian methods of charting river routes, supplementing with occasional measurements of distance, longitude, and latitude. Kirilov eventually published an atlas with a general map of the empire and thirty-seven regional maps at his own expense in 1734. The still incomplete Delisle atlas appeared in 1745 (Figure 1.2).* By the time of Catherine the Great (1762-96), scientific survey mapping had become an integral part of Russian practice. Under Catherine, commissioned geodeisic

officers conducted the General Boundary Measurement, attempting to survey and

24 CARTOGRAPHIES OF TSARDOM

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Figure 1.1. RGADA, f. 192, Kievskata gubernita, no. 10. Lieutenant Adjutant Ivan Putil’tsov of the Kiev Garrison drew this map in January 1759 and signed his handiwork. This map, made in the reign of Em-

press Elizabeth, Peter the Great's daughter, shows the impact of Peter's interest in geodeisic training. The map represents a dispute over an island in the Dnieper River.

chart every square inch of Russian property holders’ land in European Russia, marking the boundaries between estates in carefully coded colors and lines. The extraordinary collection of RGADA houses thousands of eighteenth-century maps from the General Boundary Measurement, testifying to the way in which mapping became part and parcel of Russian official and propertied life only two centuries after its first real appearance in the Muscovite lands.*!

Politics shaped the context of map production from Muscovite times, when sharing a map with a foreigner carried the danger of execution, through the Soviet era, when publishers deliberately introduced inaccuracies into maps to confuse potential enemies. Politics similarly imbued the scholarly literature discussing Russian map production, both in the early modern era and the present. The nesting narratives of Russian car-

NESTING NARRATIVES 25

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tography thus require serious sifting. Secrecy and veils of silence, as well as charges of deliberate misinformation and masking, follow the history of Russian mapmaking. Muscovite rulers recognized the power of maps and of the knowledge and information that they contained. Michel Foucault was not the first to recognize the equation of knowledge with power. According to official tsarist policy, maps were to remain a monopoly of the state authorities, and possession of contraband maps was considered an egregious offense. Isaac Massa, a Dutch merchant-diplomat who spent a number of years in Muscovy at the beginning of the seventeenth century, set out to obtain a map of Muscovy but found his mission a difficult one to complete. With the unselfconscious arrogance of his cultural biases he wrote:

yqyg

For all the time I was in Moscow, I made great efforts to procure a faithful representation of the city but had never been able to obtain one. There are no painters in this country; nor would they be held in esteem, seeing that nobody has any knowledge of the arts. In fact there are some sculptors and fashioners of idols [godemaekers|, but I would never have dared propose to any of them that he do me a drawing of the town, because they would have quickly seized me and delivered me over for torture, thinkin that in making such a request I must be contemplating treason. [his people is SO suspicious in this regard that nobody would have been so bold as to undertake the task.

26 CARTOGRAPHIES OF TSARDOM

Fortunately for Massa, a Russian friend of his, as a token of affection, told him that he would like to help him in any way he could. “ ‘Ask me whatever you want, he said, ‘and I will give it to you.” Massa seized the opportunity: I was so bold as to ask him for a view of the city of Moscow. On hearing this, he swore that if I had asked for one of his best horses he would have given it me more willingly. But as he considered me his best friend, he gave me this drawing, on condition that I swore I would never say anything about it to a Muscovite, and never reveal the name of him from whom I had it. “For,” he said, “I would be in danger of my life if anyone knew that I had made a drawing of the town of Moscow, and that I had given it to a foreigner. I would be killed as a traitor.’44

Later in the century, in 1673, a Swedish military agent in Moscow, Erik Palmquist, in-

cluded two maps of Siberia with his report on the condition of Muscovy. He described how he had acquired these documents, “not without difficulty and effort.” “I personally observed and drew maps in various places, risking my life, and also received information from Russian subjects in return for money.’45 Leo Bagrow claims that a decade later a Russian ambassador to China, Nikolai Milescu, known as Spafarii, took a map of the Muscovite tsardom with him on his journey and left it with the Chinese, suffering grave punishment for his act of treason.*4 I have been unable to find any corroboration for this claim, but it makes a good story. Muscovy was not alone in recognizing the potentially subversive powers of maps and in wanting to keep that kind of strategic knowledge under wraps. Massa followed a pattern set by previous Western travelers when he attributed Muscovite fears about

maps falling into the wrong hands to a particularly Russian paranoia, but if he had looked closer to home, he would have found similar anxiety about the control of maps throughout Western Europe. In both Portugal and Spain, the law prescribed the death penalty to anyone giving charts to foreigners.’ J. B. Harley writes: “By the early modern period, cartographic secrecy (maintained by what may be defined as rules of exclusion and prohibition) was clearly widespread and the ‘official’ cartography of this period furnishes a classic case of ‘power-knowledge. At the very time maps were being transformed by mathematical techniques, they were also being appropriated as an intellectual weapon of the state system. ... The map image itself was becoming increasingly subject to concealment, censorship, sometimes to abstraction or falsification.”4¢ In their silences, as well as in the information they contained, maps served the interests of the state.

Muscovite unwillingness to share cartographical information may have slowed the spread of geographical knowledge and of map-mindedness among the population. Massa's experience with his mapmaking friend comes to mind with numerous later echoes of the same kinds of wary contacts and suspicious relations between Russian cartographers and Western collectors, mapmakers, or diplomats. One of Remezov's three atlases, the Chertezhnaia kniga, retains ink annotations in Dutch alongside Reme-

NESTING NARRATIVES 27

zov's original Russian labels. Bagrow deduced from indirect evidence that A. A. Vinius, state secretary of the Siberian Chancellery at the time, added the Dutch transcriptions as he worked with Remezov to prepare a version of the atlas to smuggle out and publish secretly in Amsterdam, the map publishing center of the world. If such a plot existed—an idea hotly contested by Soviet authors—it never reached fruition. Bagrow speculates that the Russian government may have caught wind of the project and scuttled it.4” Repeating the same themes half a century later, the Delisle map of Russia was published in France before a Russian edition appeared, leading to charges by the Russians that Delisle had spirited the map out of the country that had paid his salary and that he had published it without authorization.4* During the reign of Empress Elizabeth (1741-62), important new geographic information brought back by Siberian explorers was suppressed by the government, which carefully locked up geographic re-

ports to prevent their dissemination.*? Suspicion was characteristic not only of the imperial regime, but also of rival mapmakers and geographers to the west. The general mood of mutual distrust reached such a pitch that in the later eighteenth century, a Swiss geographer/ polemicist, Samuil Engel, accused the Russian government of censoring maps and falsifying geographic information in order to exaggerate the difficulty of and discourage Europeans from attempting a northern route across Eurasia and to the Pacific. Scoffing at Russian reports of cold, rugged travel above the Arctic Circle, the suspicious Engel proclaimed that in truth an easy sea route connected Europe with the Pacific along the northern rim of the Russian Empire.°° That such an outlandish claim held any credibility suggests the level of distrust commonly felt toward Russia. Replaying old melodies much later, in the Soviet period, historians of cartography exchanged similar accusations within their own ranks. Leo Bagrow, one of the first to de-

velop the history of cartography as a field, won the opprobrium of his Soviet colleagues by taking important historical maps, “national treasures,” out of the country with him when he emigrated after the Revolution.*! For the most part, the maps that survive from the seventeenth century illustrate the inclusive, open use of maps, not the work of a secretive regime. The real-estate maps were produced as evidence in property disputes often at the initiative of the litigants, with extensive input from neighbors, witnesses, and contesting parties. Maps in this sense were composed publicly and functioned as public documents. Strategic and logistical maps commissioned by the state also required broad input of local knowledge and thus built state agendas on local communities’ visions of themselves. Mutual mistrust between center and periphery, administrators and litigants, landholders and peasants, and competing landlords peppers the court records in which these maps appear, but their public rather than their secret function emerges most strongly in the records. Where maps as state documents occasionally may have been closely supervised and secured—and even that was not always the case—maps and records of local life were used in an open, and openly contested, fashion in seventeenth-century Russia. It 1s to that public composition and usage of the maps that we now turn.

28 CARTOGRAPHIES OF TSARDOM

— Seas sSsBsIjIk ae Engaging with the Law ) Cartography, Autocracy, and Muscovite Legality

The growth and ascendancy of powerful centralized monarchies across Eurasia are among the most striking features of the early modern period, the fifteenth through seventeenth centuries. According to most standard historical narratives, the rise of centralized states entailed the crushing of localism and particularism and a sweeping reorientation toward a dominant center. Relations between centralizing state authority and provincial localities have been as critical to discussions of the history of cartography as to the literature on early modern state formation in general. Where the history

of cartography has been “mapped” onto the history of centralizing states, the story has generally been confirmed: maps served as a powerful tool in the service of the state.

Drawing on Michel Foucault's equation of knowledge with power, the consensus seems to be that maps served state interests by exposing all relevant regional traits to central view and relegating those considered insignificant to oblivion. As J. B. Harley writes: “Maps from the sixteenth century onwards offer particularly clear opportunities for the exploration of a new perspective on the changing and reciprocal relationships between the rise of the nation state and the expansion of cartography. ...Cartography was primarily a form of political discourse concerned with the acquisition and maintenance of power.’! Maps visually codified the local into a system of signs and signifiers of importance to the central state, reifying that state's concerns and signifying the triviality, even the erasure, of local particularism.* In Mapping Reality, Geoff King draws on Edward Said when he summarizes this approach to mapping: “The power to map or to narrate, or to keep other forms of mapping at bay, is a key element in the ability to claim a territory.... The Western colonial map is an abstraction that tends to extinguish other dimensions of reality in an act of violent appropriation.”*

These insights into the intimate collaboration of maps with state power have proven productive. The history of cartography has redirected its focus from reconstructing the intellectual and adventurous biographies of prominent explorers, survey-

ors, and mapmakers and their scientific and technological advances to tracing the politics and power inherent in maps themselves and the ways in which they have tended to serve the interests of the powerful against the powerless. Like all sweeping revisions, however, the idea that maps serve state power, useful as it is, eliminates the nuances in the story. Close studies of centralizing monarchies reveal relations between absolutist regimes and their subject regions and local populations that were more reciprocal than unidirectional, as much negotiated as imposed. As a growing collection of works in the history of cartography has demonstrated, a number of factors complicate the identification of maps with central state power and indicate the incorporation rather than the obliteration of the local or the particular. Maps served centralizing regimes not through crushing opposition but by involving varied interest groups in a single discussion, by standardizing the terms of the conversation, and by building a uniform framework in which disputes could be conducted.4 Maps standardized “space in a new mode.’* Once the premises of a particular form of mapping were accepted, opposing parties could argue about the details of who owned what and where boundary lines belonged, but the spatial notions—the concepts of jurisdiction, ownership, and division of territory—inherent in the map had already begun to frame reality. One could argue over where the boundaries lay but not over the fundamental existence and propriety of boundaries per se. Although centralizing state agendas were undeniably important in moving forward cartographic projects, theirs were not the only interests propelling the mapmaking process. Even if we restrict discussion to maps compiled at the behest or in the interests of the state, successful mapping often required the co-option rather than the obliteration of the local. Practically speaking, maps could rarely be “drawn from on high and take

little account of existing mappings.’® As Peter Barber reminds us, “[o|nly [local people | could make local records available, identify people who could take the surveyor to the local high spots, be they churches or hills, identify the local landmarks and, in some cases, raise the finance.’’ Local maps tend to receive less attention and less theoretical analysis than the flashier national and imperial maps or the more clearly symbolic mappae mundi, but estate maps have received some attention in the margins of the literature. Many of the studies of local maps limit themselves to thick description of

the maps themselves, of the mapmakers, and of their patrons, although some have made valuable theoretical contributions to the history of cartography as well.®

MAPS AND STATE CENTRALIZATION Russian maps developed in tandem with the rising tsarist state. Historians of Russia, like those treating other parts of the early modern world, have long been preoccupied with trying to understand state formation and the rise of a powerful autocratic state system between the mid-fifteenth and the seventeenth centuries. During this period, a feeble, fragmented conglomeration of feuding Russian principalities merged to create an autocratic monarchy wielding absolute control, at least in principle, over its subjects and territories. By the seventeenth century, according to most accounts, the

30 CARTOGRAPHIES OF TSARDOM

Russian tsar had surpassed his Western counterparts in his bid to eradicate all vestiges of autonomous local power. No local lords, provincial assemblies, or chartered corporations survived to challenge his unlimited might. Ostensibly he had usurped title to all land of the realm and had reduced his entire population to servitude. Claiming Godgiven authority, the tsar seemingly stood above the law and above any and all limits on his power.

The large cache of local maps from the seventeenth century, the period of high tsarist absolutism, offers a means of testing this familiar picture of centralized state power. By exploring the interplay between central and local interests expressed in Russian maps, we can better understand not only the significance of maps as tools of state power but the nature of early modern states more generally. The evidence from local real-estate maps destabilizes accepted notions of state and periphery, central and local, ruler and subject, in the context of the early modern absolutist state. Russian provin-

cial maps illustrate the benefits that accrued to both state and local participants and the way in which the justice system and the legal arbitration of real-estate claims actively helped to foster an involved community of subjects within the tsarist realm. These maps and the extensive litigation that produced them allow us to glimpse aspects of state inefficiency and inefficacy, as well as state concessions and reciprocity, that have often been lost in the rush to explain the unstoppable growth of state power. The Romanov dynasty, established in 1613 after a devastating period of confusion known as the Time of Troubles, distinguished itself by its concerted drive toward increased administrative, legal, economic, and cultural control over its subjects and its territories. The century was marked by the rapid growth of the state administrative apparatus, of the laws and rules governing behavior, and of the practical jurisdiction of state courts.? Predictably, state-sponsored mapping projects formed an integral part of the growth of state apparatus and state control. All the familiar elements in the history of early modern cartography—the desire by the centralizing state to map and thereby to know and control far-flung localities, the expression of systematization through the neglect of local particularities in standard mapping practice, the shift from verbal to visual representation—held true in Russia. The Russian case thus appears fully in harmony with the general view of mapmaking as a tool of centralizing power. The maps most commonly examined in works on the development of Russian cartography confirm the indissoluble link between mapping and state interests. Maps of national boundaries, communications and military supply routes, fortresses and defensive lines, and the Siberian and southern frontiers all indisputably served and advanced state expansion and control.!° Muscovite authorities wished to know as much as possible about their territories and the population and resources within them. Tsarist libraries listed copies of the major Western printed maps and atlases in their

collections already in the late sixteenth century, and by the time of Alekset Mikhailovich (1645-76), their cartographic holdings were quite extensive, including maps of the world, of Western Europe, of regions of Muscovy, the routes used by the rebel Stenka Razin during his attempted assault on Moscow, of China, of the

ENGAGING WITH THE LAW 31

North Sea, and more.!! The composition of the “Great Sketch Map” covering all of European Russia and its laborious replacement after its destruction in the fire of 1626 demonstrate that by the early seventeenth century, the Chancellery of Military Affairs recognized the strategic possibilities inherent in a map. The accompanying text, the Book of the Great Sketch Map, records Tsar Mikhail’s order for a supplement to the origi-

nal map of the central Russian lands that would show the tactically important Ukrainian lands to the south. The specificity of the tsar’s order illustrates the state in-

terest 1n knowing the strategic possibilities of the region, its transportation routes and lines of possible attack: A new map [should] be made from the reigning city of Moscow to the towns of Riazan, of the North and of the Polish lands, from Livny to the towns with three roads to Perekop: the road of the Murav Shliakh, the road of the Kalmyks, the middle road of Izium, according to the old military list made in the Chancellery of Military Affairs under previous sovereigns, from Livny to Perekop, and from Perekop to Kozlov, and to Bakhchisarai and Almasarai and to Korsun and to Kafa and to the Crimea and to Ba-

lyklet and to the Cherkassian people who were on the Island of Taurik which is between the Black and the Azov Seas and where the Crimean Horde is currently based; and along those three roads show rivers and wells, and along the rivers show Tatar fords and the routes that the Tatars use to come to Russia and any natural landmarks or indicators in the fields. !2

The military and diplomatic preoccupations underlying the tsar’s concern with mapping his lands is clear from this rather convoluted order.

LOCAL RESISTANCE TO STATE MAPPING PROJECTS Through the seventeenth century, official interest in mapping increased. The extent of strategic reliance on maps is clear from the direct involvement of the military and diplomatic chancelleries in commissioning maps of Muscovy's borders and those of its rivals and neighbors.!$ Clear strategic interest underlies a 1701 map drawn up by order of Peter the Great, by a low-ranking military officer, the stol’nik Maksim Tsyzyrev. Working according to specific instructions, this officer was to “make a map secretly, from Vitebsk up to the very top of the Dvina River with accurate measurements, drawn to scale.’ He was ordered “to sketch and describe on the map by name those places along the border, how far they are from the Dvina River and where the Dvina crosses the boundary of Muscovy and what settlements and villages are located along the river.” '4 (See Figure 2.1.) Such maps were commissioned by officials of the central state chancelleries and made by agents sent out from Moscow specifically to collect the requisite information and bring it back. The statist agendas underlying these undertakings are incontrovertible. Sometimes clashes between local actors and government agents seem to support the older image of a centralizing state at odds with regional powers. Some cases illustrate outright resistance by local peasants and landholders to the efforts of state officials to

32 CARTOGRAPHIES OF TSARDOM

ree oN ee a | . fbe.Sly . cas p a ‘ . a . | es hay ,a¢a.\ 2| stlb, 1676-78). aeagh ! | | 5 Figure 2.3. RGADA,Varsunofit's f. 1209, Chern, 4WANs j : f Zemtsoy, Metropolitan ofe _ agent, the plaintiff in the Zhdanov

S : | | : case. Where Stepan'’s map shows the : \ yiAeey |/4| “4 Great Novosilskata ey ay | fot a parallel to theRoad Riverrunning Gostyzh, ee - A ets / | Zemtsov's shows the road as a wavy pe aaa | | . line crossing the river below the met-

ee Yu | | | |ropolitans The ie : +aeeres ye | lage of village, Gostyzh Gostyzh. 1s shown as theviltwo “ f:pe{ tian a | toothy half Ruver, circlesansurrounding aee gs || |2amc me | Gostyzh “old cemetery”the is , oxy tat | i Sef | | labeled (the irregular oval with two

3 | “s Je | ; wee . | posts, at the bottom, just above the E ,on = i 3¥ || ){western seme > | | mill on theGostyzh bank of the Raver Fr | m ener Kholokholna). Gully is

3 ae — i shown again asthe a finger pointing left wat Tene Heneath village.

and Plate 2).°* Boris Morozov finds that a late seventeenth-century map sketched in conjunction with a dispute over watermills and flooded land provides detailed and accurate pictures of a private church and manor house, even though the buildings themselves were utterly irrelevant to the case.°3 Maps often lavish great care on rendering the

decorative gingerbreading on gentrymens manor houses or on churches and monasteries, or even on peasant houses, showing the lattice-work along the arcades, the baubles topping the towers, and the decorative window frames (Figures 2.8—2.11).*4

It is symptomatic of the multiple layers of motivation and authority involved in provincial litigation that local claimants started the process by requesting that maps be made, chancellery officials in Moscow ordered that their demands be satisfied, and the draftsmen who actually made the maps were designated from a motley, undistinguished group of lesser clerks and local men. Although an occasional map proudly carries the name of its author, such as a 1684 map from the Iurev Polskoi Province labeled at the top: “ Chertezh by Mikhail Usakov,’ more commonly one has to dig in the accompanying court records to find the names of the cartographers/artists. Of 191 mapmakers whose names I have identified with some degree of confidence, 72 were town goyernors or Moscow clerks dispatched to the localities by one of the central ministries, but the remaining 119 were an assortment of provincial people, all of relatively humble rank, Anyone who could read and write and happened to be on the spot might be dra-

40 CARTOGRAPHIES OF TSARDOM

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= 7gh _a2> eae a| (aea-4 JOO ” - =~ cr ( =Seg aD |\a\=ee:j

) fF G ty 7 “Miche XekoXotaril:

Figure 2.4. RGADA, f. 1209, Chern, stlb. 24533, ch. 2, 1. 225. This final map of lands along the River Kholokholma, was “taken as evidence in the case” in December 7187 (1678). Drawn by a state official from Moscow, this sketch confirms Zhdanoy’s geography. The Novosilskata Road stays parallel to the Gostyzh River. Above the birch grove, now looking more like a flowerbed than a cornfield, the scribe has noted: “Stepan Zhdanoy, together with people from the area said that the Kniazhei Birch Grove used to be here, but now there are shrubs.” The mill is labeled “Stepan Zhdanov’s mill,” but the land above it is called “Stepan Zhdanoy’s disputed land.”

eo ; : . Han geagfout

. wot See| vi ; Eben npr firs ae : sta’ an e ; ; cong gin } i. ; Yate | fr «eames Tah (ota ulinaN Shae \ ™= “fen Tee, Geel 7 Se : . . “ng/ ie / “ rns ae: ‘)“ih cae ee ‘fuse | celine ns “meme ih i z of ne Sete erentim : |@ ef oc; Mee) wi Me ee g m | Pat Bf PS rvncack eé OO

ay i : a cama ube Losi . 1 ,.|4.ndmA . _ be ue : a so =e : rl . : ee l | ae - he . ert ‘a il4aii ao sit AVR

; 4 7 — 1) ae x gee Fine Hepa Teimawn rs img Good a? | at Li: :

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eee ce :aen =me mtRe _;ee Se OT i paoe | :etai)“:) Fe J| Ep TL es A Cae i] -ee ops LEE x ff ie tN why . i ; geeon, my cesen” * 7 Re VEaia ee hoes Sethemean EDS eS yupf ~ é ile d ‘ iia Bren

:a®

Poy Gish ofeagefipes oh. al fo . | | ‘ ee 7 ae ' a oe | bul is

thy | SNE Sk - Bee Tai poe NN

Figure 2.5. RGADA, f. 1209, Iurev Polski, stlb. 34253, ch. 1, 1. 132. Copy of 1672. Map of lands along the River Sem Kolodezei. The mapmaker was a local landholder, Andrei Selezney, a retired gentry officer,

and his local knowledge is evident in his handiwork. In addition to the neatly sketched villages—including the pointed church steeple and unusual, carefully executed freestanding bell tower in the town of Zagore, in the bottom left corner, the map explains that in the “two big pits” (dark circles just right of center) raspberries and thistles grow, and around the pits are the arable fields of the pustosh’ Tiapkova. The map ts oriented east, with “to the east of the pustosh"’ written in calligraphic letters at the top, just to the left of the little village Lychevo.

alr ne

ale | ? a

4eeA.CAN Tepina | fain? t *

ci | sae? } JOY Figure 2.6. Ibid., detail of church and bell tower of the village of Zagote.

i/

— re [: ee . ' ,i' i; 'set Hs ‘a ‘ } ~~ OLE :

i {i CQ f i | Oey,

nike Vi\h- Oo Os

; a| i} Sk;-LL Fr) l| .Up .

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At eM LLaQTOQIC

on Ree Felero. /O+_|j‘|1 Figure 2.7. RGADA, f. 1209, Uglich, stlb. 35837, ch. 1, 1. 151 (1691). The first of two depictions of the town of Uglich and the nearby Nikolo-Uletminskoi Monastery, submitted in the course of a legal bat-

tle. The two maps convey strikingly different visual impressions, but both represent important local structures fairly accurately. This one, submitted by the townspeople, shows the walls and towers of the Uglich kremlin in splayed perspective. Surrounding the kremlin are clusters of houses and numerous monastic enclaves, each surrounded by a dark circle. The Uleiminskoi monastic compound is at the top on the right, with two little churches and two little houses.

gooned into service as a mapmaker. Along with more or less professional surveyors (mezheviki) and draftsmen (pistsy), local administrative clerks, retired military servicemen, artillerymen on assignment, town-square scribes, locally elected town elders, one town priest, one icon painter, and six monastic officials all tried their hands at mapmaking.°> Occasionally Moscow officials with surveying experience came out to the provinces to map disputed lands, as did Fedor Domashnev and Dmitrit Ushakoy, clerks from the Chancellery of Service Lands who were established surveyors and boundary setters.°° More often it was a lowly local man, “a military man retired from the sovereigns service, or a town-hall clerk, good men, from the locality,’ such as the town governor's clerk from Suzdal Andrei Bykovskoi or Osip Ofrosimoy, a retired cay-

ENGAGING WITH THE LAW 43

eC as ale Ce RRC ty cree

“gee .POE #,'vit ai lti ee | Sey,i eaei . - * att Ls AM ay a en EL Lig

| a lll aeTn Lier a ar + .

J *stlb, on i ,27838, Figure 2.8. 1209, Suzdal, * ds:2: ie aS“aIG ch. RGADA, 1, I. 322,f.detail. Detail

-ins1%i!Suzdal. .settlement ' 17 outside ~ a, a EN Bogoiavlenskit a wt of architectural compound of the

, al \

iT) s *—" “aL by cR sugoie 124

_ DB al te A I, A tt et he et, ety tye. n iy 7 ¥ Ge Ia! Ye. : - 1 * ih. ig, 5 aoe

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fi ran Ny mh ait Ue, iv hiv 7 fal f Ie

. ie aea. ;py wotTy ea ry+f : b:te ry .rom vt is, na) " | Y | oe ¥ mp ee — , “6A i£ a=) ae ; “s. hal * ids, Hs Wet itv ' mb Hy FP (; ahs, ran

'|: foto ‘ TOT Ay@ertapr ATE SOT ITTE oe ¥ ta erYPie EE _™ s ~ cae t ee may oTt. ayPE, POR aero a san, ME PET AESAE) FO: E- Or ak he

Srey ee ae eg ‘

fam CottactON ieaei =“ >) (EL tf fot “Li athe Pe SP “4 wid i \fase ga apa Py«|ret a a Sl s,.|Beat A ee 7!)| ORY: if uo | ee Pa peered = 2] Namen tid NSE faa

stb re ns oraee tt ate DT a, aa oe nts ,ferjer uv.NE, ‘ on ; “| VA laai eS, -hatebth he1% “a “| a .f. 1209, f leksj ‘ . potf. Figureae 2.9. RGADA, Aleksin, for soter, wed end bee yre Ss Aa it's i. ores " A J *Y, 4} f

map S- ar ; Me 2a ko: we» — Stlb. 30972, ch. 1, I. 174a, detail. Detail

ee ss. So A, oN Bras). of the Vysotskii Monastery outside

ETN ae TEN I We LE Bae \ Serpukhoy..

alryman of Novgorod Severskii, who assumed responsibility for drawing up a local map. A clerk of the Novotorzhok town hall, Petr Postnikov, together with a musketeer of the same town mapped disputed lands in Torzhok in 1688; the Putivl servitor Mikita Shchekin and Putivl town-hall clerk Gavrilo Mosalitinov were charged with fal-

sifying the information on their map in 1685. The Elets town-square clerk Fedka Vasilev created one of two maps in a hotly argued case in 1690, while a local military servitor named Kiril Tselykovskii made the other. In Kashin Province in 1694 the town-

44 CARTOGRAPHIES OF TSARDOM

aa ' ." ' 4

; ~ _ - mseteseH raul , es ar ah aye # . a ul 1 a “1 “ ws ' * 7

; & prional : her ; |rl.Tit ] . rn a, - ra: aa od

| aa | .4: @> Ei eRe i eget 36)

ae cet, Bae Se a Ean: fo yi . 7 7 cai he ; “Lh ~ asi “= a eee: ig aDafeNyait | i

if De] = fo ani (ern

Figure 2.10. RGADA, f. 12009, Cilmi ye \ AN \

Aleksin, stlb. 30972, ch. 1, I. 174a, de- fl 3 Le ~ F tail. Detail of the town7 of L Serpukhov | i J nO ee —

'a.1' ee a (ear # pa Si nie icc a : ih . : meee? ~ ine 1 *

; 4. , ¢

1. —_

“ 7, ifat fron aaz_Ia :|i_k7| [Let} =. , i ae pds EN 43 ;y45=o r . ty =aRiors al ,. a;: Tt “~ AY BS eT ;

ti —— SR iM Zar 3] Efi —_— — ”

a ; Me ty ie BE AP OHA Ef HH

tar, Va *insom # ety

Figure 2.1. RGADA f. 1209, wt Murom, “Ta gt EM he oe ang.

stlb. 36717, I. 37, detail. Detail of the “ - As et ttrte op, % fenced village Melenki. Houses with * ~ #4 Name 75 Arig |

gardens and cabbage patches. ee TA Bah

square scribe collaborated with a lowly member of the governor's office, a kind of errand-boy (rozsyl'shchik) in mapping the contested lands.°7 Regardless of their origins, mapmakers relied on local informants to provide the 1n-

formation they needed. The orders to create maps invariably contained specific instructions to assemble large groups of local residents, particularly the “longtime residents,’ and to make use of their testimony. Orders issued in the name of the Great Sovereign instructed the town governor of Vladimir Province to send a retired cavalry officer or a clerk from the town hall and “to take with him local and neighboring people, peasant elders and trustees (tseloval'niki) and peasants, as many as necessary. And

in the district [he] was ordered to investigate intensively with a great, general inquiry with many people, gentrymen and lesser gentrymen and their estate bailiffs and elders

and trustees and peasants, all sworn to tell the truth by the Holy Bible....And he should record the names of the people who are questioned in the inquiry and what they say on a list.”°8 Orders for wide-ranging investigation of local people were taken seriously: in one fairly standard case 362 people testified.*°

LOCAL MAPS AND LEGAL MANIPULATION IN COURT As noted above, the lawsuits that required maps tended to be particularly protracted and complicated ones, stretching out over years, sometimes across decades.*° They represent Muscovite bureaucratic legalism at its astonishing pinnacle. They consumed

thousands of pages of precious paper, constantly a deficit commodity in the Muscovite provinces, not to mention the countless hours of time that the state’s administrative personnel had to sink into investigating and recording the cases, painting and repainting the maps. Once a litigant lodged a complaint, investigations had to be conducted according to the letter of the law. Particularly after the promulgation of a new, expanded law code in 1649, the letter of the law was verbose to the extreme, and the mandatory procedure unwieldy and time-consuming, Canny litigants constantly invoked the requirements of the law in questioning the way in which local officials had conducted their investigations. In cases of disputed property rights, the law demanded that officials should conduct “a wide and general search, with many people, longtime residents,’ residents of villages near to and far from the disputed lands, belonging to many different landlords. They should be questioned together and separately, in truth, after swearing on the most holy gospel. Their testimony, signed by the clerk who collected it and by the witnesses or by a reliable person expressly instructed to sign in their place, should be sent directly to Moscow, to the central chancelleries. The frequently reiterated exhortations to officials to investigate “in truth, not favoring friends and not avenging oneself on enemies in any way’ demonstrate that impartiality and truth were very much the goal of all of this solemn procedure.*! The cases themselves make it abundantly clear that no amount of swearing on the holy gospel could suffice to compel uniform truthfulness. Over and over, the cases demonstrate that one mans gospel truth was another man’s scurrilous lies or faulty memory. After due process—during which officials checked old deeds and documents,

406 CARTOGRAPHIES OF TSARDOM

collected hundreds of witnesses, took their testimony, and with them, trod the boundaries from river to stream, from spring to swamp, from aspen to oak—cases routinely unraveled. The losing side, hearing the results, would petition indignantly against the corrupt and improper way in which the investigation had been conducted. Litigants complained that investigators had questioned “residents of near but not far villages” or, alternatively, “far but not near villages”; that they had interrogated witnesses selectively rather than comprehensively; that they had interviewed too few people; or that they had drawn the maps and written up the results of their investigations without ever going out to view the actual properties. Petitioners accused investigators of listing as witnesses people who had never participated in any investigation, of favoring the op-

posing party “through their endless greed” or “for the sake of bribes,” and of conducting investigations and composing maps “falsely,” “with lies,’ and ‘criminally.’ In 1679, for instance, Danilo Oshanin petitioned Tsar Fedor Alekseevich about his field Sidorovka in Suzdal Province, which had been dishonestly claimed by a rival landlord, Vasilei Alekseev, who, plotting and scheming, by agreement with his cronies [ svoistvenniki| ... petitioned falsely to you, Great Sovereign, calling Danilo's field Sidorovka his | Alekset's] field Prokudin-

skaia.... And in response to Vasilei Alekseev’s false petition and by the deceitful rescript of the clerk Osip Tagarinov, your Great Sovereign order was sent to the Suzdal town governor Prokofii Larionov, who was ordered to investigate not selectively but comprehensively. ... And so the Suzdal town-hall clerk Mitka Matveev was sent to investigate. But he, Mitka Matveev, forgetting the fear of God and the Great Sovereign's order, accepted a bribe from Vasilei, and didn't go out to that field or that district, and he questioned people from faraway villages, not from nearby ones, selectively, and they testified falsely that Vasilet owned the field.... And he, Mitka, criminally composed a map and an investigation report without ever having been to those fields.

The trouble was, of course, that when the authorities in Moscow sent out orders to investigate anew, Vasile: Alekseev predictably filed a counterpetition insisting that he was in the right, and that it was Oshanin who was subverting the system with his lies and bribes. Unable to establish the rights and wrongs of the case, the Chancellery of Service Lands in Moscow had no choice but to send out another order, more like a plea than an authoritative statement, requiring the town governor, by this point a different man, to carry out yet another investigation and to make yet another map.*$ An infamously absolutist regime, notorious among early modern European commentators for its lack of accountability to its own laws, the Romanoy state in fact found itself utterly entangled in its own regulations and procedures. This inability to resolve cases, in light of the absolute irreconcilability of evidence advanced, racked most of the litigation connected with property maps. In a case from Aleksin, the widow Avdotia Nedobrova pleaded to have her small widow's portion returned to her from an unscrupulous neighbor, Agei Artsybyshev, who had grabbed it from her. Evidently moved by the petition and committed to securing decent allot-

ENGAGING WITH THE LAW 47

ments for widows, the Chancellery of Service Lands ordered that the case be investigated and if her argument should prove correct, the land should be confirmed to her. Unfortunately for her and for the Moscow administrators, no case proceeded uncontested. Her rival, Agei, made a convincing case for his right to the land, depicting her in turn as a schemer who effected her plots through bribery and connections. His argument was that she did indeed own an uninhabited field called Varvarinka, but so did he, as there were two separate fields by that name in the district. The chancellery had no choice but to order another investigation and map. At which point, not surprisingly, the widow contested the new investigation and map, and demanded another go-round, to which the authorities acceded.*# In the dispute mentioned above between Stepan Zhdanov and the Anastasov Monastery, the case hinged on the presence of two oaks that Aleksei Zemtsov, the spokesman for the monastery, clatmed marked the path of a road that divided the monastery's land from Zhdanov's. Zemtsov objected to three different versions of the map that Zhdanov drew during several years of judicial watfling, none of which showed the two oaks. His opponent consistently claimed that the two oaks had long ago rotted away, and that no one could say where they had been, hence they could not appear on the map. The Chancellery of Military Affairs, which adjudicated this particular dispute, flip-flopped in its decisions, first assigning the land unambiguously to Zhdanoy, then rescinding that order and reassigning it to the monastery.* In his dispute with the Nikitski1 Monastery Iurii Skrypitsyn claimed a plot of land on the grounds that the land had been officially granted to him by tsarist decree from the pool of “unclaimed land.” He asserted that a church that had previously stood on that land and the adjoining cemetery had been built in days of yore by peasants of the previous landlord and therefore the church site and the property around it had rightfully passed to him, as the current landlord. In the first round of interrogations, the peasant witnesses uniformly supported his story. The monastery agreed that the previous landlord had built the church but claimed that he had subsequently willed both the church site and the property to the monastery. Alternatively and contradictorily, the monastery also claimed that the church had been built by monastic peasants and had therefore belonged to the monastery from the start. Peasants called on to support these new stories did so without flinching. The monastic representative added further that Skrypitsyn had acted irresponsibly toward sacred properties, flooding the land by erecting a new mill and treating the cemetery disrespectfully: “In that church village and in that cemetery, members of the elite have rotted in the earth, and human bones lie in that church cemetery. And... [on one tombstone | is inscribed ‘Antonida, Danilo Dubrovin'’s daughter, departed this life,” and other tombs are piled with stones, and nearby there are many tombstones, all broken up.” Naturally, when the local authorities came to investigate again, the monastery managed to find witnesses who would bear out this version of the story.*° Some cases devolved into such a morass of contradiction that even the most basic elements could not be untangled. Faced with such complicated and conflicting testimony, the Moscow authorities had two options: they could order another round of in-

48 CARTOGRAPHIES OF TSARDOM

vestigations and postpone any resolution in the case, which was the most common course of (in)action; or they could believe the most recent or most pathetic or most remunerative case, which they occasionally did. In a case in Kashin that tied up the courts for five years in 1665-70, property changed hands at least twice, and both sides repeatedly demanded new investigations and new maps. The court's rulings swung back and forth, as each side produced documentation and witnesses. The orders sent to Kashin 1n 1670 stressed that the governor must undertake a third complete investigation of the same contested lands. Not only did the court reverse its own decisions in this case and seize land first from one, then from another landholder, but also a series

of petty clerks suffered physical punishments in the wake of the court's indecision. Sergushka Filatev, identified as “Ivan Shashkov's man,’ was probably a slave. He was convicted of falsifying a list of witnesses and was sentenced to be flogged with the knout, Russia's signature instrument of punishment. Later, when it turned out that Sergushka himself had been misrepresented in the court records, the court changed its tune. It sentenced the town-square scribe, the man now considered the real malefactor, to “merciless beating with the knout for writing down people's names and testimony without their participation, and released Sergushka on bail. From Sergushka’s point of view, the retributive state would have appeared anything but ineffective; reversed or not, his initial sentence had already been painfully inflicted.4’” Indeed, the state exercised its muscle in these cases, taking land away, reassigning it, inflicting severe punishments, tying up legal title to land for years in its courts. Even so, it was unable to resolve cases heard in its own courts in accordance with its own laws and procedures. The colorful sketch maps produced in seventeenth-century real-estate litigation reveal the Muscovite autocracy in all its might and all its ineptitude. They allow us to invert the way we have come to imagine the relationship between central state mapping projects and local interests. In an immense, unmanageable land where centralization could never have set roots without the participation and support of local communities, maps brought local knowledge to the service of the central state. As Timothy Mitchell writes, the “effectiveness of disciplinary methods... lay not in their weight or extent, but in the localized ability to infiltrate, rearrange, and colonize.’48 Not all disciplinary methods proved entirely effective. As the court records demonstrate, maps not only provided the state with a way to track its population and resources and to keep all under surveillance. They also armed local litigants with new and creative ways to lie, falsify, and misrepresent the lay of the land and to turn the state's own regulation to their own purposes.?? The state had no unmediated access to local “truth” and, hampered by its own regulations, could resolve nothing without that truth. Even when supplied with relatively complete information about a distant site, the state often lacked the resources necessary to assert its will. An enormous map of the fortifications at Pskov, a critical

border city in the northwest, depicts an imposing fortress, but the text explicitly acknowledges the limits to state power. A note calls attention to the irreparable condition of the fortress, decayed beyond the power of the state to remedy: “The middle walls have crumbled. To repair them entirely is tmpossible.’°° (See Figure 2.12.)

ENGAGING WITH THE LAW 49

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‘ay aa .a) °soe .1!aea4te Ae.fhe ie | an 2 fe a ° , f |e go ie (1 NE, : r - =1 cory B., t H j \'_ id L. 7 P Tal. —= Pi a —Lae “h . : ' | B.. *a en Me \ =an- :ifa x:GO. =aef isy ; ea! 6e4. nt wl B| : " hegre of ..:“atl

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Figure 2.12. RGADA, f. 192, op. 1, Pskovskaia gubernuia, no. 3. This map depicts the imposing fortress at Pskov, but it reveals a collapsed portion of the wall in the back on the right, along with a couple of towers that look like they had seen better days.

Locked into an unwieldy system created and complicated by its own laws and procedures, the Muscovite state found itself confronted over and over again with insoluble legal snarls. The cycle of suit and countersuit, appeal and counterappeal, lies and more lies, churned on through its own internal logic: the law itself required honest, comprehensive investigation. Litigants were always entitled to appeal on procedural grounds. Through solemn oaths on the Bible and dire punishment, ranging from “disgrace” and

fines to knouting, the courts tried to enforce their commitment to “the truth,” but even where there was no overt falsification or bribery, localized kinship and patronage

loyalties could undermine any abstract pursuit of impartiality. The tsarist regime could assert its power through brute force, judicial coercion, and threats of damnation, but dread of punishment in this world or the next could not effectively prevent manipulation of the system. The state’s very commitment to legal procedure tangled it up in a web of indecision.

LEGALISM AND AUTOCRACY Evidence of such extensive and expensive legalism might be surprising in the context of Muscovite Rus. “The state and form of their government,’ we have frequently been

50 CARTOGRAPHIES OF TSARDOM

told, was “plain tyrannical,” or, in other formulations, the tsar-despot crushed his slayish people under his arbitrary rule.°! Western travelers to Muscovy consistently re-

ported that they had seen a society without laws, ruled by the whim of the prince. These commonplaces recirculated into Muscovite sources, so Russian works repeat the same assumptions. The Kosmografiia of 1670, a Russian translation and adaptation of Gerhard Mercator'’s atlas, which in turns quotes long passages from Sigismund von Herberstein’s earlier account of Russia, insists: “All obey | the sovereign] and bow down

to him without any resistance. There are no independent regional princes nor margraves in that realm. The sovereign rules fully, alone, and autocratically. He governs all at will. From the great to the lowest rank, he can execute and punish, but his subjects consider him as if he were a god, with great fear and trembling.”** It is hard to square

this voluble insistence on the absence of law in tsarist Muscovy with the earnest if convoluted legalism we have seen, but squaring the circle, or at least tolerating the contradiction, is the historian’s job. Law did loom large in Muscovite Rus. In bulk alone, the more than nine hundred articles of the Ulozhenie (Law Code) of 1649 announce that fact. The tens of thousands of surviving court records confirm that law assumed a vibrant reality in practice, as people utilized the courts and insisted on their rights to proper procedure and impartial judgment. Law was at work in all aspects of Muscovite life. People of all ranks were steeped enough in legal culture to drag their opponents to court, engage fully in legal dispute, and confidently contest improper procedure.°$ Already in Muscovite times, Russia had developed a highly legalized culture in which the power of the law was tangible, ubiquitous, and widely recognized as a useful tool by society and regime alike.*4 Skeptics may point out that law can fill a less savory function in society. It can pose as an impartial arbiter of justice while actually serving the oppressive interests of the ruling class or of the regime. Participation in legal process may be coerced and reinforce already obvious inequities of power rather than demonstrating the voluntary participation by the lowly litigants. This argument is made eloquently by Gadi Algazi in a powerful debunking of a myth of voluntary or representative participation in Western medieval village assemblies. Stephen Frank raises a similar critique of peasant participation in the court processes of Imperial Russia.°° Forced to play their part in the legal theater provided for them, such skeptics would argue, peasants and other lowly folk

knew the outcome before the show began. They understood full well that the odds were stacked against them. A mordant Muscovite satire, “The Tale of Shemiaka’s Judgment,” seems to bear out this condemnation of the court system. The story describes an utterly corrupt court in which the little guy can succeed only through trickery, bribery, or threats of violence.*° The evidence of actual cases suggests, however, that these courts offered a real platform for the complaints of people of all ranks. Courts of law did not merely provide window dressing for the thuggery of the strong, Despite inevitable corruption, most judges apparently tried to resolve cases justly according to the law, and courts offered a forum where warring parties could seek reso-

ENGAGING WITH THE LAW SI

lution of local disputes. Cases were frequently initiated by people of lowly status who entertained realistic hopes of achieving satisfaction through the law. This was reinforced by the pattern of outcomes: verdicts generally favored the plaintiff, regardless of his or her social status relative to that of the defendant.°’ Such a pattern, of course, faces the inherent problem that, in case of a countersuit, the roles of plaintiff and defendant reverse, and indeed, in Muscovite cases, the resolutions of countersuits commonly overturned the original decision. Where the facts were murky and the weight of justice unclear, Muscovite law often rewarded persistence rather than rank.°® Some scholars, particularly Soviet ones, have gone farther, arguing that in fact the tsarist courts favored the middling and lowly against the rich and powerful boyars and monasteries. In a study of peasant suits against monastic institutions, A. D. Gorski found that the courts commonly upheld the legitimate claims of peasants against those of powerful churchmen. This vision corresponds neatly with a Marxist phase of state building, in which the monarch allies with the rising bourgeoisie or, in the absence of an identifiable bourgeoisie, with the gentry and lower classes in order to squeeze out the aristocracy.°? This appraisal presents a rather too sunny view of the fairness of Muscovite courts, where rank certainly figured into determining the outcome, but the wealthy and powerful enjoyed less of an edge in court than one might expect. One reason that the rank of the litigant figured so little in determining the outcome of Muscovite cases was that few litigants, other than the most highly placed, represented only themselves and their own interests in court. When peasants sued, they often did so on behalf of their entire village or community, which in turn generally belonged to a landlord of some description—a boyar, provincial gentry servitor, or monastery. Uhe litigants’ lowly status as peasants was offset and complicated by their status as legal spokespeople for collective units and their masters. When their boundaries were violated, so were those of their masters. Similarly, townspeople and state peasants, who had no landlords, sued neighboring settlements as collective units; and since their immediate master was the tsar himself, their economic viability was of direct interest to the state authorities. Cossacks, musketeers, tavern keepers, and postal officers all vied in court as members of collectives and as servitors of the tsar. Rank itself was multilayered, so it would be difficult to sort out a bias of any kind—for or against the powerful elite, for or against the middling and lowly—ain court decisions. If the tsar is considered the residual titleholder of all property, then his interests as well would have to be folded into any assessment of rank and power in real-estate disputes. His interests would presumably lie in reinforcing the claims of those to whom he had granted the land, thereby hardening the rights of ownership of those beneath him. We consider the ramifications of this layering of interests further in later chapters. Evaluated in terms of efficiency and immediate outcome, the Romanov judicial system would have to be called a disaster, a picture of weakness and irresolution. Erratic punishment and changeable verdicts undoubtedly fueled an image of the administrative court system as cruel and arbitrary, further discrediting a judiciary already known as inefficient and corrupt. The tsarist administration stated a commitment to process-

52 CARTOGRAPHIES OF TSARDOM

ing disputes “truthfully,” and “without delays or footdragging.” Legal statutes and chancellery decrees condemned sluggishness or dishonesty in administrative conduct, but these abuses proliferated. Petitioners of all ranks, sharing the state's notion of what constituted proper administration, complained in both collective and private petitions about red-tape, delays, “inadequate zeal” on the part of court officials, and about “losses incurred during litigation.”©° In 1648, a petition submitted in the name of “people of all ranks” voiced “a righteous complaint” against administrative corruption, “red tape,” and high-handed behavior on the part of the tsar’s judiciary apparatus: “these judges and chancellery people and powerful people try with great craftiness and slyness to... ruin us.” Corrupt officials accepted bribes and favored the “strong people.” “You, Sovereign, should... order all dishonest judges to be rooted out, the ignorant to be replaced, and in their stead to be chosen just people, who would be able to answer for their judgments and for their service before God and before your tsarist majesty.’°! The thousands of pages of valuable paper and oceans of ink and the countless hours of administrative and scribal work devoted to inscribing the protracted, inconclusive proceedings and painting the immediately contested maps served on one level to irritate the concerned population. The state apparatus patently failed to maintain the standards of honesty and efficiency that it set for itself. Such ineffectual legalism, it would seem, could not have furthered anyone's immediate goals or interests. Yet, in spite of its complaints about the system, the population kept returning to the tsar's courts, insistently airing its disputes and seeking resolution in the same courts whose efficiency and honesty it so volubly impugned. The tsar's subjects returned to the courts because the system also “worked” at some significant level. The clumsy and ineffective chancellery apparatus, with its inclusive, universal promise of administering justice fairly and mercifully, incorporated the unruly provinces in a single argument, one with no end and no exit. The central authorities, their agents and their record keeping, were participants in that dialogue, not in a one-sided monologue. The maps, as part of Muscovy’s inefficient legal-admunistrative mechanism, drew a far-flung population into a single flimsy web. The very ineffective-

ness of the courts in resolving property disputes inadvertently allowed the state to string along multiple conflicting interest groups without definitively alienating any of them. Judged by the tsarist state's centralizing, standardizing goal of infiltrating the cracks and crannies of life, of making the population dependent on its machinery and participatory in its programs, the maps and their accompanying judicial records depict

a paragon of absolutist success. Courts of law gave people of all ranks a venue in which they could engage with each other and the state, in the person of its local officials, would pay attention. The active legal culture and praxis in no way undermine the assertion that the Muscovite regime was indeed autocratic. The grand prince, and later the tsar, ruled as unchallenged sovereign of the realm. His authority was widely understood to be ordained and sanctioned by God, and his solemn obligation was to rule as God's vicar on earth. Far from freeing the tsar from any restrictions or limitations, this divine appointment

ENGAGING WITH THE LAW 53

burdened him with a weighty obligation to perform his job properly, with appropriate degrees of mercy, Justice, and piety. If not, he would disappoint not only his subjects, who understood the terms of the bargain, but also his heavenly employer, whose wrath would be terrible to endure.® In enacting the terms of this engagement, the tsar had to make an effort to open his courts to all and to cast them as sites of justice and mercy. As Nancy Shields Kollmann points out, the regime relied heavily on “strategies of integration’ to build legitimacy and encourage compliance. In her study of honor and dishonor in Muscovy, Kollmann demonstrates that litigation over slurs and slights to status allowed every subject a modicum of honor appropriate to his or her standing. While committed to upholding the distinctions and differential privileges inherent in a sharply stratified, hierarchical society, the law promised to protect the appropriately scaled degree of honor of each individual and group through due process and fair trial. In protecting that precious bit of honor, Muscovites were able to “pursue their selfinterest within the framework of state-affirming institutions.” “| L |itigations on honor gave society an arena in which people and government both benefited.”°? Real-estate litigation functioned in the same way. By acknowledging the seriousness of every petty local property dispute, offering due consideration and reconsideration of the location of every contested raspberry bush, the state effectively confirmed the worthiness of each litigant and each witness. Guaranteeing the right to due process in law, the regime drew its diverse population together as active members of an extensive polity, unified under a framework of law and justice. Even when the law worked ponderously, imperfectly, and erratically, its slow and creaking wheels moved the involved parties in a single direction, toward a sense of belonging and participating in a functioning state-community. Lawsuits, even endless and indecisive ones, provided, in Kollmanns words, “a source of stability for Muscovy’s far-flung, multinational empire. They are emblematic of the flexibility that made autocracy viable in Muscovy: Autocracy worked not by isolating the ruler and his men in their power, but by involving society in the exercise of that power. 4 The inseparable presence of particularist individual or local interests and state administrative agendas marks the litigation maps as products of that peculiarly early modern phenomenon, the autocratic state, which found one of its highest expressions in the Romanoy absolutism in the seventeenth century. Although unabashedly local in focus and devoid of any referents to the outside world or orientation relative to the grander scale of things, these maps represent the authority of the central state in the provinces. They exhibit the skill of the central state apparatus at extending its influence and bringing its routinized practice and language to the local arena. The interests of center and periphery intersect in the use of the maps. These two aspects, successful state penetration of provincial life and enthusiastic usage of state procedures by local actors, appear side by side in the maps as they did in the creation of the early modern monarchies. As an up-to-date, aspiring absolutist monarchy, the tsarist regime strove to intrude its tentacles into the farthest reaches of society, to spread its controlling net-

54 CARTOGRAPHIES OF TSARDOM

work so as to incorporate every member of society under its aegis. The alacrity with which feuding landlords—whether gentry servicemen, monastic or boyar magnates, town communes, or even enserfed peasants—turned to the tsarist courts with their petty disputes indicates how effective the Romanovs were 1n this endeavor. This, if anything, 1s a successful early modern state. The entire Muscovite state-centralizing process rested on local input, support, and encouragement, as did those of the contemporary European monarchies to its west. At the same time, the categories of state and society, central and local, blurred in the persons of local agents of central authority.°° The highly localized maps produced in local land disputes prove to be a medley of local and regional interests, themes, and practices. Members of local communities initiated the process of mapping because of their own particular interests: maintaining their property against neighbors’ depredations or, alternatively, legitimizing their own depredations by winning or deceiving the law to their side. In pursuit of these particular interests, they turned to the agencies and agents of the central state machine, which in turn sent out officials trained in the standardized administrative practices and terminology of the center or, more commonly, commandeered the first literate man it could find in the countryside and ordered him to sketch a map to the best of his ability. Bringing this set of practices and symbolic representations to the countryside, the surveyors and draftsmen, whether from the central chancelleries or the town square, had to gather local informants, collect local information, and record landmarks that held significance only on a purely local level. A forked pine and a decapitated aspen, a spot that had once held a church but no longer did, a thicket of raspberries and thistles had little or no meaning 1n the broader scheme of national affairs and should, by the broader logic of state building, have had no place on a map drawn up by officials of the central state. Yet there they stand, on maps drawn on an obviously local scale, documenting issues of strictly local importance, but subsumed into the broader state vocabulary, symbolic abstraction, and administrative mechanisms.

Mapmakers offered local communities a new way to document their local concerns, their personal rivalries, their pride of ownership. In taking advantage of the available cartographic services offered by or through the central chancelleries, Muscovite landholders, holding their properties by conditional grants from the state, solidified their claims to ownership of private, bounded properties, now duly charted on official sketch-maps. Using the same maps, town collectives fought against the land grabs of their more powerful neighbors, monasteries and secular magnates, and serfs protected their fields and forests from the depredations of outsiders. In calling in state agents or their local deputies to sketch their lands, members of local communities deepened their bonds with the tsarist regime in the provinces, insisting on their entitlement as participatory, protected members of the realm and thereby enhancing the tsar's legitimacy. The mixed languages of the maps capture the interdependence

ENGAGING WITH THE LAW 55

and interlacing of the local and particular with the central and general. The mapping process and the entire labyrinth of litigation that evoked it served state interests well in engaging the population in its web and integrating the population under a single administrative system and into a unified, though stratified, conception of justice, inclusion, and legitimacy, with the state at the top and center.

56 CARTOGRAPHIES OF TSARDOM

= SSS Signs in Space 34 Peasants and Property in a Serf-Owning Society

“Our land is wide and rich, but there is no order in it.” So says the famous entry for the year 862 in the Russian Primary Chronicle. Although written in an altogether different

context, the passage could serve as a summary statement for the problem faced by property holders in Muscovy eight hundred years later. The land, even in the populated center, was vast; and title to it was unclear. Conflicting official decrees, jumbled record keeping, and irreconcilable claims left the land itself with “no order in it.” Estates passed from owner to owner with great rapidity in seventeenth-century Muscovy, as owners sold, mortgaged, defaulted, foreclosed, abandoned, leased, willed, and donated them. This rapid turnover of land was accompanied by an enormous amount of contestation, uncertainty, and even violence. When the law intervened, as we have seen, cases dragged on for years in cycles of escalating charges and countercharges, claims and counterclaims, which state officials were unable to disentangle.

Disorder and uncertainty characterized not only claims of ownership but also essential issues about the land itself. Definitions of property, locations of holdings, and boundaries between property and wilderness were all unclear and unresolved. Naming and bounding particular bits of land were tremendously important and dauntingly difficult in the chaotic conditions of the Russian landscape, where human disorder and natural boundlessness combined to defy efforts at organization or precision. Some maps from regions along the southeast frontier of the Muscovite empire illustrate this disorder particularly vividly. The tiny settlements are scarcely detectable amid the wildly exuberant surrounding forest in a fantastical 1671 map from Malouaroslavkii Province (Plate 3).! Nature constantly encroached on human boundaries; and boundaries shifted. Marking them in the ever-changing, ever-shifting natural landscape required enormous energy. Active policing and monitoring were needed to guarantee the perpetuation of frail human markers amid the vastness of nature. In the seventeenth century, indefiniteness of proprietary and natural boundaries was

a constant irritant to Muscovites of all social stations, from landed magnate to petty landholder, from state administrator to enserfed peasant. Muscovites sought out available plots of land, litigated for ownership, regulated ownership and proprietary rights. They seized one another's fields and erected, removed, and replaced boundary markers. To consecrate their boundaries they invoked the powers of sacred images, and to preserve their fields and pastures they fought back the creeping onslaught of forests and swamps. [rial transcripts and judgment charters, which survive in the many thousands, vividly illustrate the intensity of on-the-ground practices of claiming, contesting, legitimizing, delineating, and enforcing use and ownership of tmmovable property. The hundreds of painted maps from real-estate trials complement the written records and graphically depict contemporary notions of human geography. The maps imposed boundaries on properties sharply and unproblematically. Disorder gave way to neatly ordered clarity. Maps show properties as bounded entities, with no blurring or melding, no overlap, no open-ended vagueness or question marks, From the muddle of conflicting claims, mapmakers drew an orderly vision of distinctly bounded properties. At the same time, and as part of the same process, with their sharp ink outlines they set off property, that is, real estate that was owned and worked, from the vast contiguous woods and steppes that made up the Russian land. The striking contrast between the tidily ordered, clearly marked and differentiated world of the maps and the patent disorder that reigned in Muscovite landholding practices provides the starting point for this chapter.

SHIFTING BOUNDARIES Some fruitful suggestions of ways to approach Muscovite notions of space emerge from postmodern theoretical literature on human geography and spatiality. Recent spatial theory yields two concepts that prove helpful in interpreting the evidence of Muscovite attitudes towards their lived environment. The first is the contrasting duality of “space” and “place,” that is, the distinction between abstract, undifferentiated area and defined, finite location. The second, which builds on the first, is the postmodern geographers’ emphasis on the “social construction of affective

geographies, the concretizing of social relations embedded in spatiality.’* Geographic space, they argue, is neither neutral nor given. They study the production of space by human societies, the “power-filled and problematic making of geographies, the enveloping and instrumental spatialization of society.’ Muscovite maps’ unambiguous reductions of complex spatial relations clearly illustrate the pertinence of the first of these concepts. The second operates on a more submerged level, and we will turn to it a bit later. According to Yi-Fu Tuan, one of the early theorists in this area, space Is the more abstract concept, while place is more familiar. “Open space has no trodden paths and signposts. It has no fixed pattern of human meaning; it is like a blank sheet on which meanings may be imposed. Enclosed and humanized space 1s place.”+ On one level, this distinction may seem rather banal; however, when applied to a particular historical sit-

58 CARTOGRAPHIES OF TSARDOM

uation, notions of space and place turn out to be helpful in sorting out that society's peculiar uses of and approaches toward its environment. Faced with the problem of creating order out of the flat, dry expanse of the Mojave Desert, Californian realestate developers slapped a relentlessly regular grid of roads onto it. Standing at the in-

tersection of 12th Street and Avenue E as the dry desert wind whips through the empty, still undeveloped wasteland, one experiences a forlorn sense of the futility of twentieth-century efforts to constrain infinity. Muscovites took a different approach to the problem of confining the landscape and carving it up into manageable slices. The vivid visual representations on the sketch maps convey a great deal about the particularities of Muscovite attempts to humanize space within natural expansiveness. The maps and the agitated legal and illegal activity that accompanied them not only served immediately instrumental purposes but also helped Muscovites to create a sense of bounded “place” out of nebulous “space.” The problem of carving out definable blocs of territory in the huge, undifferentiated landscape of central Muscovy proved intractable. When the central chancelleries ordered investigations, they told their emissaries to check through all the old books and deeds and to “conduct an investigation, interrogating many people. And they were ordered to describe the land precisely, by name, according to prominent landmarks | po urochishcham| and to make a sketch map of those properties, and to send it, signed, to | Moscow]. This was not an easy task. How did one establish precise boundaries in the days before the introduction of Global Positioning Systems, longitude and latitude, or even much use of the cardinal directions? The process was complicated, and very fallible. Acknowledging the difficulties involved in identifying accurate boundaries, instructions for establishing property lines went into painstaking detail. When Nikifor Griboedov and the Snovitskit Monastery battled over possession of some hay fields in 1677, orders arrived from Moscow requiring the local governor to send out a retired serviceman or clerk from the local town hall, a good man who should question local people to find out: whether in the hamlet Teplaia there is arable field land and whether there are borders and boundary markers with other estates or whether those uninhabited fields are separate from other properties. And they should say whose land lies past their boundaries and boundary markers, and whose land lies between them. And if those uninhabited fields are separate from other properties and were granted as pomest'e to Nikifor Griboedoy, within what landmarks they lie, and along what rivers or brooks or ravines, or dry valleys, and whose land they border.®

Similarly, in an extremely complicated suit in Kursk Province in 1687, the local clerk received instructions to find out by what official decree Vasilei Grinev held his fields and pastures. He was told to discover what additional revenue sources Grinev owned,

which landmarks bounded his estate, and how much land pertained to each kind of property. The clerk was ordered to check his findings against the land registry books in

Kursk and to copy out the entries about those properties from the official boundary

SIGNS IN SPACE 59

books. “And in consultation with local people he should ascertain specifically what landmarks define the borders of the property, and on which rivers or wells or dry valleys the land is located and whose property it borders. And having described it, he should measure it out in desiatiny and record it truthfully in the official books, with details about boundaries and boundary markers and landmarks. And in accordance with those books he should sketch a map with measurements to all the best of his knowledge.’/ To establish boundaries, officials would collect a huge crowd of people, often numbering in the three and four hundreds, and question them in groups, by village. Then the entire throng, led by the “starozhil'tsy,” longtime residents, would walk around the boundaries of the estate, as they knew it, indicating pertinent landmarks and signs or indicators (urochishcha i vsiakie priznaki) as they passed.® In earlier centuries, the walk

around the boundaries had been conducted with great ceremony, with an icon to sacralize the event and a piece of earth held aloft or balanced on the head of a witness.” By the seventeenth century, more secular, bureaucratic procedures accompanied the boundary-marking procession, although the inevitable oath by the “most holy and irreproachable gospel of the Lord” signaled the continuation of an element of Christian sanctification in the search for truthful testimony. What kinds of significant landmarks or signs and indicators were considered rele-

vant and reliable in differentiating one bit of land from another? Most obviously, rivers, brooks, valleys, and ravines were listed as reference points. Rivers, however, had an unsettling tendency to shift their courses, as is evident in a map from Suzdal, which

depicts the New River Tumka and notes its difference from the Old River Tumka. Testimony from peasants of the surrounding countryside reveals the confusion that such shifting landmarks could cause (Figure 3.1): In the investigation one peasant elder, one peasant trustee, and twenty [ordinary | peasants said that they have heard it said that the peasants of the village Gavrilovskoe have held (vladeiut) the land along the Old River Tumka from olden times. But where the River Tumka flowed to, that they dont know. They haven't heard of any arguments over those lands. They heard that in the past the New River Tumka cut through the Old River Tumka and fell into the Urshma River, but they don't know whose hay fields lie between the little rivers.1°

Not only the course of rivers but even the paths of roads could be subject to dispute. In a previously discussed case from Odoev (Zhdanov v. the Anastasov Monastery), the rival parties maintained radically differing ideas about how the Novosilskaia Bolshaia Road wended its way from the River Kholokholnia to the hamlet of Filatovskaia. At stake was some land along the Kholokholnia, including what must have been a profitable mill (surely the real object of desire). The representative of the Anastasov Monastery argued that the road ran in a straight line, dividing monastic property from the pomest'e of Stepan Zhdanoy, and placing the hamlet and mill squarely inside the monastery’s property line. On the other side of the case, the pomeshchik dandholder)

60 CARTOGRAPHIES OF TSARDOM

Ve a a

: BfBy on NORE yer MISTS Ll ee OSS : , BOP ee | wan a ’ a co , Figure 3.1. RGADA, f. 1209, Suzdal, stlb. 27955, ch. 2, 1. 184a (painted). This map from 1688 or 1689 doc-

uments a dispute between the archbishop of Suzdal and the Suzdal Pokrovskit Convent about the divi-

sion of meadowland located inside the three branching rivers, the Old and New Tumka and the Urshma. One of the disputed hay fields occupies the center of the map. On the other side of the middle tine of the river, the dark letters locate the “disputed hay fields by the swamp.’ Local alternatives to official names and peasant testimony appear along all the boundaries and landmarks.

Zhdanov envisioned a wavier route for the river, endowing it with a lazy bend just around the village Gostyzh, leaving the mill and riverside land to him (see Figures 2.2—2.5).11

Even if rivers and streams had the good grace to stay put, and the human participants refrained from willfully misrepresenting their courses, rivers did not suffice to define most properties, which were contiguous to and undifferentiated from neighboring acreage and unclaimed land. As Italo Calvino’s primordial narrator describes the challenge of distinguishing anything from anything else in an undifferentiated cosmos, so it was in the unbroken, wooded expanse of the Russian plain: “It’s hard to explain because if I say sign to you, you immediately think of a something that can be distinguished from a something else, but nothing could be distinguished from anything there.” In the flat, wooded expanse of Russia, unique landmarks had to be identified or created. Trees were readily on hand, but the question was how to distinguish one tree from another. In 1699 Artemu of the Iverskoi Monastery sketched his highly partisan (and immediately contested) picture of some property claimed by three competing monasteries in Starorusskii Province. In his sketch, Artemii magnified the significance of a double oak tree when he added to the natural landmark a note to the effect that the land to that spot had been “granted to the Iversko1 Monastery by order of the

SIGNS IN SPACE 61

3>go 7 , : zp I : a ~| ce , | ,|NS, | zt . a en 7 Ae on

! . i “r ‘S * 142 Fa . c jie : vo fat

ad re tesnantatiih tine = i “oa _ *

| S|~Oa ee, Leite, Me . Ne we Of z wig oe Ae Ee aes

zg 2:(ieee \F 4 writS« | 3a= che baal : Sy. : gains, Blea ae Rte |] | q os v a & _ Been Hythe yo ye

SS wie ne, Se MIME Bcc t='.-AE = ee I ", Orn wo (Ey ‘a mee ty eer a oo" = | t TTR aera igen - “ay vee ae ae Ba | | | .

an ¢ . ¥ ‘i “s

ae ee ey = Le he: Petatee, | oo ut secs dai: ie oa. Ye Wo . is |is,nog s(oase . . . eWN wnt r gg f * .a fav Vera iain" afi ef as. fi lOe . aeSigh bated

: : a; .ERA el3 |—Aas Es he ibe Ling ar

| Ryle woe ! “os Iae Fades -

Figure 3.2. RGADA f. 1209, Novgorod, stlb. 23677, I. 303, pt. 1 (4699). The great bulge in the middle of

this piece of a large, two-part map is Lake Osminskoe. Most of the land along the riverbank ts labeled “swampy field,” and the large area marked with grassy plants is swampland. Nonetheless, this boggy area was worthy of fierce competition among the local monasteries, and the mapmaker crowned his composition with a radiant sun. The double trunked tree (bottom left) serves as an official boundary marker.

Great Sovereign” (Figure 3.2).!* Similarly, in a map of Ivan Bludov’s 1677 lawsuit against Andrei Korsakov, the mapmaker carefully drew and labeled a hewn aspen with new shoots sprouting from its stump, and a pine tree along the short, black diagonal road (Figure 3.3). As the detailed view of the same map (Figure 3.4.) shows, an unmistakable forked pine tree at the bend in the main road depicted in the same map serves as an important local landmark. Stull, one tree could be confused with another, so to compensate for nature's deficiencies in marking out human boundaries, special boundary officials walked the borders of estates to dig pits, set posts, and burn identifying brands into trees. The two small X's on either side of the double-headed pine represent marks that were branded into the tree itself, labeling it as an official boundary marker, just as the posts (the thin, black rectangles pointing out from the roads) are also indicated by X's. Using marked trees as official reference points, the text along one road reads: “From the [cadastral]

62 CARTOGRAPHIES OF TSARDOM

° a ac a le Po DP WP hE Ea . i

ia Se Say, ~ — ae Pa ' et fa

, J.'wa #AAGO , oi ape a i af a ; a ate : : #. “F&O, By v4 ep - Ly oe ae mT ’

Dawa VE ee O on eS Flt a =Yn , aeaise ; we=e at aap dee NT ; . 7 Rifts ek: Gait a as _—F C2 7 leas - diaf:Ay

as radiigue \ 1 a ———— ~ i "te Ose ae tl ne

X . gs , ~ ie ae -

: ‘tien: al - yt a = Fa és ' m abs ‘* ea ’ ; , Se wy ret7 ea : “nN) PYop wae eae, | sot 7tere Xe Srey i,Mise, tee ‘a . . aa" A ,al: :ey “eeee “ 7:+,

WA ,, ~

or, i *7 re 3. “Fry, ian .eit ee in¥yf. . -7 gt . Ta “Hau, t oe ae en .. * 1 @ 4 ir al rai acd a my ‘ , ht

; ae ie Pe ; as ; : , + he : Stic 1 ~! a oh

| Me iya —: EE OG — Me al a.+_-a.

Figure 3.3. RGADA, f. 1209, Suzdal, stlb. 28043, ch. 1, 1. 142. In this map from Ivan Bludov’s 1677 suit against Andrei Korsakov, Bludov’s house and compound are shown one circle. The other circle shows “the stol'nik Andret Korsakov's pustosh’ Dudikhino, which formerly belonged to Fedor and Ivan Malygin.” Along all the roads textual annotations refer to official cadastral registries and visual indicators show the pits (circles) and posts (short black lines) erected by the boundary officials.

pine tree to the pine on the left [is] Ivan Malygin's road,’’!3 On other maps the syncopated pattern of specially dug and maintained cadastral pits, trees, and posts are expressly drawn and labeled (Figure 3.5). The clerk in charge of setting the boundaries in a case in Iurev Polskoi in 1674 relied on the testimony of an elder from the monastery to establish the landmarks. The elder asserted: the boundaries of the Trinity-St. Sergius Monastery go from the meadow of Leontei Trifonov and his peasants, from the River Liuban' and upward | upstream] to the road. Beyond the road is a pit, and in the pit is a birch tree. And the boundary runs from the pit to the pine branded with an X [gran’| and from the pine along the old boundary to the Ermak Ravine. On the bank of the ravine there is a pit in the corner. And the pit marks the boundary on Danilo's side, and | then the boundary runs] from the pit to the right and upward along the Ermak Ravine to the top of Ermak Ravine and at the top are four oaks. On one oak 1s an X, and next to the oaks 1s a pit, and in it is a birch tree,|4

SIGNS IN SPACE 63

Cd ' ae

iy 4 7 a . Co aia onl ae

“Ap di _ JN i Si. . al Ry }s " > “1 -- . eo os 1 Pm a Lm

i, a “a: wei ws =, a : 05 bis ’ a “y aww , : ° a a

. oe i see aay mc “ae ok . :FP$

ie: . ee
a ' _—_ ij p ba” n ; # é fa if-

- in: 173 i ,

-.a; [ianCt 1 . ip a . _ rif rn ap ! !p.: 5. a fa ie ott N : ate — ty San, . Bat | iS > ar 39 7: pS ' Figure 3.4. Ibid., detail, double-headed

ee hee a, - tree and chopped aspen with X’s,

a'|

—_—— —- nn oo tom — ——ae i init ne ae leemcaw,,

tt a

oon Be BT tee ! Ne es ;; bihig ae =|aiPaes ; _a_ kal_— en, . , a =a ice ; oe ; . . a ; wage itn . - ! ; : aan, ve ACTA af ot

::|Ne ! it ae ns] | TE LF Ee ! : at *¢ Jan me: _ |4 Zal(oo 5 ag ee es o. 2 ot | ait; — nage Tr sae(ee ale ih:as47S

, ite ! i * . mee oP ago # a zor = 1 :* 1 |ea. ... ’Axa 3 | wlll {s a “2 : ¥ : irs a? 3 irq TY -gente | / SP BB . ner: «=;ae BeRa. Ff.$.: one .. #* .*| eye Fen =od ™ “oifa] as?x r -_ a8i e. "4 3md ES ? In addition to references to official documentary records, peas-

ant testimony appears prominently on maps in the form of textual annotation along rivers and boundaries, explaining the differences between local names for rivers and streams and the official names, recorded in the cadastral books.°* Another Suzdal map attributes all its information to the testimony of local peasants who had been obliged to testify.>4 A map from Mozhaisk not only lists the names of the peasant witnesses at the

yPPP

bottom but notes their input for each entry. The history of one plot of land was described by all the people questioned in the investigation; another plot was indicated by “the boyar's people,’ meaning the peasants of the boyar Prince Andrei Prozorovsku. In et another spot the map labels “the land and woods of the peasants of the Kolotskoi Monastery, but what the pustoshi are called, the people did not say (Figure 3.15).’°°

Locally, peasants could make the crucial difference in the fate of a piece of property, at least temporarily. A dispute in Dmitrov Province between the Great Dormition Cathedral and the Trinity Monastery hinged on the attribution of particular plots of land to one or another district within the province. A colorful map, highlighted in a garish lemon yellow, was drawn up, conveying a strong bias in favor of the ‘Trinity

: "SO ta es er Sis |

aTwwy it...4 Mea a Pry i oeren Tae ae . See: ' a ine i”i Van " oT “yy,-ee WN rs lk ae io‘io ay i . a Laas Oe YY aan Ty v nok . i 3 *“% f pee _ a - : % ; # F: - nm + ar a a ie rt, i ,‘ oa d ,‘ Mf P eh ee_a.mF is,d:slag _, ae 7 _a, _" : aN o I. -7 .oie ee _a, ™,“=a “ee “i an *a es : rae

AMT a8 I | ees TT es 5 an ae.

. waiale ) a 4 co “ 7.- to Pinte. “an age i . = seat ° a. te ° Ly—_ . = _ |.7es + pan eee2" A

a et ie 7 an a ~ Ke . + . Pe Le mama OO ‘ - J. ee ee To » oe

FP mene x... a. a Ae, Te — Ares » Z "a" Be aoe a ty” a ae soe _ , . if * Ll b ieee te ed —_ ie a ‘5

- 7 oo | Le ate, re, we cara A binge, Si : Sec ‘

rn, ne A a

; . ' ‘™ oz .: “oo 1) .r. I.. ; qh ky ~~ * 7| = : nd — i 7 i. e 1 __ : 4 t _ . s : Ss. lig q i 1S .. . 4 yo . a“ . wom , é “ih SG | J. Wa ‘ be “ 4 rai ° I a 4 es Tal . -2 TG ) 7 a A q | BE. “j F| of. a11;.| ai4 'cel itat.|°ieel 3 ' oan " a a. ‘ ‘ n= ] tao :

es he a a

ge, beep Baan Pant as. - : eh? 7 nase eal Paha : at +. ots ey SE: oe in epee pecttaak Se cher e Rier g as..t08 4 tek pk > ig

rs veer’ oer Me fo 2g eeeg a is Pen Ty Dace Deel eg ae eS gd Tei wg ep ee Yo , Fe yi fs ks _ trerRaat ae ee Dee aes=: ae et ed ee featoly ot Ja) So ily a oso r iy ipa,nn“anaearaiet ree Pa | Dee. mle a tsi = preh doi agg E ee | fies wee af le rnih. re eas peneaBe fe isake % . Beau fm 5 aheer < geile TatTp ey te “FeRae Pe meee dl Lae 1 feDe ral ms by Yeeat vel AE 2 Pa ae ah ae he teers,‘¢» & B fig: SORE ee Reet . ang ek eal Meee Eat das gt et, _ ee meh Emi meee oF at ee Boras ete ear Sp assSEES teasafegp : cent Seh ee LM Phi daarpebeege ib “tiTear er, fi ev “hope a 7Rech a eats aiyeanoe Pt “ 1 repterhiae i fs-| Figure 3.12. RGADA, f. 1209, Suzdal, stlb. 27955, ch. 1, 1. 73b. (colored). Signatures of peasant witnesses and their literate proxies fill the bottom of this map of a dispute over hayfields between the Archbishop of Suzdal and the Pokrovskit Convent.

SIGNS IN SPACE 79

. Ber: ~*~ f a Pai a3 aa ‘ “s 5 a ¥ kL. Pets r rete . ™ , = iEy co ff ff Rete gy. “ ae if Wag etre . : ; Fr a ” a ' ; o_o 4, : +? | — . ‘ae -f_S. ri pS. i. = 4 | of : ae aa 8 En | , J ' -.- || 1 wa i 4 po . + . 2" a ee *rr- owe

oe 7 “ane” : - ae 7 . 7 ee c By aww . y A as con \ . oa. ~— . . ;

Po a; oy rie ? .

iene a ene a -lta = ' . = a.-seSaf wet }... tac ) z. ) —.ion ere PE > ores - ae - et or i 7 . co a : i ee EE mm o ™ ~ . . = = - . ' am ‘ . thew en. "

ST“ee oe mo te :*-inYY ET Bye é g* ae |pees : jee Ree ge eexOe

ar : HE Pos of Ee. eee a

nS be rn aeney | cE ie peer eg, Cy FF | oy ; , ~ oy

fne ad Teg 4eIOF ees ¥ a Oe ce ee =ieaeee 4°(i«:—— andy eae,SO ri. .:zh Aer _ *ie, - us mfkage me th2he, m1 aw sr ay tay fF.+fee Tse

a,a.mg, 3* &Ferg iteang " as cn _p rae ; sf age Fe, s oe al -sarid ARe DS ; Po SAT ORT Mee tga” wf a rr : ' "a" poi iF, ne ae

:| -+37 ,s7d -

bait, Ge. teeqe eae wee LO, a . ORT E® : a a

eae Fee me — Sf, 13% .

om .th mi .; -7| 4font i 7Eeoe fe.; ,.. :|a:oy 2-zal Ks . 7“ar . fg Figure 3.13. RGADA, f. 1209, Kashira, stlb. 25720, ch. 2, Il, 245-46 ob. Horizontal view of the obverse of Figure 3.10, this page full of signatures typifies many of the original maps.

Monastery claim (as seen in Plate 8). The map reported that the land in question “was never registered to the cathedral peasants in the old cadastral books and the cathedral never held any deeds to the land, and the pustosh’ was recorded to them falsely.” The text on the map notes that the hamlet of Andretanovo had been attached to Inobozhskii District by the old cadastral books, “but now because of raids and pilfering carried out by longtime residents, it was transferred to Povelskoi District. Furthermore, according to the old cadastral books it was registered with twenty-two desiatiny in field and pasture and woods. But now it is assessed to have fifty-two, adding an additional thirty desiatiny.’°° Longtime residents, local peasants, had thus effected both an increase in their acreage and a transfer of property from one ecclesiastical power to the other without official sanction.

On the backs of the maps, local priests signed in place of their parishioners, their “spiritual children,” or scribes and local officials in place of illiterate peasants.>’ Even when their names and opinions do not feature explicitly in the maps themselves, peasants can be detected actively shaping the official version of the lay of the land in the many pages of legal testimony that accompany the maps. For instance, when a clerk

80 CARTOGRAPHIES OF TSARDOM

eo __ SE Bt ET er Ee a

= . Z os . ]

, 74 1* ,: Lota br sam oe .9erai+rs] om gc -. -i:eewet = awl . Pe. ef : ‘..

- ” oe. fr Er an Uh . af. : a L. . _ _

cure sae i orTs ee te aae ra “ya “ ~ay ‘rind A om 2 oot ”a oe ee aaa _ ude Leal Teg one Aen) jemices’ | - at a . 4 1

ewer ; roe eet dia " “ specs cer ; 7 wef Sores Ie hab stay tee rh", - - tye hehe Taner “]t Ue Feazant ied. are

ee oe ae we Me Z cael [an pelea oitte elif meting § $etn *. b qed . ike pecan. oe phe perenne Cee” a's “Qurdeen Be bef [3h deh:

tt. ;inert “ . aan woe Ses—_ “y ee . , Sya ome aaineKE ne be: lee eo mot.

|“ach Sasiremag 4 ain AOS meena aEela Pane fe sgn DEIfen Ey tts «eTGRE m eae: ig GAN aL gin SF ort chehe

8 ledireos 1G aie mT asencanatona ontnerentesy AP wan oT seenoens PrI~ pola

° an i. wa oe y -

. F . i wae at itt “ jar SOP Eee Ay a U: ey soca See i rr

: OLR ete ye ed ean eine edhe ds oe aad IE gy

i ' ~ | Le \: . nak. - rat A Nap) e08 [onde Bel. {irstes fe ay oda: | J .

4 we * cou hE ae te LE ches ee he ed Re awh Drags cree |

~ ' iyo oe 4 i oe ria mH, : ee eee ES nn; Ce 6 a

Te Mate cert aeen tS inetbaetebe ec pliarhs ite GR aR Je ann Ae tan A Bowe be as :

re a AS feds ine “in 3 Gente iil hee cite got . ae aE 24a lS™%4 [oe Teenie pon nts wow frig TLE ‘| ain ="s :

; m ms Too ae rt tt _f

a Pn v “at ™ aa, tee A Sone ae -¥ +p " eee seta . Mee fees. oped. rt ae ae i ; .

eekeae “aeBigrade Dacreep uh rerPsat + intCA ra fire imo aun 9 ofendpartet . ae he. . . * ta : Le epee Pecha Ta dipenenn

pe iE meet 2 Toby A i ts ‘| Fs. . . . Sala . i 1" 2 . . If 7; . :eae” a aeeae ; ae| aa ” a . , A. . * . aa ee a x _. _ Figure 3.14. RGADA, f. 1209, Suzdal, stlb. 27955, ch. 2, 1. 73b. The obverse of Figure 3.12, filled with signatures.

named Afanasei Vedernitsyn from the Pereslavl-Zalessku city hall, was ordered to inves-

tigate a real-estate dispute, he walked the boundaries of the disputed properties with “local people, peasant elders and trustees and peasants from that district and nearby districts, and I investigated thoroughly and questioned the peasant elders and trustees and peasants in God's truth and by Christ's holy and irreproachable evangelical gospel.” The transcript of the case records word for word the testimony of hundreds of peasants.°® In a case in Novgorod in 1695, Afanasei Malgin and Pronka Oksianoy, secular servitors of the Sofia Cathedral in Novgorod, included with their maps a small booklet devoted entirely to peasant testimony. The booklet fills twenty manuscript pages.*? Mapmakers were obligated to keep close track of the testimony provided by their local witnesses. They noted any discrepancies in witnesses’ testimony as well: Of all the people questioned in the investigation, 1 peasant elder, 1 hundredman, and 50 peasants spoke knowledgeably.

SIGNS IN SPACE SI

a ee

rs Pera ya ' Pee

1 ' }, *I}j . my pot 7ae) rf tas : tn + ‘a . fie - : . ae eas

. . SIRofgC hig ate gf4 Oa tal en eS a “haga ite in we iF TET oe OF? FT . is tyes tLe youg a F vn Loe Poe Tat te Toy ae "yoy , oe “thc tea TE Feaeees

St

?PoP 4 pti f Natt ?PE| epee . TT nnale WP tb ee eePP Nae F]

f~

Ree eee ee eet 1 ay . Sty atest lea cater 2 ary adage el Wahineer tea . 7A moe TS f sf ae ee Se at - . Ut get dhe a ri coo (6 sat tl j Ad, Lear Mey Shae eect a 4 bee ag - is fe ah? Os Toe én “ a SF ——— a

“ An, ae 1 etSion Rear Pie, | Fe es pegcn toa Aes aE 7 Tahagggas? as oy MES 2| oe : ¢ we ee TELE ORE Peers i it 4 + en e- bd @ kee sy PEE

"a if “| | t i | | ? . . on ware oo a {2a FalSeitenaties amen 2 iver ; ee a

ae ff Tee | Per ¢ ro tes Sy i 9q

. t SE artim pie Plan & T! he condo tease Ty ied h, bp S Lesaeetme tae tea apr halen peli cetyake Lite

t wheeChae bakpouud tr geeducewd. PT. a. BEL . woCAA peepe nm bs “J t, ‘ : Gwe [Sevens _ ha aeelfAlias ak yefh. WvePoa (Satneeee’ Witemiase Kkjreeeee qertnd a qhinynuele’ hp tideBaws fe garedy onymh, i a siphine

he Ade terns hat Suey tes - | = vt {8 ifare f - “a

tor. ‘ . a Ane i i vo s [ Figure 3.15. RGADA, f. 1209, Viazma i Mozhaisk, stlb. 29680, I. 180. Dating from 1703, this map was

made by a clerk of the Chancellery of Service Lands, Leontei Antipin, and a retired gentryman of Mozhaisk Province. It is done in ink with some color added. The architectural ensemble of the Kolotskot Monastery ts depicted in the rectangle to the left. The photograph shows how these maps were attached to form long strips made by gluing pieces of paper together, with official signatures on the back to authenticate each suture. Oversized maps were folded in to fit the dimensions of the scroll or accordion folded stack of pages.

And of the people questioned, 1 peasant elder, 1 fiftyman, and 36 peasants spoke on the basis of rumor.

Of the people questioned 1 peasant elder, 1 fiftyman and 50 peasants from ignorance (lukbie rechi).

And in all, 90 people spoke knowledgeably and from rumors. And 52 people spoke in ignorance. In all, people questioned: 142 people.

Honest and accurate or not, the input of a wide spectrum of local people was indispensable in compiling the maps, and local people clamored for the creation of these maps. Local landlords and peasants alike, for their own reasons, were anxious to record

82 CARTOGRAPHIES OF TSARDOM

their precious raspberry bushes and double-headed oak trees and to make them visible to the distant authorities 1n Moscow.

PEASANTS AND THE LAND Peasants had a vital stake in the resolution of their landlords’ property disputes. As agriculturists, they had a direct interest in holding onto and protecting the land from which they drew sustenance. They were as involved as their masters, or more so, when neighboring peasants seized their fields, crushed their growing grain and hay fields, or stole their harvested grain and hay. In general peasant witnesses, the “local and neighboring people, elders, trustees, bailiffs, and peasants,’ demonstrated a keen awareness of the property rights of those who worked the land. Although peasant voices are heard in real-estate cases only in support of one or another landholder's claim, the peasants were deeply invested in the outcomes. For instance, the landlord Lukian Novokshchenov's bid for a particular plot of land in Iurev Polskoi Province was undermined when a large number of peasants testified against him. Novokshchenov complained that they had testified falsely, “through neighborly enmity,” one of the great concepts of Muscovite legal vocabulary. He claimed that they had dishonestly reported that the field in question was located in a district altogether different from the district where he attested it was.°! In this way the peasants could, or were thought to, shape their testimony to suit their own interests, While they might resent their landlord's impositions, they nonetheless had a clear stake in preserving or even extending his borders. The more land he controlled, the more land they had to farm. Their rights in property and his were simultaneous and mutually reinforcing. Hence the peasants dwelling on a particular plot of land and their neighbors had strong reasons to structure their testimony one way or another. Peasants hewed fast to the party line of their bosses, and presumably not just because they feared retribution if they undermined their masters’ stories. They shared a common interest in holding onto and protecting the land into which they poured their

labor. Their labor lay at the heart of rightful and unlawful ownership. When other people, outsiders, forcibly grabbed their land and illicitly worked it, peasants protested.

In 1681, for instance, the peasants of one landlord took the initiative and petitioned against the peasant elder and all the peasants of a neighboring estate, complaining that they “took | zavladeli| from us, from our lord's orphans, the uninhabited plot Iamkino forcibly. They are plowing that plot through their forceful seizure for the third year in a row, and they don't let us plow and possess | vladet'| it.’°? Boyar Ignatit Semenovich Kovrigin’s peasants petitioned him directly, because another group of peasants “took away the land of the Kolychev peasants, and Shumilo Polivkin fenced [it] off and chopped down the boundary markers, and set up a fence in violation of the official boundaries, and he threatened that he would harvest our strips as well. And he, Shumilo, said this; he said, ‘I don’t answer to your lord, and... I’m going to harvest your strips and mow your hay. "°S They were as outraged as their masters, or more so, when neighboring peasants made forays into their fields, crushing their growing grain and

SIGNS IN SPACE 83

hay fields, stealing the grain and hay they had already harvested or, even worse, appropriating the land itself and the right to work tt. Muscovite landlords were rarely involved with the direct management of their estates. They were generally interested 1n the bottom line, their dues and taxes, not in the details of land use and management, which they left to their bailiffs and the peasants themselves.°+ Given the hands-off managerial style of many seventeenth-century landlords, peasants could easily consider their land more or less their own, while still ac-

knowledging the proprietary rights of their landlords. Ownership of land was not conceived of as single, unambiguous, unencumbered, individual right. In their testimony, peasants expressed their concept of multiple, overlapping, and simultaneous degrees of ownership; and the courts listened seriously to their interpretations. Very frequently peasant witnesses identified both the “legal” and “actual” owners of the land. For instance, peasants on court land intermixed references to “our fields” and “your fields, Sovereign” in addressing petitions to the tsar, just as pomest'e holders referred without embarrassment or contradiction to “my own land” and “your sovereign grant of pomest'e land.” The peasants who undermined Lukian Novokshchenov’s case in Iurev

Polskoi testified: “That uninhabited field Tiapkov exists, but the peasants of the Pokrov Convent estate village Dubenkt own |vladeiut] it.’°° The convent owned the property, but in the minds of the peasant witnesses, the convent's peasants also owned it, or held it in practical, meaningful terms. Bound to the land by law and by dint of their own labor, the convent’s peasants exercised a claim that trumped the efforts of a neighboring gentryman to appropriate it. Peasants’ property rights were not formally defined in any of the legalistic ways developed in Western law. Proprietary or monastic serfs did not hold their land in usufruct, tenancy, or sharecropping arrangements, although sometimes the terms of their hold on the land looked much like one or another of these arrangements.°° They were, after all, serfs. But their status as serfs gave them solid claims to the land. Being bound to the

land, they could rightfully assert that the land was equally bound to them. Their patent presence on the land served in court as decisive proof of the inviolability of those claims against the incursions of predatory outsiders like Novokshchenov. “Private” property rights entailed the collective, layered rights of proprietors of assorted degrees to keep other landlords and their peasants off a bounded piece of land. Serfs’ claims to property presumably could not work the same way against the claims of their own landlord-masters as they could against those of outsiders. Landlords were forbidden, in principle, to move pomest'e peasants off their assigned plots of land, and they were admonished by church and state alike to provide adequate sustenance and arable land to their dependents. No suits between serfs and their masters survive to show us how such disputes would have been resolved. Such cases, if they arose, would have been heard internally on the estate by the master or his bailiffs and would inevitably have served the master's interests. Certainly there was much antagonism between masters and serfs, as the uncountable cases of peasant rebellion, flight, violence, and refusal to pay dues and taxes indicate. It seems unlikely, however, that

84 CARTOGRAPHIES OF TSARDOM

many cases pitting a master’s claims to land against those of his own serfs would have developed, since the landlord's overriding priority must have been maintaining a viable labor force on his land. In general, the commitment of master and serfs to the land would have been identical, and both would have placed a high premium on solidifying the connection between the peasant and the land. Their claims to fields, forests, and pastures would generally have been simultaneous and complementary rather than incompatible or opposed. In disputes involving gentry landholders or monastic magnates, all parties must have been well aware that the pomeshchiki and votchinniki actually owned the land.°7 In spite of

this awareness, surrounding peasants blithely testified that the peasants of certain villages “owned” fields and pastures, using the same verb of proprietorship and control (vladet") that they used in describing landlords’ relationship to the land. The 1703 map from Mozhaisk featured in Figure 3.15 bears the notation: “The witnesses [said that] the peasants of the Kolotsko1 Monastery own | vladeiut| that land, and their land is encircled all about by the lands and woods belonging to | vladen'ia] the Kolotskoi Monasterys peasants.’ °8 Their logic ran as follows: the land belonged to the peasants, the peasants belonged to the monastery, hence the land belonged to the monastery. The peasants as possessors and workers of the land mediated and established the claims of ownership, although always within the narrow confines of their enserfed status. Mak-

ing the same argument on the basis of peasant landholding and labor rather than a landlord's title, in an investigation in Bezhetsk in the mid-1680s, the assembled peasants testified that, “the peasants of the Trinity-St. Sergius Monastery’s village Preseko own | vladeiut| those uninhabited fields.’© Employing a similar formulation, peasant witnesses in Novotorzhok Province testified that “in the past the peasants of the hamlet of Biltsyna owned that swampy hay field, which belonged to their hamlet.’7? When land belonged or pertained to a village or hamlet, the peasants of that settlement exercised the right to work that piece of land and to enjoy a portion of its proceeds. Other layers of claims, whether the landlord's or the tsar’s, operated on a different plane, but these overlapping and stratified interests in land intersected and supported each other. A record of paying taxes also established incontrovertible, easily documented title to land, title that benefited both the peasants who paid the taxes and the masters who collected them. In 1698 the monks of the Tikhonov Monastery asserted that they owned (vladeiut) the land “with their monastic peasants,” and could provide registers of the dues collected over the years to prove it.’ Epitomizing late seventeenth-century ideas

about the interrelationship of land and people, Afonka Stoianoy, an artilleryman in the town of Velikie Luk1, petitioned the authorities in 1699, stating: “I purchased | that

plot of | land from Mikifor and have owned [vladel] it since 1645/46 as mine alone | svoeiu odnoiu|. In my deed of purchase it is written that the peasants are to pay quitrent to me, Afonka, according to the cadastral books.””* Stoianov’s claims illustrate the complexity of Muscovite proprietary notions. He asserts his unique and exclusive title

to the land, while in the next breath proving his claim to the land by alluding to the peasants who live on it, work it, and pay him dues from it. The peasants’ rights to the

SIGNS IN SPACE 35

land buttress his own claim to “exclusive” possession. Through the demonstrative act of paying quitrents to a certain landlord, the serfs acknowledged the dominion of that individual or institution and, on a broader plain, authenticated and gave substance and meaning to his claim to a piece of land. Local administrators kept lists not only of how much land each property holder held in the province but also of how many peasants paid quitrent and taxes on that land. Taxes were assessed on the basis of units of land in the first half of the century, shifting to assessment per peasant household or hearth in second half of the century. They fell onerously on the peasantry, increasingly so as seignorial demesne was freed of tax obligations toward the end of the century.’> No one likes paying taxes, but for Russian peasants, as for citizens of a modern state, it also signaled membership in a

functioning polity. Payment of taxes conferred on the payers a substantial, documented, public presence as holders, residents, and workers of the land with a verifiable connection to particular fields and pastures. Like Gogol’s landless Chichikov, who built his reputation on the basis of the number of (dead) souls he owned in the nineteenthcentury masterpiece by that name, seventeenth-century landlords based their claims to private property on their public relationship to their peasants and their peasants’ public, fiscal relation to the land and the state.

The fact that past records of dues collected from peasants could prove rights of landownership highlights the extent to which social relations were inscribed into and derived from the landscape. Proprietary rights to land were secured by evidence of domination over the people who worked it. Property—as opposed to “wild fields,” “overgrown meadows,” or “unclaimed land”—was defined by its history of habitation and use, whether current or past. If peasants’ 1mmediate interests were vested in the boundaries of their “own” or their landlords’ fields, they themselves were also vested in the soil itself, to which they were increasingly bound and from which they were increasingly difficult to dislodge. The law acknowledged the complex interrelationship between servitors’ ownership of land and the labor of their peasants on that land. Trying to sort out the complications of transferring title to a piece of land that contained not only soil and woods but also peasant residents and the fruit of their toil, the law had to go into convoluted detail: If by the sovereign’s decree a service landholding is taken away from someone and given out in a distribution; and rye is sown on those service landholdings on the old service landholders’ peasant tillage: grant the new service landholder |as much] seed from that rye for the cultivated arable of the peasant tillage as was sown for the old service landholder, but return [any] additional harvest |in excess of the seed requirement] to the old service landholders. The same peasants who sowed that grain shall harvest that grain.

The law made clear distinctions between lands cultivated by peasants (serfs) and those cultivated by “slaves and hirelings” (delovye ili naemnye liudi). Slaves and hirelings worked

the land but gained no stake in it through their efforts. They were conceived of merely

386 CARTOGRAPHIES OF TSARDOM

as tools or employees, and hence their labor was an attribute of their owner or employer: “Concerning the grain which was sown for the old service landholders by slaves

or hirelings: the old service landholders shall harvest that grain themselves. Do not force the peasants to harvest that grain of the slaves’ and hirelings’ tillage.’”+ Serfs, by contrast, conveyed to their masters a powerful claim to their labor and their harvest,

one which to some extent superceded the new owner's claim of “ownership” of the land and its products. Through their presence on the land, peasants activated powerful rights of entitlement, both for themselves and for their masters. The contrast between serfs, with a vested and durable claim in the land and its produce, and “slaves and hirelings,” who had no ties to the land and exercised no effect on their masters’ claims, helps clarify the significance of the maps’ depictions of property,

both landed and human, and ownership. In Muscovite sketch maps, peasant houses consistently dominate the visual field. Together with trees and churches, oversized peasant houses command attention as the most arresting and significant images on the maps. A 1678 map from Uglich, for instance, represents a marvelously simplified, schematic landscape, in which a few massive structures confer on the peasant residents a solidly, unbudgingly, established presence (Plate 11). The map depicts four rounded pustoshi carved out of a surrounding forest of evenly distributed trees. The gray-blue River Puksha wends its smooth, undulating course through the land. The church and priest's house of the village of Shershavino and two other villages appear with quiet, almost monumental bulk and simplicity, indicated by rows of three adjoining struc-

tures. The tiered platform foundations on which they stand contribute to the visual impression that these oversized structures are firmly planted on the land. Whether roughed in as rows of connected boxes, topped with triangular roofs, like rows of teeth, or charmingly rendered with architectural detail in three dimensions, decorated with wooden slats and ornamental windows and doors, peasant dwellings give life to the maps (Figures 3.16—3.22). One after another, the maps depict a landscape in which landlords’ houses are scarce or absent and peasant houses mark out zones of human habitation and agricultural labor. These larger-than-life dwellings are not merely ornamental whimsies; they serve several important functions. Most concretely, after 1679, when a system of direct taxation levied per peasant household replaced an earlier taxation assessed on units of land, the presence of peasant houses on the land assumed practical significance. Their tax receipts, their testimony, and most particularly their homes served in an immediate way to solidify their landlords’ claims as reputable proprietors of taxable, settled properties.” Less administratively interpreted, the closed circles of the real-estate litigation maps depicted both human and natural resources as tightly enclosed, confined. When filled with rows of houses, the circles signify residential bastions and convey a sense of security and control. But maps also demonstrate the landowners’ reliance on the testimony of their peasants and on their ability to bear witness to claims to possession. Peasant dwellings loom large in the landscape of litigation as well as in visual representation. A fierce struggle between the Vysotskit Monastery and the town collective of

SIGNS IN SPACE 37

ee 7 ; 7 3

=5 :PON weon 2. , # a:es i Hee, — 2 - rT , ae . PS / Co)an 4 TR) eei are? “aie

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Lt a ‘ Cee Nae core £ AS (

ie Gp aEAL ga Tg os j rb Figure 3.16. RGADA, f. 1209, Uglich, tres . ) ‘t Wemidtte ‘ie ' ~ hank in oa if: Ae

. es; _ if stlb. 35837, |. 44, detail.

ioe"al “fF wa, Ta ’ ea oy ee N 1 ae we ft A oyy ce a . me | ee ial a rte \, ” ' [

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st :ua) ANSgzr> ia Noe eeeie : By Dn NE: ae

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Figure 3.17. RGADA, f. 1209, Vladimir, stlb. 33646, ch. 1, L. 110, detail.

ey tae. tray, a -. ‘ \ \ ” k

|!onoS | ae a i ts : 1h “ tog Yan &is aae iaeae i: om”, a, . eee 1Se edTA on Ss a ¥7”1, . |#ipo :F { *.eS A =)-!:) ogo ie a "a tl _ ors ——— Ne or + _. Ewe es E |

L : ee

Figure 3.18. RGADA, f. 1209, Uglich, stlb. 35626, ch. 1, 1. 76.

Serpukhoy set one group against the other in claiming the lives and labor of several men.

The question boiled down to a dispute over the physical presence of peasant houses, which would ultimately determine which party rightfully controlled which aspects of the land. The town insisted that it held a legitimate claim on the village of Zabore, including its land, its three peasant households, and the dues and labor of the peasants who inhabited it. A bit of pastureland that lay between the monastery and the town was also at issue in the case. Both sides of the suit claimed ownership and each could produce official doc-

SIGNS IN SPACE 389

and » A . re ¥ é x : We, ee sy . =” |Pie Lt ©RO Src ara. aatige eg ee,i 2i iWer ga eee i a “4 sarge: =

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7% hed 3 Fh cl . . ° . stlb. 35626, ch. 1, I. 77, detail. “9

jie ay ae a Figure 3.19. RGADA, f. 1209, Uglich,

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d. :7-.i,‘ ‘3 * 'en ‘ A. conn AY 7]oa. Pook i - ianes i frrat ’*y(We :A : a “e i ; “I Na i ) Lh Ae: - ae eee i. Tlyape ur % ae J" appuisae tend ak ON Gi Aw osc a Sc eames ae

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a ee:tance: | € fl i‘afetSo Bits i aedf Figure 3.20. RGADA,no. f. 192, op. 1 ars: LER ele~{\ Kaluzhskaia gubernua, 1, detail. umentation to prove its case. The monastery acknowledged that the property had been transferred to the town by the authority of the cadastral surveyor but maintained that the houses and gardens on the land still belonged to the monastery; hence the people and their labor should fall under monastic control. The town saw the insidious strength of the architectural argument and so demanded that the monastic houses be demolished, thus freeing the land and laborers of any residual monastic claim. Two maps survive among the legal records of this vicious dispute, including a picturesque one drawn by the Serpukhov town governor, Ivan Vel'iaminoy, and his clerk,

90 CARTOGRAPHIES OF TSARDOM

|| Aa35 a: | 3: ss .

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Dementei Matveev (shown in Plate 10). A good example of a map that beautifies an ugly situation and imposes neat order on rampant disorder, Vel'iaminovss fairy-tale scene appears to favor the monasterys position. This was the charge leveled by the indignant townspeople, who complained that the governor had questioned no representatives of the town and had taken testimony only from local landholders in making his map. The map indicates the controversial pastureland as a monastic holding, without any reference to its ambiguous status. An annotation to the right of center on the map, just below the small blue lake outside the monastic compound, reads: “Meadow of the Vysotski1 Monastery registered in the cadastral books of Fedor Shusherin in 1627/8, 1628/29, and 1629/30.” None of the peasant houses or barns in question feature on the map. The only hint that the situation might be less than straightforward appears in a schematic representation of some small structures above the meadow. A little vertical rectangle enclosing three minute squares bears the label: “Barns belonging to the townspeople on the monastery's forested land.” The map representing the town’s point of view, probably made by the town elder, Stenka Zaikin to counter this misleading picture, presents a sharp contrast in every way. Crudely done and aesthetically unappealing, it puts forth the facts in a straightforward way, highlighting the piece of pasture land that is “in dispute with the Vysotskii Monastery.’ In spite of the apparent imbalance of power and the monastery deceitful cartography, the town appears to have triumphed over its powerful neighbor in this particular case.’

SIGNS IN SPACE 91

1 .al Lea aaaa “ a eee - at _, ae te ; ee ° « a \ a \ \x4 ”

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é 44 oN | *1 ‘ 2 Ne fk

id e® Pret /!/. , Co mA Figure 3.22. RGADA, f. 1209, Elets-

ye 2 | if rm + o., i Efremov, stlb. 24155, ch. 2, I. 327.

ow Z a. aN " fanNt i 4 This lovely scene from Elets was one . @ e = ane = | ai i . of two competing versions filed in a

. ea . a + ys ‘, . ~ a a t . hi h k . t b 7

Gy a @ A ry: ‘& . . as a “1 e : a sur In Wntc uroany or ancien ur

_ See a ea: if oN tal mounds (shown here as dark cir~ pF "s ot ke a ae cles), marked the boundary between eT a\G rs a properties. Their location was in

ey ES | ’

Se ye ware Ms a | ’ ~ 4 Fi] dispute. Gigantic flowering plants > eso with teal blue and dark rose buds fill ee + = ee AE ‘*. 7 the landscape. Rows of houses, be-

aan oan *Biiie. oS 3 & Mt . - iy a 4 . Me Ra ot . : 4 . . Cs eh .

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Ey i eee? i A LOR i } & Ya. os 3 ge a ee ne

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ah ateaa ISeaSEERA cet «7: Ce Saha tay em ie es, tees ee :2aAt alc tae RS [-eeFM Ons Fr re ” ' a wie ager ‘, phar’ es ae ih, “4 a . a i, a. . a oT he a ‘ T" ¥ r "zh" - "7 ;ve. a. 4

Figure 3.23. “Anonymous plat of land belonging to Governor Joseph West, 1680, South Carolina.” By permission of the South Carolina Historical Society. This plantation map from colonial North America shows no sign of slave inhabitants or of other laborers or residents on the land. Instead, the coat of arms, the decorative margins, and the scientific presentation all express West's ownership.

Ps ag P q P

their labor defined as part of it. Unlike Muscovite sketches, however, Jamaican estate maps again minimize or complete efface slave quarters. As part of the land itself, slaves did not need to be represented visually or cartographically. In an altogether different social and economic context, English estate maps of the seventeenth century often did represent the houses of the tenant farmers who worked the land, paid rents and fees, and contributed to the income of the landlord and the

94 CARTOGRAPHIES OF TSARDOM

state. English estate maps show well-ordered plots of land neatly enclosed and divided into separate fields and pastures, with houses drawn in less substantially and oversized than Russian peasant huts on the sketch maps, but nonetheless notably present. The manor house often appears in fine and stately detail. Enclosed fields with solid tenant dwellings and a fine manor house at the center demonstrate the landlord’s right to claim the property, duly fenced and worked. Legends list the names of each ratepayer and the rents and rates owed by each, recalling the way peasant witnesses and taxpayers are listed on Muscovite maps (Figures 3.24 and 3.25).5° Russian mapmakers painted a world in which peasants participated in the social order as taxpayers, as witnesses, and as active litigants. If any cross-cultural conclusion can be drawn, one would have to see their depiction in the maps as more akin to that of English tenancy than New World slavery. Restricted in geographic movement and constrained by an unapologetically repressive system, serfs nonetheless retained a limited sphere of active participation in society at large and a limited range of autonomous expression and initiative. Peasant houses and villages dominate the maps, and peasant voices fill the blanks and circles and clamor along the edges and on the backs of the maps. In Muscovite property relations, and in social relations more generally, master and serf constituted and reflected each other.5+ The two groups constituted each other in fundamental ways. Socially, in terms of status and standing, a gentryman was defined, in the tacit way that Muscovites defined things, as a military servitor with an entitlement to land and peasant dues and labor. Serfs were defined both socially and economically by their affiliation with a particular piece of land belonging to a particular landlord. Without that affiliation they were not serfs, but something else, which might

be good or bad in their eyes but could, very likely, reduce their standing to that of landless vagrants, in the words of countless petitions of the time, “wandering from house to house, dying a hungry death.” It was their status as serfs, with all its obligations, dues, and labor requirements, that conferred on them their right to viadet’, to master, own, control, and work their land. Their position as serfs secured their ability to hold onto their fields and pastures against challenges from outsiders and without interference (although with plenty of demands and extractions) from their master. “In fact,’ as Steven Hoch writes, “being tied to the land is a much underrated notion; in Russia, from the mid-seventeenth century being a peasant (with few exceptions) implied an entitlement to land, which is not a bad deal, if you are subsistence-oriented.”®° The collusion of serfs and masters created a shared impulse to assert, protect, and exploit to fullest advantage a collective private domain, based on their shared but exclusive claim to particular pieces of land. Richard Hellie has noted censoriously that the Russians were unique in enslaving their own and that even the lower orders were unstintingly enthusiastic in enserfing themselves and one another.8° These maps and this exploration of the collective property rights of masters and serfs suggest a significant reinterpretation of this phenomenon. Indeed, Russian masters enserfed and enslaved their own, but they also acknowledged the extent to which their bondsmen were “their own,’ and of a piece. Bondage

SIGNS IN SPACE 95

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watt ; - - . 7 tl eg Te on . " oe : oo er tar Pan

Figure 3.24. Church Brampton and Chaple Bramton, Harvard Map Collection, Mt 180.1929 pf, 1. Northamptonshire 1580-1797, English Common Fields, Photo Reproductions. With lists of tenants and what they owe.

had a very different set of meanings in the Muscovite context. Serfs and even slaves were not set apart from the rest of society in Muscovy as they were in New World slave systems. Servitude did not result in the “social death” so fundamentally aSSOCIated with New World slavery.®” Rather, serfs formed the lowest tier in a continuum of a hierarchically layered society, Imaginary circles enclosing pustoshi were hard, if not impossible to defend; either encroaching wilderness or encroaching neighbors might easily overgrow or undermine a proprietary boundary. Living, breathing, testifying peasants, in contrast, could confirm or undercut a landlord's right to collect fees and dues from them. In their emphatic vi-

sual display of peasant houses and villages, the maps confirmed the tendency of the extensive investigation process to reinforce the claim of the peasants themselves to the

land they worked and occupied. Crucial to the landlords’ claims to property, inescapably necessary to the state’s preoccupation with establishing boundaries and property rights, peasants derived a degree of security from their importance as witnesses to local topography. As the only possible sources of “local knowledge,” even as

96 CARTOGRAPHIES OF TSARDOM

tO4 “*.aia A,Ty a ee _—* ; l|es a < . ‘. .. Trtus ae: ‘4 4 . on | | a Ptr | : speed tout } : oO . Me. ele 2- “1 oo Hie A L_y”D.O—_ Ny ok4| “aka

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4 tr. i cn

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imaREE RE ah oa J! 4 we af ee aE he. BTS S Ly. SSC. =| a , 21 s\ sar bed ipa oO let Ra Yo} i ame ' . et ABLE Spat tray -~ as ers “.SNM . Tk . = + , vm cde Btewhewe Lenten ue BOE RE PODS : Ad leat ees Tagg (EE Neuvacns -arampron SO meteES ey “S segeae * | - ial a, ;ee ANY, + tealwt . . te FENRELALS *. s ey :Ten oe_ -"‘——wta mn a*PaThee CURES oe errr -- are

Figure 3.25. “The Survaye of the Manor of Holdenby made in AD 1587.” Harvard Map Collection, Mt 180.1929 (3). Depictions of elegant manor houses and fancy ornamental gardens bolstered the legitimacy of a landlord’s clatm on these English maps, serving the same visual purpose that Governor West's coat of arms and Muscovy’s peasant houses served.

serfdom strengthened its grasp on them, peasants deepened their claims to their fields and pastures.

Human geographers now “recognize spatiality as simultaneously ...a social product (or outcome) and a shaping force (or medium) in social life.” “The spatial order of human existence arises from the (social) production of space, the construction of

human geographies that both reflect and configure being in the world.’’® The headaches generated by Muscovite encounters with the natural environment and with human geography reflect this dual role of the land as contributor to and product of social practices. Maps served simultaneously to record the physical layout of human claims and structures and to shape the use, division, and future of the land itself. As instruments of social control, the Muscovite maps were utterly toothless. They were, after all, sheets of paper lined with ink and daubed with paint. Unpublished, they did not even circulate but rather existed in one or two copies held by the authorities and

SIGNS IN SPACE 97

perhaps by the interested parties. Symbolic reading is one thing; lived experience is another. In light of the persistent mobility of the Russian peasantry, maps proved as ineffective at keeping peasants 1n as at keeping rival claimants out. Legal wrangling and uncertainty persisted unchecked, as did peasant flight. In practice, the solid lines of the

maps translated into far more permeable barriers. The late seventeenth century witnessed peasant flight of grand proportions, as the desolate emptiness of abandoned pus-~ toshi in the Russian heartland testified. The impulse to map the elusive, shifting physical

landscape of Russia may have derived as much from the urgent effort to enclose and confine an unstable peasant population as to delineate one plot from another or to mark the boundaries of settlement from wilderness, but it succeeded in none of these goals. If, as Soja states, “disciplinary power proceeds primarily through the organization, enclosure, and control of individuals in space,’ then Muscovy still had a long way to go before it would enjoy that disciplinary power to the fullest. Although ineffectual in any immediate way, the maps contributed incrementally to the growth and hardening of serfdom, both by giving visual shape to its spatial order and, more interestingly, by expressing in visual and legal terms the reciprocal and shared relationship to the land that serfdom required. The maps depicted an idealized scenario in which boundaries were clear and social relations were fully embedded in the lay of the land. What that view accorded to the peasants was an active role in affirming landlords’ titles to property, and a compelling claim to possess property in their own right. Entrenching the notion of peasants’ rights to property in spatial terms, the maps expressed an underlying social logic that imbued the developing system of serfdom with legitimacy and prepared peasants by and large to accept the terms of their geographic immobility. Even as they contributed to legitimizing the structures of bonded labor, property maps also exposed the dangerous logical flaw in the spatial conception of serfdom, from the point of view of the landholders and state officials. When social relations were inextricably linked to particularity of place, those relations could be upended by alterations of physical location. Imagining points of resistance to the geopolitical “power relationships of the state in an historically defined society,’ Manuel Castells predicts that spatialized forms of power could be used by “social movements | that] will arise to challenge the meaning of spatial structure and therefore attempt new functions and new forms.”®? In the Muscovite case, geographical movement rather than social movements seriously challenged the cartography of power. Peasants moved constantly, out from their confining and constraining circles to the unmarked spaces of the frontiers. As long as they remained on seignorial lands, which presumably most of them did most of the time, peasants joined their masters and the mapmakers in a chronic struggle against ambiguity, against undifferentiated landscape, against rival landlords. Together, all the interested parties worked to circumscribe and define their own orderly, distinctive “places” by making recognizable and lasting signs in space. But when the hidden consequences of the spatialized relations of power proved too onerous, flight could undermine the entire premise of authority embedded in particular places in space.

98 CARTOGRAPHIES OF TSARDOM

6° ee99

The Souls of the Righteous A. in a Bright Place

Landscape and Orthodoxy in Seventeenth-Century Russian Maps

In the Christian view that shaped the ideas of Muscovite literary men, the natural world was not only an object to be fought over and registered in court. It was also a masterpiece created by an all-knowing god, with riddles and meanings tucked into its hills and valleys. The few explicit treatments of natural philosophy that Muscovite authors produced, primarily in the form of shestodnevy, or discussions of the six days of creation, draw heavily on biblical and patristic models. As Afanasit Kholmogorsku, archbishop of Kholmogorsk, explained in the last quarter of the seventeenth century, the omniscient and omnipotent Creator considerately created the world, filled it with the light of the sun and other heavenly bodies, and adorned it with lovely animals and plants before creating Man. “As a people would want to prepare a house and throne and crown and purple mantle” before raising up a tsar, so God prepared and beautified the earth as a worthy residence for humankind, created in His own image. The plants and beasts of the earth were made to serve man, that glorious creature endowed by God with reason and free will. Furthermore, Afanasit maintained, the infinite beauty and variety of nature carried important meanings, hidden lessons for people to study and decipher. “What is its meaning?” he asks rhetorically and then answers that the plant and animal world “was created not only to demonstrate the supreme wisdom and power of the Creator but also for the edification of men and as a model for their lives.” As T. V. Panich explains, man would see himself “reflected in that world as in a mirror and, comprehending it, would learn to live according to God's testament, perfecting himself morally.”! Nature reflected man back to himself but improved and enlightened by God's hidden messages. “Landscape is a medium not only for expressing value but also for expressing meaning, for communication between persons—most radically, for communication between Humans and the non-Human.’* W. J. T. Mitchell's observation on the uses of landscape accords well with the views that Muscovite churchmen like Afanasii expressed

when they chose to meditate on the meaning of the natural world. However, it is one thing to see landscape as a link between the human and the divine in the context of Christian meditation and biblical exegesis; it is quite another to try to eke such a connection out of a rough line drawing adduced as evidence in a nasty real-estate battle. The move from high church culture to popular, secular culture makes this extension difficult enough; using bureaucratic-judicial sources as a point of entry would seem to make it even harder. Nonetheless, it 1s precisely this connection between judicial estate maps and popular conceptions of man’s relation to God that I try to establish in this chapter. However unlikely as sources for discussing Orthodox spirituality, the chertezhi offer significant promise as a point of access to popular piety. Produced by middling or lowlevel servicemen and administrators, they are one of the few surviving genres that document a worldview attributable to nonecclesiastical and nonelite circles. In their unselfconscious reflection of a general framework for viewing the world, they open a window onto at least quasi-popular belief. In choosing how to depict the living, natural world

in two dimensions on paper, the retired soldiers and petty clerks who sketched and painted the maps inadvertently preserved a vital record of the nature of popular Orthodoxy. This is no small claim for a set of sources having nothing whatsoever to do with religious history.

CHURCHES AND THE MAPMAKERS. VISUAL ORIENTATION The mapmakers were primarily secular men of middling social standing who resided in provincial towns. Decidedly not of the peasantry, they nonetheless came from and presumably expressed the assumptions of a group far distant from the Moscow elite both in rank and in orientation. Their literacy reflected bureaucratic rather than ecclesiastical influences, as evident in the language and script that they employed, although they undoubtedly learned to read using religious texts.+ Of their reltgious culture we know little, other than what we can glean from their sketches. They came, by and large, from the social strata that took a most active part in local miracle cults, although that general finding does not allow us to assume that the mapmakers in particular participated in such cults or in religious life at all. At an explicit level, the property maps have only the most prosaic thematic content. They set out to prove that Ivan Ivanovich's property line runs to the aspen tree with the double trunk, and past the chopped aspen, and all the way to the swamp. They are crammed with as much documentation as they can possibly fit in among the crowded

sketches of trees, houses, property lines, rivers, and roads. In the same hasty, unadorned chancellery hand that characterizes other administrative documents they cite chapter and verse of official deeds, cadastral books, and recent boundary markers. They abound with the most deadeningly bureaucratic formulae from the officious lan-

guage of Muscovite red tape. “Oak that was recorded in the boundary books of Volodimer Ziuzin in the year 150 (1641/42) at the Liven Road....And at the boundary-marking oak, the boundary stake and boundary pit of the scribe (pisets) Ivan

100 CARTOGRAPHIES OF TSARDOM

Zolotarev of the years 193 (1684/85) and 194 (1685/86) were burned [with identifying brands | in accordance with the investigation.”® “The arable land of the village Teplaia, which is called pustosh’ Terenikha, in the past year 185 (1676/77) was given as arable land

to Nikifor Griboedov.’”

Despite the formulaic language and legalistic purpose, the visual impact of the maps does not accord with their prosaic origins. As we have seen, they were painstakingly planned, sketched in several rough drafts that still survive in many cases, and then, in the final versions, beautifully drawn in black or sepia ink and richly painted or tinted in color wash. Given that these maps unarguably served a purely practical purpose in property litigation, the elaborate painting of architecture and foliage seems strangely out of place. In their other paperwork, Muscovite chancellery clerks rarely devoted any attention to the aesthetics of presentation. Chancellery records are scrawled, usually legibly but certainly inelegantly, in a running script unrelieved by color, illustration, or

calligraphic ornamentation. Why did the newly evolving genre of property maps impel Muscovite clerks and scribes to lavish so much decorative labor on their work? As the historian Boris Morozov writes with an element of puzzlement in his study of a map from the late seventeenth century, “in our opinion, | the map] shows much more than was required for visual illustration of the flooding of mills and meadows.’® Indeed, much more, in much more detail and color, was shown than was strictly necessary. Since the genre was a new one, the artists faced the imaginative task of figuring out how to represent the world in two dimensions. In choosing to represent the Russian landscape as a glowing tapestry of greens and ochers, the mapmakers consciously or unconsciously made active decisions about what to show on their maps and how to do so (Plates 12 and 13). Drawing so many trees, even in rough ink sketches, required a tremendous amount of concentrated attention but added little relevant information for resolving boundary questions. The extravagance of the effort and the beauty of the imagery are even more startling if one remembers that the artists could easily have selected very different ways of representing the landscape. Maps could have conveyed as

much practical information through schematic outlines, or verbal description. “Woods,” one maverick mapmaker noted laconically in an otherwise blank spot in his map, avoiding the tedium of drawing in the usual multitude of trees, but his approach was the exception.’ Alternatively, the artists could have captured a different mood by painting leafless trees in tones of gray. This is, after all, Russia, where for much of the year the panorama would more aptly be described as gray, cold, and barren than as lush and verdant.!°

Such anomalies permit and even encourage us to read these administrative documents against the grain, to dig for subtexts. Explored in this fashion, these hybrid documents offer access to at least one facet of an elusive vernacular vision of religion and of mans place in the world. The unpretentious social milieu of the mapmakers transports us down and out from the bookish theological and political elite, allowing us to view amore popular form of belief. The fact that these sources addressed strictly secular, administrative topics guarantees that whatever spiritual content leaked into them

“THE SOULS OF THE RIGHTEOUS IN A BRIGHT PLACE” 101

will appear more or less unfiltered, or at least filtered differently from the sources more commonly examined in studies of spirituality, which were composed for explicitly religious or ecclesiastical purposes. A casual glance through the sketch maps suffices to show that two major sets of im-

ages characterize their painted landscapes: architectural ensembles, particularly churches; and trees. Churches and monasteries with their cross-topped domes dominate the maps, as they must have dominated the visual horizon of seventeenth-century Russia.!! Even where the ostensible purpose of a map was to chart the relative positions of various landholders’ properties and to display the location of a contested plot

of land, a church frequently provides the primary focus of the picture. Often the church at the center was not at all involved in the dispute or not even located particularly near the disputed land. In the article mentioned above, Morozov observes that Prince Vorotynsku's estate church forms “the compositional center,’ of a map drawn up to document flooding fields and watermills, even though the church has no direct relation to the case and is located at quite a distance from the contested mills.!? Following the same pattern, in a series of three maps from a single suit in Kashin, the focal point of each map is a deserted site formerly occupied by a church, although the disputed lands lie away from the site. Different artists sketched each of the three versions, as is clear from their diverse styles. All are rather mystically rendered, with nature refracted through highly imaginative lenses. In one version, the abandoned church site is rendered as a copse of shimmering weeping willows. In the second, stark text marks the church spot, which stands out amid delicate, flowery arrangements of trees that indicate the more ordinary fields. Green and gray color wash gently accents the flowers and field boundaries. In the third, the church site appears as a sharply angled outcropping of rock topped by a tufted deciduous tree and two cypresses, identical to those rocky promontories that pass for natural landscape in icons. The outcropping stands alone in an empty space, although carefully sketched trees of several varieties fill most of the rest of the map. On the first map the text reads, “Previous to this there was a church | prezh sego byvala tsrkv|,’ and on the second, “church site, which previously was the

Church of Peter and Paul.” The third says simply “church site.”!3 (See Figures 4.1-4.3.)

The disproportionate scale and prominence of religious buildings and church sites served a practical purpose on the maps, helping to orient the viewer by indicating where the property in dispute lay relative to known landmarks. The visual impact goes beyond the utilitarian, however, suggesting how prominently Orthodox structures figured in the mental images these Russians had of their countryside (Plate 14). Orthodox geometry provided ready tools for amateur mapmakers as they groped for shapes and images to symbolize pieces of their lived environment. When Stepan Zhdanov, whom we met in earlier chapters, sketched his vision of the lay of the land, he indicated the village of Driaplovo with a rough three-stepped ziggurat topped by an Orthodox cross (See Figure 2.2). The symbol, evocative of a crucifixion scene or an Orthodox altar, establishes a visual equivalency between a Russian settlement and a conventional Orthodox form.!4 Similarly, in a preliminary draft for a map from Elets,

102 CARTOGRAPHIES OF TSARDOM

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Figure 4.1. RGADA, f. 1209, Murom, stlb. 36032, 1. 182. Church site shown with willow grove, top middle.

Liubim Shaklovity1 and the clerk Savin Postnikov drew from a mental repertoire of familitar forms when they sketched rough geometric outlines strongly reminiscent of Orthodox crosses in place of what would evolve into vivid green trees in the surviving full-color final version (Figure 4.4 and Plate 15). If such visual artifacts cannot be read as transparent indicators of unarticulated assumptions and beliefs, at least they may be taken as evidence that Christian imagery, with or without theological content, came readily to mind for this group of rather humble seventeenth-century Muscovites. As

“THE SOULS OF THE RIGHTEOUS IN A BRIGHT PLACE” 103

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_ a . S ii jar . _ Meg . ye J ‘ Peel oe Figure 4.2. RGADA, f. 1209, Murom, stlb. 36032, 1. 183. Church site labeled with text, middle left.

the art historian Michael Baxandall argues in his influential work on the interrelationship of art and experience, the artist and the viewer alike bring “to the picture a mass of information and assumptions drawn from general experience.”!> In the case of the

maps, Orthodox images quite literally shaped the mapmakers’ vision of the world around them. The mapmakers’ use of Orthodox imagery to symbolize trees or villages does not demonstrate that they understood an explicitly Orthodox configuration of the physical and social landscape. Rather, these shapes and silhouettes formed the ambient background, the available pool of forms from which Muscovite mapmakers selected their imagery.

THE MUSCOVITE RELIGIOUS MIND: COMPETING ESCHATOLOGIES If the Muscovite landscape recorded by clerks, townspeople, and servitors carried Christian undertones, perhaps the maps can help us puzzle out what kind of Christianity they reflect. Scholarship on Russian Orthodoxy provides several models for us to examine and hold up against the evidence of the maps. In the crudest terms, these models present us with polarized choices. One views Muscovite religion as dark, fatal-

104. CARTOGRAPHIES OF TSARDOM

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istic, or even despairing, focused on the trials of this world and the ordeals of God's judgment in the next. The other, in absolute contrast, represents Orthodoxy as a bright celebration of gratitude for the beauty of this world and anticipation of eternal joy yet to come. According to the first, very prevalent strain of thought, Muscovite religiosity, particularly in the seventeenth century, indulged in a somber pessimism about the human condition on earth and the imminence of the apocalypse. Russian Orthodoxy gave itself over to “tragic extremism,’ or even an “eschatological psychosis,’ imbued with a “grim and desperate historical consciousness, reinforced by anticipation of “the horrors of apocalypse should | Muscovy | fail in her mission.”!© Muscovy’s mission, in this reading, was to maintain the purity of the Orthodox faith, a mission entrusted to it as the “Third Rome,’ the inheritor of the mantle of Rome and Byzantium. As the official church undertook a program of reform in the second half of the seventeenth century, critics detected deviations from the true faith and announced that Muscovy was failing in its mission. Things were literally going to hell. The last bastion of Orthodoxy was falling. “This psychosis arose directly out of the emphasis on the concrete and historical in the Muscovite ideology.” “In popular tmagination as well as the mo-

“THE SOULS OF THE RIGHTEOUS IN A BRIGHT PLACE 105

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Figure 4.4. RGADA, f. 1209, Elets-Efremoy, stlb. 23829, ch. 7, l. 2 (1688). This rough draft documents a case of disputed landownership that ended up being coupled with an investigation into assault and mur-

der. The property issue involved the settlement indicated in the middle of the maps, the clusters of

houses above the river, drawn so differently in the two versions. Particularly striking in the rough draft are the crude Orthodox crosses used to indicate trees. In the final version (Plate 15), we see them transformed into trees.

nastic chronicles, all history was permeated with God's presence. God's silence and withdrawal from present history, therefore, could mean only that history was near its end. Those who looked desperately for some final, tangible way to fulfill His will in this unprecedented situation could find but one act left to perform: the committing of oneself to the purgative flames which, according to tradition, must precede the Last Judgment.”!”7 Whether or not this apocalyptic moment ever really had the strength and currency that its advocates imagine, it has darkened images of Russian Orthodox culture. When not throwing themselves into pyres to burn themselves to death 1n anticipation of the Apocalypse, this approach would suggest, the Russian faithful saw the world as a dismal vale of tears, a hard road to travel, without much promise of brightness at the end.

Some of this apocalyptic despair does surface in sources from the seventeenth cen-

106 CARTOGRAPHIES OF TSARDOM

tury, which produced its fair share of sectarian movements and prophets of doom. However, dwelling on this fringe element to the exclusion of other strains in the religion occludes much of the picture and leaves a distorted image. Recent studies suggest that, while Muscovites were indeed absorbed with eschatological thoughts, official court and church circles adopted a highly optimistic approach to the imminent end of the world. Moscow, radiant and reigning city, was chosen by God, protected by God, and on track for a glorious eternity. As Michael Flier explains, from the early sixteenth

century, Muscovite sources expressed a powerfully millennial message, “centered around the Muscovite ruler and his court, and keyed to expression of a positive and optimistic new age, an age in which the ruling elite invested itself in the idea of Moscow as the New Jerusalem, with all the soteriological implications that association could bring.” Flier notes, “It was a mode that retained its ideological value among the Muscovite elite well into the seventeenth century.’!®§ This upbeat vision of the End Times emphasized the promise of salvation, as opposed to the grimmer, fire-andbrimstone preachings of those “pre-millennialists” whose attention focused on the coming terror and destruction of Armageddon,.!? Skimming hastily over the horrors scheduled in the interim according to Revelations, court circles endorsed a cosmic narrative very distant from the gloomy apocalypticism assumed by earlier studies. Elite Orthodoxy not only looked forward to the glories of eternity but also allowed

for a positive assessment of life in this world. Literary works from the time support the notion that Muscovite religious elites viewed the world around them as a gift from God, a treasure to be appreciated and celebrated. Returning to the Shestodnev of Afanasit

Kholmogorsku, we find long passages extolling the “mystery and greatness of Creation, which surpasses all understanding.” “Whoever thinks about it or even sees this world must rejoice in it.” “The infinite variety of Creation, made by the Creator, is miraculous and unfathomable.’ In her discussion of the Shestodnev, T. V. Panich describes the final section of the work, in which Afanasii “paints a picture of the creation of the world, carried away in his admiration for its beauty, harmonious unity, and the eternally self-renewing variety of nature.”?° He rapturously lists the marvelous elements of creation: the sun, the moon and stars, trees and grasses “which grow and adorn themselves each year, bringing themselves from nonbeing to being,” beasts, birds, and fish, rivers and springs that water the land, the constantly moving sea with its solid shores, and “man, brought into existence from nonbeing by God's own deliberate plan.”*! The Shestodnev with its unambiguous message exemplifies a current that persisted in elite Orthodox thought throughout the Muscovite era and taught man’s obligation to revel in God's material gifts and to enjoy the fruits of Creation. Stull, questions about popular Orthodoxy remain unanswered. Studies that concentrate on court ritual, official representations, and ecclesiastical writings have limited

applicability beyond the confines of the Kremlin elite. Entering the popular mind, generalizing about popular mentality, particularly about popular religion, is a notortously difficult and dangerous enterprise; and in fact some historians recommend that the better part of valor is to avoid the effort all together. Expressing the problem most

“THE SOULS OF THE RIGHTEOUS IN A BRIGHT PLACE” 107

clearly, Edward Keenan cautions that the topic is and will remain opaque because of the absence of “the candid, confidential, confessional, vernacular text” “that would open for us the real world of these people on the threshold of modernity.’?* Such warnings are well taken. The fact that an ecclesiastical elite in Moscow pictured a society steeped in Orthodox religiosity 1s not enough to permit us to assume that Orthodox commitment extended beyond the walls of one or two monasteries and episcopal chambers. The few clerics who churned out recondite works may have done so for the

benefit of themselves, God, and us, but to the bafflement or indifference of the vast majority of their largely illiterate contemporaries. Recently historians have begun to penetrate the religious world of ordinary Muscovites by analyzing their quotidian practices, life rituals, and interactions with monastic institutions and saintly relics.?° These important investigations illuminate the practices of the faithful but as yet have shed little light on their underlying philosophies of religion. To what extent the optimism of official Orthodoxy permeated the religious view of the general public remains an open question. Here, perhaps, our humble mapmakers and the “vernacular” pictures they produced can help provide some answers.

THE LANDSCAPE OF POPULAR ORTHODOXY Do the maps express the dark fatalism of a grim, depressing religion or a cheerier picture of life in this world? This question deserves better than a simplistic, binary answer. Orthodoxy, like all religions, had scope for multiple readings by different people and at different moments in their lives. As we have seen, different groups and strata expressed radically different senses of their place in divine history. In demographic terms, the mapmakers fell right between the two sets of thinkers whose religious outlooks historians have documented. On one hand, schismatic movements tended to draw adherents from the lower ranks of society, although, of course, not all people of lowly status endorsed schismatic beliefs. Townspeople, merchants, peasants, selfproclaimed monks, and unemployed priests people the transcripts of official interrogations of these religious dissenters, while mapmakers came more from the lower ser-

vice ranks and never from the peasantry.24 On the other hand, one-third of the identifiable mapmakers were sent from Moscow to chart provincial estates, and so might have had some exposure to Kremlin churches and court rituals. They might have imported a more official religiosity into their maps. Demography, then, cannot help us here, since its suggestions are ambiguous. The maps themselves provide clearer answers. It 1s hard to read gloom and doom into these colorful paintings and delicate sketches or to reconcile their agreeable landscapes with a cultural preoccupation with apocalyptic fear and mortal sin. As representations of the surrounding environment, the maps paint a bright picture, one more filled with joy than horror or fatalism. With their intricate rendering of natural beauty, the maps depict the Muscovite countryside as a luxuriant garden, Painted in vivid autumnal colors—primarily greens, grays, oranges, burgundy, and sepia, with touches of yellow, pink, and teal—the maps present striking images of natural abundance. To the

108 CARTOGRAPHIES OF TSARDOM

extent that their vision derives from a religious outlook, it reflects a religion of joyous affirmation of the beauties of this world, celebration of God’s terrestrial handiwork, and gratitude for his gifts to mankind. Not only nature itself but man as well, through his labor, contributes to the glory of the world depicted on the maps. Faith in the abilities and achievements of Orthodox people permeates every aspect of the maps’ vision of human effort and human nature. The churches built by men complement their natural settings in the maps as in life, where Russian churches traditionally stood at scenic spots, on hills, by rivers, reflecting

into ponds.?> Secular architecture as well is drawn with ornamental detail. The sketches of the interaction between the built and the natural environment illustrate a confident vision of man and his place in God's world. Some images carry fairly easily decodable meanings—crosses, altars—but others convey less clear-cut associations. In drawing their maps, mapmakers used a visual language of signs and images.*° The challenge in interpreting the maps is to figure out what the images meant to the people who put them down on paper. Baxandall writes, “the picture is sensitive to the kinds of interpretive skill—patterns, categories, inferences, analogies—the mind brings to it. A man’s capacity to distinguish a certain kind of form or relationship of forms will have consequences for the attention with which he addresses a picture.”?”7 What were the vocabulary and the syntax of the visual language Muscovite mapmakers brought to their work? As one would search in a historical dictionary for a definition of a word, so one can turn to contemporary visual representations to see how an image was used in other texts of the time, to establish the meanings and messages inherent in certain images. For seventeenth-century mapmakers, the most obvious place to turn for visual references was the imagery of icons. The visual idiom of the maps quotes heavily from the imagery of icons, physical artifacts that would have been easily available, accessible, and to some degree comprehensible to

provincial cartographers. The similarity of the tapestry-like forests of the maps to those on icons is unmistakable. The floral and multi-tiered trees so familiar from iconographic landscapes carried a specific meaning in those icons. If we turn to iconography as a dictionary of visual symbols, the definition of verdant landscape 1s clear: trees denote paradise, either earthly or heavenly.

Landscape itself was a relatively recent innovation in Russian iconography, just slightly anticipating the rise of mapmaking. A brief chronological survey of Russian icons suffices to prove what art historians have discussed at length, that natural landscape is striking by its absence before the late fifteenth and early sixteenth centuries.”® Images of saints and holy figures conventionally glowed against flat gold backgrounds, which deliberately effaced references to the mundane world. Material reality would have conveyed neither their setting (presumably heaven, where familiar earthly landscapes have no meaning) nor their purpose (to facilitate contact with the divine). Even

in the life-scenes around the borders of icons, not a single tree is to be seen in early icons, unless it is critical to the narrative action or theological message, as for instance, when St. Nicholas exorcises a demon from a tree. Then the scene would contain a soli-

“THE SOULS OF THE RIGHTEOUS IN A BRIGHT PLACE” 109

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From the established centers in Siberia, expeditions were dispatched in all directions

to chart new lands and find new sources of fur. Companies of soldiers followed instructions to invite the indigenous peoples they encountered to take shelter under the protective hand of the sovereign and pay him tribute in fur. If their polite invitation was declined, they were to use any degree of force to convince the “unpacified natives” to fork over the furs and accept at least nominal submission to the tsar. The fur tribute was known as iasak, and the peoples of Siberia came to be known as “iasak-paying”’ (iasachnye) or pacified (mirnye) and “non-iasak-paying” (neiasachnye) or unpacified (nemirnye ). From the Russian point of view, tribute payment signified absolute submission

to the dominion of the tsar, and submission inevitably entailed payment of iasak, From the native point of view, this interpretation was a dubious one and cause for tremendous discontent and resistance. Michael Khodarkovsky underscores the funda-

mental mismatch between the understandings of Russians and the people of the steppe: Obviously, things did not look the same from the banks of the Siberian rivers and from Moscow. What the local chiefs considered a peace treaty struck with the newly arrived strangers, Moscow regarded as the chiefs’ oath of allegiance to the Grand Prince, their submission to Moscow. The opening salvo of Russia's conquest of Siberia was made and continued to be based on mutual misconceptions. From the beginning Moscow perpetuated an image of the natives as the subjects of the tsar, while the natives saw in Russians merely another military and trading partner.+

Already by the 1640s, Russian explorers had trekked and plied the rivers all the way across the continent to the Pacific Ocean. Ivan Moskovitin reached the Sea of Okhotsk

in 1643, Vasilii Potarkov and Erofei Khabarov investigated the Amur and its outlet to the sea in the 1640s and 1650s, Semen Dezhnev sailed around the Chukotsk Peninsula to the Pacific Ocean in 1648, establishing—if anyone had paid attention at the time— that there was no land connection to North America. In 1697 Vladimir Atlasov discovered that Kamchatka was a peninsula.° This heady account of the explorers and their successes should not be divorced from the trail of disease, violence, and expropriation that accompanied them, which we set aside here in considering the Russian perspective but discuss more in chapter 8. At the same time that Russians penetrated North Asia and the Pacific Rim, they also pursued contacts with China.® Drawn to the alluring “China trade,’ Russian envoys worked their way overland, always disappointed in their hope of finding a convenient and easy water route instead. Nonetheless, they acquired a store of valuable political, geographical, and cultural knowledge about the lands and peoples between Moscow and Peking, En route they encountered Kirgiz (Kazakhs), Kalmyks, Mongols,

Manchus, and finally, the Chinese. Ivan Petlin’s expedition in 1618-19, as Basil Dmytryshyn writes, “was the earliest Russian group to reach Peking, the first to be received by the Chinese, the first and only one to obtain a formal written invitation to trade with China (which labyrinthine statement took the Russians fifty-six years to

MESSAGES IN THE LAND 121

translate because of language barriers), and the first to provide a description, forever fascinating, of the journey to Peking.”’? To this we might add that he was the first to map his passage, and that map survives, in a copy made much later in the century by a clerk at the Siberian Chancellery.® Petlin was followed, after a lengthy hiatus, by Fedor Baikov (1653-57), and later by the Moldavian-born Nikola: Gavrilovich Milescu, known as Spafarii or Spatharios, in 1675-79. Neither of these expeditions resulted in successful negotiations of trading relations between the countries, but fortunately for us they left rich documentary and cartographic trails, which serve the purposes of this investigation. The famous Treaty of Nerchinsk of 1689 established the first diplomatic border between Russia and China and set political and commercial relations between them in a more regularized framework. From the start, an integral part of the Muscovite advance into Siberia was describing and mapping the newly discovered lands. Orders from the tsar dictated that his agents should “set up cities upstream of the Irtysh on the Tara River... and map out city sites and cities and forts,” or that they should conquer a city or an area and “map it and show various fortresses,’ or they should set up fortifications at strategic locations and “send a map.’ Mapping became a routine and expected part of any diplomatic embassy or strategic advance into the Siberian lands, just as it was more gradu-

ally becoming a part of administrative practice in the Muscovite heartlands.? Cartographers quickly incorporated new geographic information into their maps. Sequential maps show markedly increased accuracy and completeness, often with credit assigned to the explorer or mapmaker who provided the new information. Several dozen general maps of Siberia or Great Tatartia, which stretched rather amorphously from somewhere east of Moscow to the Pacific Ocean and China, survive from the seventeenth century, and a few hundred more of particular regions within Siberia, of Kamchatka, Chukotka, the Shilka River, and so forth.!° These maps were put together from on-the-ground exploration and observation by Russian explorers, officials, and soldiers and were augmented with information gleaned from local informants, travelers, merchants, or any other potentially knowledgeable source. They survive along with a huge amount of documentation, mainly in the form of orders sent out from Moscow or from the governors of the major Siberian cities, and reports sent

back from the expeditions. Muscovites accumulated far more accurate, practical knowledge of Siberia, the Pacific, and the possible water or overland routes to China than did the West Europeans at the time, as Russian scholars are proud to point out. Western mapmakers, intensely interested in the question of how best to reach the legendary silks and riches of Cathay, relied heavily on Muscovite informants to fill in the blanks and to substitute topographic information for the monstrous fantasies in their otherwise purely imaginary cartographies of the Far East. Some of the Russian maps therefore survive in copies made in the West, on which the Russian sources are either acknowledged or are evident in the Russian script and Russian toponyms ascribed to various spots on the maps.!!

122 CARTOGRAPHIES OF TSARDOM

Maps and verbal descriptions of routes, recognizable landmarks, natural resources and peoples were important tools in Muscovy'’s conquest and domination of Siberia. They assisted in the incorporation of Siberia not only in pragmatic ways but also in a more abstract sense. Charting routes, turning open spaces into identifiable itineraries well marked with distinguishing landmarks and well protected by a network of stockades, forts, and winter shelters, maps and descriptions helped transform the unknown into the familiar. Mapping not only made the wilderness more accessible, but “con-

quered space by transforming it into a familiar world of routes and places,” and “changing amorphous space into articulated geography.’!? By the early seventeenth century, Muscovites had achieved an intimate familiarity with the ins and outs of Inner Asian politics. With their maps and missions of exploration, Muscovites had come a long way from their Kievan ancestors’ bafflement at the first Mongol invasions of 1223, when the chroniclers reported: “No one knew who they were or what was their origin, faith, or tongue, and some people called them Tatars, while others called them Taumens, and still others called them Pechenegs. ... Only God knows who these people are or from whence they came.” !s

SIBERIA AND MUSCOVITE GEOGRAPHIC IMAGINATION Whether at the direct command of the tsar or on their own initiative, Muscovite adventurers headed out into the unknown with profit on their minds. Interested in enriching themselves and their sovereign, finding new trading partners, bringing back costly luxuries, or convincing the people they encountered to pay tribute to the tsar, the men who went on these expeditions were bent on personal and national enrichment and aggrandizement. As they pursued their pragmatic agendas, they also described and mapped the world they encountered. Like their counterparts in the central Muscovite lands who had to come up with ways of depicting the Russian landscape, the Siberian frontiersmen also had to develop visual and verbal vocabularies for describing the new vistas that they found. If any landscape carries with it an innate power, the towering

mountains, mighty rivers, precipitous chasms, arctic snows, and barren deserts of Siberia and the Far North and Far East would do so, but even the most impressive landscapes do not come with decoder rings to help interpret their meaning. So, what did the Muscovites make of Siberia?!4

In typical, taciturn Muscovite fashion, most of the men had nothing to say on the subject. Their reports ignored the drama of the landscape. They concentrated instead on charting more or less difficult routes, or reporting practical information on commercial or agricultural possibilities, or listing their progress in the mode of “I came; I saw; I beat, killed, and destroyed; I collected lots of tribute in furs.” This indifference to the magnificent surroundings would seem to support Isaac Massa’s impression of Muscovites as incurious and unobservant, reacting only when their direct, material selfinterest was at stake. Massa, a Dutch merchant who visited Moscow during the Time of Troubles and left a thorough and insightful account, wrote dismissively: “Muscovites themselves are not an inquisitive folk. They care nothing for such things | such

MESSAGES IN THE LAND 123

as curious plants, flowers, fruits, rare trees, animals, and strange birds], seeking only profit everywhere, for they are a rude and negligent people.”!> But those who did take time to look around and smell the taiga often did express wonder, sometimes in highly emotional bursts of language or vivid illustrations. Hyperbolic descriptions of the marvelous, intense, and larger-than-life quality of

the Siberian landscape colored even the most utilitarian reports sent back to Moscow or to Siberian cities by adventurers and diplomats after journeying through

new and unknown lands. In his report on his expedition to Kamchatka and the Kurile Lands in 1700, for example, Vladimir Atlasov stressed that he had extended his explorations at the behest of the trappers and military men in his party, who had petitioned him “to go with them to the Kamchatka River so they could find out truthfully what peoples live above the Kamchatka River,’ Once there, he and his men were as interested in the natural ecology of the place as in its taxable population. He remarks on the wondrous natural phenomena: blistering sun, crashing thunder, solid earth melting into the sea: In the Kurile lands there are lots of birds—ducks and gulls—on the ocean in the winter, and lots of swamp swans too, because the swamps don't freeze in the winter. And in the summer the birds fly in, but few of them remain, because in summer the sun is terribly hot, and there are huge rains and thunder and lightning often. And they say that the land caves in or collapses at midday.

Atlasov was intrigued by the characteristics of the ice, and the interesting behavior of people and animals in that far northern zone. “Between the Kolyma and Anandyr rivers is a peninsula that ts impossible to cross, which pokes out into the sea, and on the left side of the peninsula the ocean freezes, and in winter that sea 1s frozen over.” Even the sun behaved peculiarly in Kamchatka: “The sun stays up in Kamchatka for a day nearly twice as long as in Jakutsk. And in summer in the Kuriles the sun is directly above a mans head and he casts no shadow.”!® Muscovite frontiersmen proved themselves to be adept and observant naturalists. Stephen Greenblatt observes that in early European reports about the New World: “the principal faculty involved in generating these representations is not reason but imagination.’ !7 The Siberian landscape, too, required Muscovite observers to use their imaginations to rework familiar images of nature for a very different context. First, like the early settlers to the New World who encountered alewives “in such multitudes as is almost incredible, pressing up such shallow waters as will scarce permit them to swim” and “millions and millions” of passenger pigeons in flocks “that to my thinking had neither beginning nor ending, length nor breadth, and so thick that I could see no Sun, Russians had to come to terms with the excess of this untapped land.!8 Such bounty could be read in many ways. As Diment observes, some of the earliest Muscovite descriptions of Siberia represent it as an “ecological paradise,’ a “rich land of mythological proportions.’ Savva Esipov, writing in Tobolsk in western Siberia in the

124 CARTOGRAPHIES OF TSARDOM

early seventeenth century, drew on earlier Novgorodian legends of Siberia as an exotic land, and augmented these tales with his own eyewitness authority. In his chronicle Esipov describes Siberia as rich with “an abundance of sweet singing birds, and even more abundance of various flowering grasses.... There are vast and most beautiful rivers, and in them the freshest waters and an abundance of various fishes. Where these waters issue there are forests fruitful for harvesting and most extensive cattle grazing. 1° In Esipov's view, none of this abundance appeared by chance. He attributes the

wonders of the Siberian landscape to the hand of God. Describing the Urals, a “mountain range of exceedingly great height, so as to reach some of its peaks up to the clouds of heaven” that separates Russia from Siberia, he explains that “thus it has been set up by God's decrees, like the fortified wall of a city.” God also receives credit for creating the marvelous rivers that water the land: “It 1s wonderful, indeed, how by God's decrees there are rivers there; the water wore away hard rock, and there are vast and most beautiful rivers.’29 This excessive, luxuriant bounty reappears in later literary works of the seventeenth century, most notably in the Life of Avvakum. Archpriest Avvakum was a fiery religious dissenter who broke with the reforming church establishment in the mid-seventeenth century and eventually came to be viewed as the founder of the first major church schism to shake Russian Orthodoxy. Banished to Siberia for a time, Avvakum included memorable passages about his exile in his autobiographical martyr’s tale! As analyzed by Bruce T. Holl, Avvakum’s firsthand descriptions present the excesses of the Siberian environment as embodying both heaven and hell. Wandering alone in the towering

mountains of Siberia, surrounded by the terrifying, almost obscene multitude of beasts, Avvakum exclaims:

Ah, misery came my way. The mountains were high, the forests dense, the cliffs of stone, standing like a wall—youd crick your neck looking up!... In those mountains wander many wild beasts, goats and deer, Siberian elk, wild boars, wolves, wild sheep—you ll lay your eyes on them but never your hands!*4

Holl points out that in this passage, the profusion of wildlife overwhelms rather than sustains; although wild creatures are everywhere, “you'll lay your eyes on them but never your hands!”

Elsewhere, however, Avvakum evokes not the horror but the bounteousness and beauty of the Siberian wilds. In a famous and much quoted passage, he effuses: Onions grow there and garlic, bigger than the Romanov onion and uncommonly sweet ..., and in the courtyards are beautiful flowers, most colorful and good-smelling. There's no end to the birds, to the geese and swans—like snow they swim on the lake. In it are fish, sturgeon and taimen salmon, sterlet and amul salmon, whitefish, and many other kinds. The water is fresh, but huge seals and sea lions live in it; in the great ocean I never saw their like when I was living at Mezen. The lake swarms with fish. The sturgeon and taimen salmon are as fat as can be; you cant fry them in a pan—thered be nothing but fat left!?

MESSAGES IN THE LAND 125

Whether writing in appreciative or trembling register, Avvakum has no doubt whose work he is viewing: the fearful cliffs, the endless mountains, the beautiful flowers and multitudinous birds, beasts, and fish are all part of God's Creation. “Along the sum-

mits are halls and turrets, gates and pillars, stone walls and courtyards, all made by God.” “Hemp grows there too in the care of God.” What is more, God created all this abundance for the sake of his final creation, man. “And all this has been done for man through Jesus Christ our Light, so that finding peace he might lift up his praise to God.’*4 Like Archbishop Afanasii Kholmogorsku, who described God's created world as a mirror given to mortals so that they could study and improve themselves, Avvakum sees nature as a grand lesson book, a moral tale writ large in the landscape.*>

The terse, unembellished expedition reports written up by rough men in difficult conditions as they made their way across the Eurasian continent provide rather unexpected confirmation of the prevalence of this meaning-laden way of understanding the natural environment. Like the real-estate maps from the Russian center, the bulk of the surviving maps and accounts of Siberia were written for strictly secular, functional purposes and by men of completely secular backgrounds and little discernable learning, Restrained in expressions of emotion, stingy in use of adjectives, the explorers and envoys who crossed Siberia were uninterested in acknowledging the hand of God at work in the hostile, obstacle-ridden terrain. However, reading the explorers’ reports through Avvakum and Esipov allows us to see elements not at first apparent. Bearing in mind these more explicitly religious sources, we can see that Muscovite explorers and administrators imbued the landscape with much of the same cosmic tension. Detecting traces of a providential interpretation in a diplomatic report or an explorer’s map is not as surprising as it might at first seem. Human spatial understanding “never appears to be exclusively limited to the pragmatic level of action and perceptual experience. *° There is always a mythic level to the seemingly concrete business of orienting oneself in the world and finding one's way around. We have already seen how Orthodox theology could surface unwittingly in the sketch maps of provincial bureaucrats.

Similarly, the Siberian frontiersmen filtered their impressions of the land through theological expectations. Without Avvakum's dramatic flair for conveying the awe-inspiring quality of the Siberian landscape, the explorers and conquerors understood the force of nature in its Siberian guise and feared its power. For example, half a century before Avvakum’s exile, the envoy to China, Ivan Petlin, foreshadowed Avvakum’s reaction to the infinitely tall mountains. In the spirit of Avvakum's “Ah, misery came my way,’ Petlin describes how to reach Mongolia, “you have to pass through a chasm between the rock cliffs: paralyzing fear!’27 This same terror intrudes into the otherwise inexpressive map that Petlin

drew up to accompany his report. “The distance from Jakutka to the Ud River is about eight or ten weeks through high rocky peaks.” Lest the point be missed, he repeats emphatically: “But the passage is through mountainous peaks, that is, through high, rocky mountains and across rivers.’?° In similar vein, a 1654 map was expressively

titled: “A Map of the Anadyr River and Dniuia River and from the Mountains to the

126 CARTOGRAPHIES OF TSARDOM

Sources of the Anadyr...and as far as the Sea and the Korga Where the Beasts Howl.”?? Vladimir Atlasov reported an even more hellish tmage from his explorations in Kamchatka: One week up along the Kamchatka River from its mouth, there is a mountain similar to a stack of grain, enormously huge and high, and another one near it 1s the same, like a haystack and enormously high. In the daytime smoke pours out from it and at night, sparks and a fiery glow. And the Kamchadal people say that if a man goes halfway up that mountain, he will hear a great noise and thunder, such that a human being can’t endure it. And people who have climbed more than halfway up the mountain have never come back. No one knows what happened to them on that mountain.°?

As ts evident in the little notation on Petlin’s map, not only written reports but also maps convey Avvakumian responses to the Siberian terrain. An unassuming example of

this kind of respect for the power of the land is found in the text of an undated seventeenth-century map of the Ilimsk region in Siberia. The map depicts the villages, outposts, and stockades scattered along the Tungus River and records the number of households and affiliation of the residents. It notes the distances or days’ travel be-

tween settlements, measuring time according to the mode of transportation used. When travel from one point to another is tmpossible because of natural barriers, this too is noted on the map. “From [the Eniseisk side of | the Shamansku Rapids to Bratsk District is eight days’ travel on light boats, and there is no way to go on horseback.” “From |the Iimsk side of the] Shamanskui Rapids to the stockade at Bratsk is eight days in light boats. There is no way at all to get there along the Tunguz River and through the mountain because there is no smooth route through the rapids in the Tunguz River and there are rocky cliffs on either side of the river.’3! Tough luck if someone wanted to go that way; nature prohibited it. General maps covering all of Siberia often represent the insurmountable power of the land in quite different but equally eloquent terms. Spafaru, the envoy sent from Moscow to China on one of several failed diplomatic missions, drew up an important map documenting his route to Pezin (Beijing) in 1682. Accompanied by a lengthy report on his travels and travails, Spafarit's map shows some of the obstacles rearing up in the path of the would-be transcontinental traveler. Like most pre-Petrine maps of

the area, Spafarii's map is oriented south-to-north, with south at the top. The map shows all of Eurasia, from the Dnieper River and the “Great Reigning City of Moscow” in the west to the Ocean-Sea (the Pacific) in the east, and from the Indian Ocean in the South to the Arctic Ocean. Spafarii, who grumbled extravagantly (but understandably) in his account of the hardships of travel across antagonistic terrain, took care to sketch in rows and clusters of mountainous bumps as well as dotting in the “Sandy Desert” (the Gobt) just outside the “Big Wall” of China. He labeled the mountain ranges: “Mountains from Baikal and to the sea and into the sea.” Spafarit’s textual account plays out these themes. It elaborates on the immensity of the mountain range, which “continued into the sea like a wall and nobody knows where it ends; and

MESSAGES IN THE LAND 127

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. ‘ ‘a te .7; ae 7 rear , . F . oo mir “ * — +1: a a ae en ee 3 Figure 5.2. Houghton Library, Bagrow Collection, Spatharios [Spafarit] Map, MS Russ 72 (2), 1682. By permission of the Houghton Library, Harvard University.

one cannot find out: people and the forces of nature would not permit; many times people went from the Lena to explore, but their boats were wrecked and they say that this rock continues down to West India, to the New World” (Figure 5.2).5* Maps by the Tobolsk cartographer Semen Remezov echo these themes. A map of the upper Tobol River shows the rocky Ural range curving through the “Naked steppe: Neither woods nor water.” Strangely shaped rock formations (bugry) jut out of the wild, barren landscape (Plate 17).° Fedor Baikov, Spafari's predecessor representing the tsar at the Chinese court, also

dwelled on the difficulties inherent in the topography of the route. He noted in his 1654 summary: “From where the lama lives across the steppe to Irtysh along the right bank to the rocky mountains 1s six days’ march, and along the way, the steppe is entirely empty. There are no woods and no water, and there arent even any Kalmyks.” He stresses the severity of the environment. Even for the indigenous people, life in this wasteland is grueling: “The steppe 1s naked: there 1s neither water nor food. Passing through that place, there are Mongols living there. The people are very poor, and they live in the direst need.’*4 “Good water and food are scarce, and many livestock die.”

128 CARTOGRAPHIES OF TSARDOM

Mikhail Stadukhin and Vtoro1 Gavrilov reported from their expedition to the Oimiakon Ruver in 1641-42, “There is no way one can live on the Oimiakon; one would simply die of starvation.” They explained that their own survival was uncertain.*° Ivan Maksimoy, an explorer under the command of Petr Beketev, described the environment as frigid, hostile, and deadly. Confronted by his commanding officer with the fact that he had arrived weeks late at an appointed meeting place, Maksimov explained: “We got to Lake Irgen, and it was frozen and so were the other lakes. The source that flows from Irgen to Kilka and the Kilka River were long frozen, with ice already higher than our knees. That's why we didnt sail here earlier to meet you.... And we were hungry, and with our last strength we made boats, and we made our way slowly along the Kilka River; it took us exactly three weeks sailing, and all the time without bread. Hungry men cant row.’37 A iasak collector in the Far East echoed this sentiment: The River Penzhina “is hungry. There is no food on the river and | servicemen] are dying of starvation in service. There 1s no point in staying on here, because there are no longer any sables along the Penzhina and there is nothing to eat.’38 The first map of Kamchatka, commissioned by the governor of Yakutsk, D, Traurnicht, and brought back by the intrepid Atlasovy, presents a fairly rugged look to the peninsula. As preserved in several copies made soon after the original by the Siberian cartographer Semen Remezoy, Kamchatka appears as a rough-hewn intrusion into a cold, gray ocean, with a spine of mountains, picked out in sepia, running along the entire peninsula from top to bottom. Small rivers run from the mountain range to the ocean in both directions, but there is no indication of a way to traverse the mountainous wall in the middle. Only a

few tiny symbols mark human outposts, a few insignificant inroads in a cold, unfriendly space (Figure 5.3).°° The ecstatic aspect of Avvakum’s Siberian ode also reverberates in maps and reports of the era. Atlasov, for instance, catalogued the trees and berries, both the familiar and the remarkable, and his list has the same breathless quality found in Avvakum.

In Kamchatka and in the Kurile lands [part of the Kamchatka peninsula] there are berries—red whortleberry, bird cherry, honeysuckle—smaller than raisins but just as sweet. And other berries grow on a kind of tall grass. That berry grows to be just a little smaller than a hen's egg, It is incredibly green, and tastes like a raspberry and has tiny seeds, just like a raspberry.*”

Abundance had both theological and practical significance. Administrators and explorers emphasized in their reports that the sovereign would derive great gains from the remarkable plentitude of the land, which was there to service Russian needs and desires. Andret Palitsyn, governor of Mangazeia, wrote in 1632 about the Lena region: “These lands also abound in sable, fox, beaver, and ermine, and these people do not know the value of sable and other furs. ... It is possible to procure great wealth for the Sovereign from these distant and inaccessible lands,"*! Recurrent though these extreme, polarized images are, they do not capture the full

MESSAGES IN THE LAND 129

Pe

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Ce EE i és Sy y f [oe ee AE ety Mee

ad ageee 1 Lec —Sa “i rarer ror Jt:matin : et taeue ueoe aeOc he phe twats ar ial —— yar ee watts fearea ,oe.

(ce Betsey “bets Piller ratcadtan Pre staan ett does be Na we a aM Fy i Ben megan : -

_ ees ; " _ OO ae" ae ne o ey via Coes . .. ; U ‘ + taal 4 - 7 “ 5! . ’ wee : “ow . rs tee wd bP ee :

ae rer a SP Pe ta Yee. fe ee a y .f vn . a h an it ne a a a e L cal ee Coe “ma mean bard twee sede, ce ante ra ER Sea og, fy . 1. 2 a : a ” * . oer tes denny i =f ; ais. Bot Geter nase boeeste ER PAG edt Beh stdttiee spe a tee a ee dee

Figure 5.5. Chorographic Sketchbook, MS Russ (6), I. 8 ob. By permission of the Houghton Library, Harvard University. Near the beginning of his Chorographic Sketchbook, Remezov includes this visual and verbal ode

to the glories of Siberia and Tobolsk on the left and a paean of praise to the wonders of the compass, along with an explanation of what it ts and how to use it, on the right.

eyes, the whole world, that in the making use of some rudiments, ye may finde out the causes of things, and so by attayning unto wisedome and prudence, by this meanes leade the Reader to higher speculation.”°’ Remezoy puts the mirror idea to use. He starts off similarly but then develops his own line. With a preface addressed to the “gentle reader,’ the Sketchbook notes contentedly that this “completed book 1s a like mirror, which [at the same time] displays curiosities to the | general] viewers and explains them to the Siberians—thus [it 1s] fairly balanced.”°* He delighted in the amazement of the Russians in Siberia at seeing the first map of their region. “They had lived there many years not knowing about hordes living nearby or about the lay of the land.” They reeted the map “with disbelief, not knowing the terrain and not knowing they could pass through it."°? In spite of his enthusiasm for Western learning and science, Remezov developed and maintained his own unmistakable cartographic signature, modeled on and inspired by the already well-established Muscovite traditions. The practice of mapping Siberia dated back at least thirty years before Remezov entered the field, and he drew on a tradition established by his forerunners, including his own father, who evidently sketched several maps to indicate where Russian settlement and farming might be possible.°° His maps retained the traditional Muscovite southern orientation, the symbols and

greeted the map g g they

MESSAGES IN THE LAND 135

- ta sS ae a Ag i ath. a a Soon ; | mo - _ os 7 ney :

Ye - ‘ot“*Vig “ as i; _a wl -er‘ wae" bac :2 oo ae : eat Bs 3hoy. . ae Week Lr' .a, 7 Wears pes, ™ ya * pr ein Beg | o. ogy te 7 i a a Me Boon ies cyt AS wth 3 i Oe Ke ee BB ree a ee Saal eee ake ere ae i on “a =. os “sl, “ ¥ _ Macc autere vee i ” ue at Se ae a " eeiaieee t pee "Y) Pa:- . oe 2 : ead 7 7 “ es Se ~ "ave!a . moe, ) ; ;Mes, ete er ey a % er en ee F oo r" .OE . tog F etPa ceeteoT Fer ek Lee | vhsa Ot eee fate Boe E -

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a jane a _, ae . “oe a vein - ss 1 we My ral a. oan bocatan |

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NRO SI CLUD ts 0 Ae a ae aOC OR Ae GES71a" Meo:ne| crREE Bee } !.

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ato es + od ata 1 vat stot, ™ ‘ . ; rl oa rs a --~ § iyi . I I ’ ;

ir) en: 5 Re ee ee ys © raemes SA\ Taee \ i

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Figure 5.6. “Tataria or the Realm of the Great Khan.” Working Sketchbook, Il. 107 ob—108. Copied from one of

the Dutch sources he used during his research trip to Moscow, this map exemplifies Remezov’s fascination with new, imported science and technology and his eagerness to educate his Russian readers. At the same time, he allowed his copy to display the Western cartographer’s ignorance about the Siberian lands that he himself was documenting so well by including the fanciful demons just outside the Great Wall.

colors he used came straight from Muscovite tradition, and river systems rather than longitude and latitude remained the primary structuring elements on the maps. Even maps that he ornamented with illustrations of scientific instruments remained untouched by any trace of accurate measurement or rigorous surveying (Plate 21). Another example of his hybrid creativity is his “Table or Description of The Muscovite Principality and the States Belonging to It and Its Vast Surrounding Territories,” in which he selectively incorporated Western decorative elements into a fairly traditional Muscovite map. In addition to adding a Polish translation of the Russian title, he inserted a drawing of the Zlata Baba, Golden Woman, a popular figure in Western mythologies about the Russian North. His Golden Woman looks less like a Roman statue than European versions and she has incorporated local fur-bearing animals into her obscure ritual, which consists of bathing or baptizing children while kneeling worshippers proffer up sables or foxes. A European-style crest carrying the imperial

136 CARTOGRAPHIES OF TSARDOM

double-headed eagle along with other mythical creatures signals the sovereignty of the Muscovite state over the territory of the map. In spite of his use of western ornamen-

tal motifs, he nonetheless opted to retain the structuring elements of the Godunoy map tradition, keeping south at the top, and maintaining his own conventional symbols, colors, and layout (Plate 22).°! Remezov has been credited with producing what historians of cartography call the swan song of indigenous Russian mapmaking, and this seems a fair enough characterization of his work.° To what extent Remezov’s oeuvres should be considered typical of Muscovite cartography and geographic thinking is a complicated question. He was clearly an extraordinary individual, and yet he hewed closely to the general pattern of his fellow mapmakers and commentators. Many of the regional maps he copied directly from versions drafted by other explorers and surveyors who were unfamiliar with Western cartography. As his preface to the Working Sketchbook explains, he and his sons were ordered by the head of the Siberian Chancellery to compile their atlas from “pictures of twenty-three Siberian towns brought to the Siberian Chancellery in Moscow.” In the Chorographic Sketchbook he explains that he used “many town maps, whatever had been sent

over the years to Moscow.’® Remezoy, thus, did not work in isolation, and the resulting atlases are as much cobbled together from earlier Muscovite efforts and the contributions of his contemporaries as representative of his own, individual inspiration.®4

Not only his cartographic work but also his written texts elaborate on tropes and forms already established in the early seventeenth century. In places his narrative histories simply paraphrase or copy outright the words of earlier chroniclers. His work was completed before Peter's reforms really came into effect, and certainly well before their impact would have been profoundly felt way out in Tobolsk. His work developed in a

late Muscovite cultural milieu and reflects the currents of that age more than it responds to cultural upheavals of the early erghteenth century. While one remarkable individual cannot stand in as a “representative” Muscovite, chronologically and stylistically, Remezovs work seems a fairly uncontaminated expression of a pre-Petrine cartographic style and aesthetic, and perhaps of Muscovite attitudes toward a wide variety of issues. Moreover, since Remezov created an overwhelming fraction of the surviving maps and geographic descriptions of Siberia, we have no choice but to take his ideas seriously.

As a frontline frontier servitor, Remezov provides a ground-level view of the workings of the Muscovite imperial process and of ideology at work. He was not at the ear of power, nor in the center of decision making, but he actively participated in building the Russian Empire. Empires are built at the frontier, not just from the center.® Remezovs work, with all its idiosyncrasies, provides insight into the way that Muscovite ideologies of legitimacy and expansion played out in the distant reaches of the realm at this moment of transition before the Petrine reforms. Through his unique vision, we can see how the Muscovite imperial, Orthodox mission took shape in the peripheries, how a local agent on the front line saw his role and his purpose. Remezoy, like Av-

MESSAGES IN THE LAND 137

vakum, gives us a strongly individual perspective, but one that, again like Avvakum, echoes many of the themes expressed in ruder and cruder fashion by the other vanguard agents of empire whose voices we have already examined. First and foremost, Remezovss work announces itself as a paean to Siberia, and particularly to his home, Tobolsk. This is a corpus of unabashed hometown boosterism. His personal collection, the Working Sketchbook, portrays the governors of Tobolsk since

Ermak in the form of a family tree. The governors’ names and dates appear in the leaves of a vine that surrounds a central scene depicting Ivan the Terrible learning of Ermak’s victory from a delegation of Cossacks. The Mother of God and Baby Jesus bless their endeavor. An adult Jesus looks down from heaven, and angels trumpet glory and rain fruit and water on the Siberian land (Figure 5.7). Following this are a series of maps of the town layout of Tobolsk, detailed architectural plans of Tobolsk (which he designed himself ) (Figure 5.8), and maps of the Tobolsk region.®° Next follows a map of all Siberia, in which Tobolsk radiates red rays (shown in Plate 18), Cramming European Russia into the margins, pushing Moscow off the map entirely, Remezov imbued geography with politics. Through cartographic sleight-of-hand, he effectively created a center in a place more commonly understood as a periphery. Tobolsk receives various lavish accolades in the work: God-protected, God-chosen, radiant, supreme, reigning (tsarstvuiushchii). Siberia in general and Tobolsk in particular figure in Remezov's vision as places of world-historical importance. He sets Siberia in a geographical context defined by Jerusalem on one hand and the heavens on the other: From the center of the world, from the city of Jerusalem, Tobolsk is located toward the cold countries, toward north, in the steppe.... Under the heavenly planet, the sun, it blooms with happiness and beauty, under the sign of the zodiac from the Lion of the Milky Way.°7

Remezov envisions Siberia as a “peaceful angel.” “The head and core of all are Tobolsk, Tiumen and Tomsk; the two shoulders are the two parts of Tobolsk, the Zlatorozriadny1 1 Sofia sides; the right hand with fingers—the pleasant, well-stocked neighborhoods; the left hand and fingers—the city of Berezov. He continues, equating various parts of Siberia with the wings, the neck, the warm fur coat, the golden clothing (Irkutsk, across the River Amur to China), the solid walking stick (Nerchinsk),

and the never-slumbering guard (Krasnoi Jar and Kuznetsk). His extended (and strained) metaphor concludes with “the bow of steel,’ which he connects triumphantly with “Siberian mores” (sibirskii nrav).°8 Elsewhere he develops the same line of analogy within the city of Tobolsk itself, where the peaceful angel is rather counterintuitively composed of the various administrative and financial elements of the city. The administrative buildings and the town with all its supplies and trade make up the angel's right arm, the cathedral constitutes its left arm, and its fingers are the merchant rows and the assembled people. Siberians themselves enjoy “a life blessed by the heavens.”°?

138 CARTOGRAPHIES OF TSARDOM

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arene wis Pang Hae a rei ; xe : “7 Se Sar ite jel Taent riveree . tree eRe Stan A fect ee tip Nl Beye Na ! Se én yagi thee NY Wt ang at ae) oe gabe one os a Pig iv Fe ne Ben “f

ere ers aa | ats Rice te”aBek eo iF 3 qtneice eaten : ee NI i BR REAL oN. LES oe Al (8I NE aad Sg i ie 2aaki, fe Ee cits ee” set “alt oy . Soperrete - a,ea ie Pha aon2‘, ! tot. hr a ri, lg a h Tutte oot, A | “gfe ae feat CECORE Ti sero teiUe i ae ayesES tee :. Ti anne SE) i ree | Fo ‘iy ; eee tatty

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Working Sketchbook, 1. 9. : - .

Siberia’s gifts include natural boundaries that isolate it and protect it from hostile neighbors. This protective circle is seen clearly in the maps (Plate 23) and described in his geographical essay, “Of the Borders and Boundaries of All Siberia.”

y g neig y gP g

As a boundary around the habitation and lands of surrounding neighbors stands an enduring bulwark of extremely high rock, a circle around the whole Siberian land built by the will of God, as a wall or hard fortification, having peaks higher than the clouds, reaching to the sky, separating Siberia from the hordes with height and width and the nearly impassable steppe and sea and unknowable and impassable ways.”

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In terms reminiscent of Avvakum and of the northern explorers, and repeating the verbal formulas of earlier Siberian chroniclers, Remezov describes the endlessly high facades of solid rock, but he casts them as protective walls, created by God to fortify his chosen city. He presents these towering walls of stone visually in illustrations and

MESSAGES IN THE LAND 130

ee : call : es OE: at ia yesrg ee a pe I Ae

d OND ED spallddes ees”le, iWE uty i af decried A . . E “Tat ‘ . wayf wu _— aeia ae x.|. ; en dar Dnal a ae nr en a: eta ay AIPe be "4 indy OP H ; AALS. ' ater ara ine eae - “rope 4 ay vfata, te” Dt ‘ ‘|.|Te |~| i 4ry ees an apes . pL 'o: OT co, AL ei ee hes, reitpa2Gqekeirihre cyTed| . Ad fin biblaihark. CE “teaka Pe ae

pa EL amet geae .:tarene adam eyst cae Tiaee os a eT frek qua eeBeep. a ag aT Rove eeheos fefeeOE

“Hf 7 aN 3 ae fs i tan

iwy ; ’ iat 4 i ;pawiests! : _ | . a i. - _Sewers oe : cataed fh wile 2 vin. aneote a Liaw :}. | aes- :a. eet | 7 ii Yea i! neve s oo i “Tate

rst" i“he j if rit 3 1 : :oeae crenn zat;ifartes mM ] if: —i er, cay]

7 we. qt safe - * eee : ® ee [ HLF Pies “2 poten pos a ae rs Poe Orie ss + 7 ‘ pout ae Coch nce Aa r m . weeps Poarts woes - . . TaLe : [ a on Ve [we acre ae das oct gy ro. i, 7 aad oriy

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:hif~‘tffietesay .Mga | :ee;" eef oe.; aeEww | coe wi] : .‘Msms . yous 2 “s vere* ee —_—:

PP gP g g

— —_—_—__— rr lg Figure 5.8. Plan of Tobolsk by Semen Remezoy. Working Sketchbook, ll. 20 ob.—21. Among his many ac-

complishments, Remezov also worked as an architect and town planner, redesigning the central city of Tobolsk after one of many fires.

maps in the atlases as well, so the viewer can get a sense of God’s handiwork (Figure 5-9). 71

In keeping with the sense of deliberate purpose embedded in the natural world that emerged from the pens of other Muscovite authors, Remezov explains that Russia's gifts do not derive simply from fortunate happenstance. The peculiar frontispiece of his Sluzhebnaia atlas, a pastiche of inscriptions and classical figures without clear refer-

ents, makes this point quite explicit. The frontispiece represents the Russian imperial double-headed eagle, complete with crown, orb, and scepter, in the central medallion of a magnetic compass (Figure 5.10). To the left a bit of land is labeled “Polish,” where an angel stands, bearing a Russian double-headed eagle standard. To the right, a Turk in a characteristic hat (a durshlak) holds a feathered flyswatter as he relaxes on the ground, over a notation explaining that “The Turk follows Islam” (Turetskoi znaet busurmanstvo). Above it all, a divine hand, reaching out from the clouds, holds a drafting compass, as the divine cartographer, designer of the landscape. A smiling sun and the

140 CARTOGRAPHIES OF TSARDOM

Sr tik Saeed, ON leg

cod a ett lh ott ajo db malay Sate

ned ee “Wp a we y™ ata ee we a Frames . a ee, Tne ig Pie a wie ie SP me ae Ee Figure 5.9. Tobolsk perched on a precipitous cliff over the river. Chorographic Sketchbook, 1. 164. By permis-

sion of the Houghton Library, Harvard University.

signs of the zodiac preside over a number of winged allegorical figures who carry cryptic messages: By the sun are measured the days and hours of our lives. Fate will be carried out. Far or near, peaceful wings fly.

Marking the four directions are clustered heads of benevolent winds, labeled “breath, life, quietness, and mercy, to have the mark of power. Measure of times, lives, and hours.” Whatever the meaning of these peaceful, regular phrases, the winds are clearly positive figures, softly blowing and smiling behind their breath. A bit farther along in his atlas, Remezov describes Siberia’s climate as “healthy and fine for human habitation.” “The wind over us is merry and moderate. It is not hot or cold.’’* Remezov's assessment of the weather echoes Atlasov’s observations about Kamchatka’s warm win-

ters.’> But Remezovs goes beyond neutral description, attributing beneficence and kindness to the “merry” arctic winds, making them, like the protective rock walls, friends to the Russians. The merry winds, personified in the frontispiece sketch, blow no ill.

The harmony of environment and human interests runs throughout Remezov's work. In his Sketchbook, on a map of the “waterless and scarcely passable rocky steppe,’

Remezov undercuts the forbidding message of his title by noting that the true God considerately created all the great rivers of Siberia and provided in those many rivers “a route to China and the entire steppe.’’4 Rivers not only facilitate commerce and transportation but also water the land with Christian glory. The Sluzhebnaia atlas gloats:

MESSAGES IN THE LAND 141

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aa FW “ae OD ’ sy

: 4 . x a Ciwi wad prime - shige Peavee tis, ae " 7 1

sO ii nn at| ie CS ; —_ aioe il sie eae rr Pn ets Ba. Binyed prixene ae, Re owe emt Spar"

fogs . mar Ep. , vey SASS CN agape gall

i aae -e¥ a () Sameee

ordM sans RYT agCa] a, | , .ne, ea\ an eet:OP _ _Necoer om et. ot *- ‘;_. “pT wagAktpo Ae Pn AIPA 7 a ,3a '. ts iar, cai a avd , re a m A A: * ; rsa a ait

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fia. [ an fry

Fas ~ ot -EBT fn aye LTVS or fate 7 ’s AD oe destree a fy,

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es("|dictrz WE ee Fie jE a a: Mpbeceer hes : caret. ME ; ‘ a = aa rt

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eeeWorking Ww) thl | , =aetna Figure a5.10. Sketchbook, frontispiece.

“And the name of God is spread to the ends of the earth, and unto today it is spread in the profusion of rivers throughout the countries.’’° The allegorical frontispiece of

gy

y gure 5 8

the same atlas expresses this same riverine message in visual form: the great waterways

of Siberia, represented as serpentine dolphins, wend through the land, spilling forth divine bounty from the hand of God (also in Figure 5.10). In the Khorovraficheskaia atlas Remezov boasts that Siberia “is filled to overflowing with abundance, with healthy air

and life-giving waters, rich in fish and birds, with beasts for food and clothing.”’° He

puts into words the same point that his trumpeting angels announce visually in so many of his illustrations: angels “proclaim and announce, with voices like trumpets.”

142 CARTOGRAPHIES OF TSARDOM

The created world, too, participates in celebrating Muscovite rule: “The mountains and valleys prepare to glorify the most worthy tsar,’ as do the four elements: wind, earth, fire, and water.’” His descriptions of profusion and overabundance recall the impressions sent back by various explorers throughout the century, but he sets his paean within a divine narrative.

Even archeological artifacts serve to prove the divine mysteries at work in making Siberia a place uniquely blessed by God. Remezov was fascinated by a set of mysterious runes that he and his son discovered carved into some rocks and he copied them scrupulously into his atlases. His curiosity and interest are evident in his description of the discovery. In the year 7211, and from the birth of Christ 1703, in the month of June on the nineteenth day, these miraculous letters, written in ancient times, were copied down from the rock by the Tobolsk servitor Semen Remezovy, who was sent by order of the Sovereign to Kungur on a mission to describe and map the distances of rivers from the Verkhoture Province. With his son Leontit he sailed up from the east side and crossed the river Irtit, | found] words from some unknown people, and copied the strange letters that were written on those smooth stones, from the rock onto paper.’® (Figure 5.11)

Casting his description of the “miraculous” writing within a biblical calendar, referring back to both Creation (which Orthodox theologians had calculated to have occurred 5,508 years before the birth of Christ) and the birth of Christ, he places them in a category of not just historical but cosmic antiquity. Archeological artifacts become another sign of the marvelous presence of God in the land, and with his son, the Tobolsk servitor Remezov becomes the oracle and prophet, bringing the mysterious signs to the attention of his readers.

This biblical and historical chronology not only appears in the discussion of the runes but in fact frames Remezov's entire Siberian opus. He sets the parameters with the opening lines of his atlases: “The year from the Creation of the world 7208, and from the Incarnation of God's Word in the year 1701 January the first, and in the third year of the reign in Moscow of the Great Sovereign Tsar and Grand Prince Peter Alek-

seevich, Autocrat of All Great, Small, and White Russia.’7? In his historicalethnographic “Description of the Siberian Peoples and the Boundaries of their Lands,’ Remezov added yet another layer to his cosmology: “written by order of the Great Sovereign by the Tobolsk servitor Semen Ul'ianovich Remezoy, in the year from Adam 7206, from the birth of Christ 1698, from the taking of Siberia 118.”59 These alternate calendars with their various divine-providential and historical-political references show that Remezoy, like Avvakum and like the provincial mapmakers in Central Russia, saw the natural world around him as the meaning-laden text of both a sacred and a human narrative, waiting to be read.°! Siberia occupied a separate date line and its own unique chapter of that sacred history. It is the regions status as chosen by God that defines its providence. God created

MESSAGES IN THE LAND 143

|

T | H

os v4 ain . | sires > Fh oil we oT “3 rare ki bu Caan! |

CBR rar dc aires apne CPE aE BB Goons

BBY OE ia, tea ne, Gan nee Geo dark

! (4 bh Siero ae Frases Miebine Cragg ete MOM verve) | :. Sale no ate caewet TeteMier Dh fruge he ia i Gs:G1: a 4adde* ee eee CAE iadMawel Ayam deyeneta eee en rr ¥aa" hemeanfes Wot Baceees fiat way reer Rist enees y |

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y | | Figure 5.11. Runes. Working Sketchbook, Bec aa a el I, 69. perfection in Siberia and centered it in Tobolsk. Remezovs extraordinary colored “Map of the Dangers Facing the City of Tobolsk” depicts the city as the center of a world of concentric circles (As seen in Plate 23). The column of text on the left describes the rings of dangerous hordes that encircle the city as well as the natural protections put there to guard it. The map celebrates the city's “defenses against incursions by bandits or warriors, Chuchiums, Kalmyks, Bashkirs,’ or other tribal peoples. “The first solid defensive line encircles the city of Tobolsk in all four directions like a fortress of great rivers and gates |?| and lakes and impassable marshes and swamps... . Military expeditions would have to approach across the naked steppe.’®? In the conclusion to his Working Sketchbook, Remezov describes his work as an atlas “of the universe

| na vselenei | within Siberia: the supreme city of Tobolsk and cities, settlements, outposts, hamlets, and villages under the jurisdiction of the chancellery, and all kinds of noteworthy landmarks by name—-seas, various rivers, lakes, streams, mountains, hills, steppes, and other particulars.” Unself-consciously placing his administrative catalogue in a grander context, he praises God for helping him complete his work and ends

144 CARTOGRAPHIES OF TSARDOM

on a note of prayer: “To the immortal and inscrutable and unseen God honor and glory and great obeisance, now and forever and for all eternity. Amen.”®> The text of the conclusion is written inside a medallion framed by decorative green and yellow foliage. In the same way that the men who mapped real-estate disputes had no problem combining their prosaic assignments with a Christian vision of the created world, Remezov was not squeamish about mixing God, topography, and bureaucracy in a single sentence. Remezov is perhaps our “smoking gun,’ who confirms the methodology of reading meaning from cartographic symbols used throughout this book. With his gloriously articulate texts accompanying a mass of illustrative and cartographic material,

Remezov illustrates the mental patterns by which the rest of our more reticent sources—administrators, government functionaries, diplomats, explorers and soldiers—assembled their worldview and organized their presentation of the environment around them. He confirms the finding that Muscovite secular administrators, like their clerical contemporaries, might interpret the landscape as a providential one, fully steeped in religious significance.

READING THE LANDSCAPE: PROVIDENTIAL MEANINGS ON THE SIBERIAN FRONTIER Explorers faced a complicated task in deciphering the meanings imbedded in the impossibly high mountains of rock, the unimaginably dry desert sands and stony steppes, the outrageously large fruits and vegetables, the bizarre animals, and the hideously belching volcanoes of the Arctic North and the East. The Russian countryside, with its forests, fields, swamps, and pastures, studded throughout with solid villages and cross-topped churches, connoted the best of God's creation, the verdant garden where the righteous dwelled. In keeping with Moscow's official line, the provincial

cartographers expressed a quiet confidence in their position on the cosmic map. In Siberia, where nature was altogether more exuberant, less forgiving, more powerful, and uncontrollable, the divine presence in the natural world was, if anything, more palpable, but 1ts meaning was harder to read. The contradictions within the landscape itself made for more disputed exegesis than we detect in the more consistent heartland maps. Siberia, with its altogether different topological, cultural, and political contours, appears to have carried some of the same encoded meanings as Muscovy proper. Both spoke of God's favor and blessing. Both brought the bounty of paradise to the Russian

tsardom. If both environments could be understood to carry providential meaning, nonetheless, the messages encoded in these different physical and cultural environments must have diverged in some ways. Most of the men—lIvan Petlin, Vasilit Poiarkov, Fedor Baikov, Semen Remezov—

who mapped and described Siberia were born and bred in Siberia, and so they rarely thought to compare what they found to the fields and forests of central Russia.*4 Nonetheless, some comparison 1s possible by reading the two sets of documents side by side.

The meaning of emptiness, a pressing concept in both venues, offers a revealing

MESSAGES IN THE LAND 145

point of contrast. The maps and texts of both regions display evocative vocabularies

of emptiness and desolation. Maps, surveys, and court documents of the central provinces record a melancholy assortment of deserted lands; unpopulated lands; and land that used to be plowed but now is overgrown with scrub, swamp, slough, bog, marsh, and quagmire. While these terms all signify depopulation, flight, or movement of people and testify to the marginal kinds of properties that were put to use in the Muscovite rural economy, they all designated bits of property that people felt were worth fighting for. More than any other kind of land, it was pustoshi—empty land, deserted plots—that drew litigants to court in bitter struggles for possession. We may hear a haunting, hollow, poetic emptiness echoing in the word, but Muscovites saw cash and yields sprouting in those empty fields. Pustoshi were positive signs, muchcoveted prime real estate. In Siberia, the vast, unsettled emptiness certainly could have its lucrative attractions as well. Forwarding a report from a group of servitors from Nerchinsk, the governor of Tobolsk informed the co-tsars Ivan and Peter in 1684 that “there 1s a very great deal of arable land in Nerchinsk Province.” After enumerating the abundant returns produced by the twenty-three peasant families already settled there, he suggested that the tsars should order no fewer than “five hundred peasant families resettled there from various Siberian towns.” Again suggesting the limitless possibilities of these unsettled lands, he continued: “There are many lands suitable for agriculture along the great Shilka River and its tributaries and in the meadows and forests. Furthermore, Sire, according to the report of the gentryman Grigorii Lonshakoy there are abundant lands suitable for agriculture near the Argun stockade.’$° Maps produced in the field registered the same preoccupation with putting the vast lands under the plow. Land allotments and divisions were carefully recorded on chertezhi, which are frequently mentioned in directives sent out to the field, although only a few survive today.8° Some of Remezovs maps capture this sense of the potential inherent in Siberia’s vastness. One of his many jobs was surveying agricultural properties for the Russian peasants and tribute-

paying farmers near Tobolsk and other Siberian cities. On a number of maps he took the time to indicate agricultural plots, outlining little geometric shapes in dotted lines, often in red ink. The plots look small and insignificant on the pages (Figure 5.12).8” More usual, however, and more impressive, are the other representations of Siberia’s uninhabited and uninhabitable reaches, its vertiginous mountain ranges and stony, nearly impassable steppe. The nineteenth-century romance with Russia's vastness as a defining feature of the Russian character or soul does not yet feature in seventeenthcentury accounts.*§ Instead, the boundless space signifies either horror or profit. In either case, the emptiness had to be filled, passed through, or subdued in order to turn horror to profit. In this more contested landscape, Russian colonial administrators, cartographers, and explorers had to take a more active role than their compatriots at the center. Colonists had to advance Russian settlement and conquest to tip the scales and transform the land from vacant barrenness to fruitful bounty. God had created the land for their use; Russian colonists bore responsibility for unleashing its potential.

146 CARTOGRAPHIES OF TSARDOM

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aan o Pg on 7 ™ Fe ane i .

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of Siberia opens with this bit of carto- < eg Oe nace - ary m aa a. nels of

graphic theology.

chart the Russian double-headed eagle on the Siberian landscape; the eye of God and the radiance of Christian enlightenment shine on Russian cities in Siberia.!4 Literary sources undoubtedly overplay religious themes, but more mundane documentary sources exude the same confidence in the blessedness of the imperial enterprise. Frontier explorers and conquerors shared the conviction that whatever the Russian presence meant in the Siberian lands, it carried with it the blessing of God.

“GLORIOUS CITIES AND HANDSOME SETTLEMENTS, ALL SETTLED BY RUSSIAN PEOPLE

yPP

Yurt Slezkine notes that according to the chronicles, “the true meaning and the inevitable outcome of Russia’s eastward movement was ‘to carry the Gospel across Siberia to the end of the universe.’ ’’!5 But how exactlv was this spread of the Gospel to be effected? The answer lay in the ever-advancing trail of Russian outposts and settlements that led across the continent. Siberia would achieve its divinely ordained potential through the settlement of Russian Orthodox people on Siberian soil. Colonists contributed actively to the Christianizing mission through their own labor, as they raised structures to glorify God and conquest. Chroniclers praised the prosaic appur-

tenances of colonial settlement as inherently and powerfully Christian. Remezov

“EXALTED AND GLORIFIED TO THE ENDS OF THE EARTH” 153

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ti “nad t T Fa ty raea® pan od di ee) ae Staite Feil 7 0 | rade

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Soe gg tT HRS OD ~ _ ee! letopis’, ch. 27. Visions of battling

. fet. yh NCA Tas Figure 6.2. Remezov, Kratkaia sibirskaia

boasted that “all Siberia has been... adorned with churches and filled with towns and settlements in eternal glory. 16 The land of Siberia could be dedicated to God and become a Christian space when its expanse was transformed into a Russian space, analogous to those church-filled sketch maps of central Russia. Orthodox triumph took incarnate form in the establishment of tsarist governance and administration and the erection of towns and churches by Russian people. In keeping with the chroniclers’ emphasis on human agency, Russian labor builds the platform for the word of God in the new lands. “By these men there were established cities and God’s holy churches were erected.’!” The “profusion of rivers” may

have borne the name of God “to the ends of the earth” and “throughout the countries,’ but men earned the credit for building “glorious cities,’ “handsome settlements, and “holy churches.”!® Both the Esipov Chronicle and the Stroganov Chroni-

cle highlight “the establishing of cities in the Siberian land and the building of Orthodox churches” by placing these events in their titles.19? Remezov foreshadows the triumph of Christianity in Siberia with an architectural omen. “Every day at dawn and at every festival of theirs” throughout the years “before the coming of Ermak” where the city of Tobolsk “with its cathedral and bell tower,” would eventually stand, “mul-

154 CARTOGRAPHIES OF TSARDOM

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EE PO I ose aT ied ‘aay J “FAR a fi) ee “ae m ONE ay rsh: ky Meee SEGal? we tov’ ae ffei RON OS Ze say > oe a eat my i iA Way Be — $ete | op oF An Reg. tg Ye A rae’; |, Cae ape he: la w SOR Ay - oa A A : = MEA i Weta ve “p! f Oe Ome om

bh DIRS Sl =ealae SEED TA eyateT |A aES on yar es eeta5:eae Afpues th | i abe 7h. Ee —- +

ARISE Oe SEE ne gee: Figure 6.3. Remezoy, Kratkaia sibirskaia * em: ae Bare age 4 ~¥ a 28 ‘att 6 amie

letopis’, ch. 46. “The Great and Won- roses = ™_ ~ : nme derfully Beautiful King.” ee : .

lahs and preachers and other infidels” beheld a vision of ‘a shining Christian city up in the air, with churches and a great ringing of bells.” Understandably, this phantom city aroused “great perplexity about what this might mean,” but the significance is quite plain in Remezovy’s text and in the accompanying illustration, which shows a glowing, Russian Orthodox city, with domes and crosses, floating on a bed of clouds at the unmistakably mapped conjunction of the Irtysh and Tobol rivers.2°? The specter foreshadows the real city, which solidifies Russian victories and gives materiality and location to triumphant Christianity (Figure 6.4). These allusions to cities and structures are not rare, isolated passages. They fill the chronicle texts and insistently present Russian construction projects as manifestations of Christianity. When the actual city of Tobolsk is built on its precipitous escarpment above the rivers, and others like it follow, Esipov delights in the fact that “the Russian Cossacks established cities there, and God's holy churches were erected.”*! Remezov imagines that Ermak’s arrival in Siberia brought a “light of inexpressible joy” to the land, so “it was as though an eagle had covered his nest Sibir' with his fledglings and had given each city a feather of his glory.’ This rather delirious metaphor gives form to Reme-

“EXALTED AND GLORIFIED TO THE ENDS OF THE EARTH” 155

Ai Tone _ . (yen tat, os ;

. wae Hemet Suter ite t Emp anedtan paul | " aA Paagre A fauna Flere ne M

‘PR uciere. gas, Adanaint dhe ee Adintet agin i rd he Agere

hada haoceped Frpain? 1 ante Lied imal af tk teat irs eT Goat fls Jeeta rect om

4.gndo set tube i a i yah tue WJae Erk aint, e Wa) Fran Aare nt ryt ot tape a pAoyatea Teg deapens. + fee Testa Radon Heat

daa be aif a

Pad Frege Ae npractpe oR eY paca ted ere Rt eee Joga. hepany se a .. paren Gpaniancal ¥ ! - “ * ily

}Aw : \ \\V Aled Wh ‘HA, A ae ih Ny tf " as 7 * “ i ryt his / hy a - . LSI*

K a Pie ae a 38 “iT cf) .ae AME =tt Le y laeaeeAa =iy,llops 2Stn , c.f. LAE: -a cf fr. ,yi . % = at Ve PUA 7 ween, (APN) fF | ¢: .

7oe. ARE : La oH*, ae i*. ran ‘iri ae FW ) a y a 7 hls: TEES iene meet fe . “ a de Kas py r “ . Ms , ind 1° “a -

. 1 —_ \" * . . , feat: He | a ;F dy Ss-. -f i ’. te . _— as) ay i at ‘ thy | 4

f | Bic om wa 2; ES oe an Figure 6.4. Remezovy, Kratkaia sibirskaia

i a . + ae letopis’, ch. 18. An architectural omen.

zovs vision of “the all-holy and life-giving Spirit” illuminating the very walls and towers of Russian towns.’* In the accompanying illustration, an eagle projects feathered arrows, like the tongues of flame by which the Holy Spirit was said to have descended among the disciples at Pentecost. The arrows reach down to schematically drawn Russian cities, drawn just the same way as on Remezovs maps (Figure 6.5). Church construction and urban development conferred instant enlightenment: According to the command of the sovereign, the tsar and great prince... cities and forts were established in the Siberian land, and the Christian Orthodox faith began to be propagated in the Siberian land. Churches to God were raised up, and the preaching of the Gospel teaching spread to every end of the Siberian land, and the thunder of psalms resounded.?%

This passage gives a nod to the propagation of the faith among the heathen, which we will consider more below, but it dwells more emphatically on the Russian cities, forts, and churches and the thunderous noise they emitted. This reading, with its emphasis on the inherently religious function of Russian building projects, suddenly makes Remezovss riffs on Siberia and Tobolsk as “peaceful angels,’ discussed previously, seem less hallucinatory and more coherent. His odd analogies make a good deal

156 CARTOGRAPHIES OF TSARDOM

a / wees . : yt pla ae al? ¢ Atapiah LL ' “7

“ite 4, nf at i A tent eon Tee oH Fi aA 7 .. bo. cen-rys 4

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ue Sin ate: wena ree ON Fhe 3604 toatl 4 berbawasrateken es gene ae |

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ia fv nce 2 Sabana ras ' ria SRDS | petra iP cant wagons ge a ment ee, geet yi ee ee haar — ep

0"th etne ae Oe amie = a im P 1. = is. 7 ety _ —_

by oP PA WR NS ~~ aa ee AP IIEEL ENN ANS SSE eesZ.>ae . ‘A; » ib i ih, Sa " em a | . iy ‘ i ' \ = . ms ae vif ‘I | Bm (i . —_ a pn 4| A ee: Se ike eaeoMe, Bat aafffw/e ; } |af m ; ~~be SseS . cits uf.iiHj ‘}| Be >

= PSA, La OSNO EBS | f ORS tTAB meGY (2BB H WAAR TAKES

BY EAL Pe BY ATA RAO ON 3 .fh a6te Aa meVy . \ xon ‘ TEN : r| mm . [. ;4 ro kL

+ 1| a!a I: \ me[ ' \ |

; | oe art ca Sak ' | eae nee BOa1 Figure 6.5. Remezov, Kratkaia sibirskaia Size ane | letopis’,brought ch. 139. aErmak’s in | on_7.ee e ce | . Siberia “light ofarrival inexpresstble joy” to the land.”

of sense viewed in this light: “The head and core of all are Tobolsk, Tiumen, and Tomsk,” Russian outposts and Christian redoubts. The jarring note of the bureaucratic chancellery offices forming part of the angel's right arm now harmonizes with the vision of tsarist might and Russian settlement ineffably spreading Orthodoxy throughout the land. Viewed in this way, Muscovite administrative work was the work of angels. Siberian mores understandably signify the peaceful angel's “bow of steel,’ held, presumably in the left hand of “the assembled people.” It 1s the people, as Orthodox Russians, who can wield the bow of faith and send the arrows of godliness into the wilderness. When Remezov quotes the Gospel saying, “where two or three are gathered together in my name, there am I in the midst of them,’ the “two or three” he has in mind are unambiguously Russians, gathered together in Russian architectural ensembles, bringing, thereby, their Lord to the midst of Siberia.*4 Remezoy attributes sacral qualities to Tobolsk itself, as a bulwark of Russian Christians. His passionate work in redesigning the city becomes Christian missionary work in its own right. His detailed sketches of the city and in particular its churches, his trees of venerated Tobolsk metropolitans and governors, and his maps of monasteries outside the walls all add up to a visual display of the ways in which “all Siberia has

“EXALTED AND GLORIFIED TO THE ENDS OF THE EARTH 157

been glorified by God and affirmed in God's truths, and adorned with churches, and filled with towns and settlements in eternal glory.’*° Tobolsk’s position as center of the world, analogous to Jerusalem itself, accurately reflects its role in advancing the glory of God. Nerchinsk, the last outpost of Muscovy before the Empire of China, reasonably serves as the “sturdy walking stick,’ on which Russian ambitions lean. Remezovs concluding flourish also makes sense in this context: we can understand now why he characterizes Tobolsk and a long list of its dependencies, “cities, settlements, outposts, hamlets, and villages under the jurisdiction of the chancellery,’ as “the universe within Siberta.” Russian colonial settlement and administration become a matter of truly cosmic dimensions. Remezov solves the riddle of how Russian trappers and colonialists could view their inroads into Siberia as part of a mission to spread God's glory on earth, while at the same time demonstrating little interest in the enterprise of conversion.

The Stroganov Chronicle boasts: “In many places by command of the sovereign's Christian cities and strongholds were established, and in them churches to God were raised up, and monasteries were constituted to the glory of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Ghost.”*° The Esipov Chronicle concurs. By erecting cities, the Russians glorified God and spread his word: “In places that no one had heard of, there now are cities and villages and dwellings within them, and a great number of Orthodox Christians have spread over the face of all the Siberian land."?7 In all his sketches and maps of cities and fortresses radiant with the beauty of their churches, Remezoy refines the theme of spreading the Christian truth through Russian architecture. He waxes poetic about how the golden-tongued and curly-bearded tsar Ivan IV, together with the “blessed cleric Makarii, archbishop of Moscow and metropolitan of All Russia, loved by God, ... enlightened all Siberia with holy baptism and adorned it with churches.” Through their good work in Siberia, “both pour water on the roots of the tree of the golden churches.”?8 Muscovites thus cultivate Christianity by promoting church construction. Another genre of geographical writing reveals this same sense of imperial justification through urban construction. Cosmographies, encyclopedic cultural geographies of the world produced in the seventeenth century in Muscovy, offer the same assessment of the Russian presence in Siberia. Basing their works on Western cosmographies, the Muscovite translator-authors reworked sections to fit their own ideas of the place of their tsardom in the world and interjected local knowledge into the Siberian sections 1n particular, given the lack of information on the topic in their western models. The “Cosmography in Seventy-Six Chapters” virtually repeats the words of the

Siberian chronicles, noting of the Land of Siberia: “The land stretches out far and wide and is subject to the Muscovite tsar. And now by God's mercy and the tsar’s generous care, in that Siberian land there are glorious cities and handsome settlements, populous and very wealthy, all settled by Russian people.’?° Siberia assumes the attributes of Russia itself, becoming part of the blessed dominion of the Orthodox autocrat. Russian cities and settlements fill it with natural bounty,

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activated or brought to its full potential by the presence of Russian structures and colonists. Without Russian settlement, the lands to the east had lain empty and desolate, but once adorned with Russian structures, their richness was unleashed. The Nogai and Kalmyk land, for instance, “is wide and vast but empty,’ while the Siberian lands have advanced beyond that naked state to a glorious condition of wealth and piety: “The Siberian land and its adjacent countries were of no use whatsoever, except for animals and fish, but now the Siberian land shines with piety.’3° Another cosmography from the same period links the imperial dominions and the heartland through the beauty and natural abundance they both share. Situating Muscovy squarely at the center of its imperial expanse, the cosmography reminds the reader that to the west and south, “not long ago Kiev and Lithuania were separated off, but at the same time

Russia subdued the tsardoms of Kazan and Astrakhan and the Golden Horde and other Tatar pagans—the Cheremis and Mordva, Samoyeds and Lopari, and the land of Siberia.” The cosmographer waxes enthusiastic about the extent of Russian control, about the beauty of the Muscovite physical presence, and the wealth of the land. “The Muscovite land stretches from the Khvalinskoe (Caspian) Sea to the Solovetskoe Sea

and all the way to the great Ocean-Sea (the Pacific).... Monasteries and churches adorn the cities with magnificence and with marvelous buildings and bells, and in all Europe there is nothing like that land.... They grow much grain and have much honey, and there is a plethora of fish of all kinds in the mighty rivers.”*! Colonial spaces were appropriated and possessed by peopling their expanses with Russians and imprinting on those expanses Russian architectural outlines. Through the expansion of architectural forms, Muscovy’s triumphant Christian destiny reached from the Kremlin in Moscow to the Pacific Ocean. Russian cities, forts, and winter shelters allowed cosmographers and cartographers to read the Siberian landscape as an extension of Russia's forests, fields, and villages, as a Christian paradise, the home of the deserving and pious Russian people. For confirmation we turn again to the visual realm of cartographic representation. The wonderful map of Siberia of 1673, “Map of All Siberia to the Chinese Tsardom and Japan,” illustrates this conception of Russian imperial conquest most vividly of all (as seen in Plate 19), With its enormous turreted structures, boldly painted in red and yellow, filling a landscape connected by rivers, this map embodies the Russian version of colonialism through construction.** From the moment that Kuchium’s horde saw the spectral towers of a gleaming Russian city hovering over the landscape, Russian dominion was assured. Possession was defined by human indicators, and marked by structural silhouettes.

Patricia Seed writes in her comparative study of ceremonies of possession in the New World: Every European legal code defined the meaning (and history) of possession, domination, lordship, and regal sovereignty differently. Symbolic actions or practices for instttuting authority differed, frequently dramatically, from one European nation to an-

“EXALTED AND GLORIFIED TO THE ENDS OF THE EARTH 159

other. This should not be surprising, for no two European powers shared the exact same cultural experience of everyday life, let alone the same language or legal code. No two powers had identical ideas as to how colonial power should be symbolically cre-

ated, or indeed over what it should be established. To ask whether colonial power should or even could control, land, water, minerals, wild animals, or people in the New World required a different response, depending upon the colonizing power.**

To explain the particular forms adopted by each European power in staking claims to New World possessions, Seed turns back to legal practices and customs in each respective country. She argues convincingly that domestic forms of claiming territory or property provided readily available models for imperial claims. For instance, in England, by law, the acts of building, enclosing, and cultivating served to establish a legal claim to property. These acts of possession provided a powerful legal claim that could override even documented rights of ownership by an absentee or idle landlord.*4 By reasonable extension, the same practices were construed by the English as the most convincing and valid way to claim colonial lands, particularly when the indigenous inhabitants had not previously enclosed their fields, built permanent structures, or developed recognizable forms of property ownership. When English colonists wished to

claim possession of territory, they hastily built a house, fenced in some land, and sowed some seeds, whether or not they planned to remain until the seeds grew and the crops ripened.

The crucial importance attributed to Russian construction clearly derives from practices developed back in the central provinces. As we have seen, Russians emphasized the importance of constructing buildings as part of staking their claim to land, whether in Elets or Siberia. Certainly most of the impetus for building was practical; the zimov'ia, the winter warming stations that explorers erected along rivers, provided indispensable shelter for Russian officials and explorers. Similarly, the fortresses and stockades that they were required to erect served strategic defensive and offensive functions and often became the centers of evolving cities. Yet building served more than a pragmatic function in the spread of Russian imperial might. The state took care that churches were built and consecrated right after the establishment of any Russian outpost. Orders from Moscow or from the important Siberian cities flooded the frontier, requiring the construction of churches dedicated to prescribed saints. The state paid for the construction of churches and provided all the necessary supplies—icons, altar cloths, candles. Instructions mandated that qualified priests be sent, sometimes over long distances, to consecrate the new churches.*° Russian Orthodox had long considered the construction of a church a fitting mode of expressing thanks to a merciful God or of propitiating an angry one. Rapid construction of one-day votive churches, erected in twenty-four hours of uninterrupted labor through concerted community effort, conferred an almost miraculous standing on the churches themselves.°° As described in the Siberian sources, new churches adorned the landscape, and even secular construction gladdened the Christian God.

160 CARTOGRAPHIES OF TSARDOM

Muscovite colonial theory and practice developed a theology of landscape that invested the natural world with the animate spirit of God and saw the same spirit at work in human settlement and relations to the land. By marking their presence in the landscape, on maps and in life, Russian Siberians congratulated themselves on simultaneously spreading the word of God and establishing their sovereign’s claims to everexpanding imperial holdings. By the same token, they also asserted their importance and effectiveness as worthy subjects of the tsar's Orthodox polity. Imperial and Orthodox territorial claims, just like provincial property claims, were enacted and verified by imprinting a human presence on the land.

“CONVERT NO NATIVES AGAINST THEIR WILL” God's light unmistakably shone on the Russian enterprise in Siberia, and His loyal servants gilded their domes to reflect their devotion back at Him. Nonetheless, at the forefront of empire, Cossacks, pioneers, and bureaucrats had to find concrete ways to translate Christian mission into actual policy toward incorporating the natives and colonizing the land. One issue that had to be resolved was what to do about the natives’ inoverie, adherence to other faiths.

The narrative sources enumerate a great array of blessed triumphs and glorious successes against the native Siberians. The sources celebrate Cossack hosts when they

crush the natives underfoot like scorpions, inspiring fear and awe, and when they achieve victory over the accursed pagans, defeating the infidel khan. Having crushed them, what were the pious Cossacks to do with them? The obvious answer would be to

convert them, but as it turned out, Muscovites were more intensely invested in impressing them with the beauty and power of their Christian presence than with undertaking a systematic proselytizing campaign. Muscovites were not unaware that Christianity could be cultivated through winning converts among the natives. They knew that Russia itself had been converted to the Orthodox faith many centuries earlier; and a popular medieval Russian saint, Steven of Perm, had achieved his blessed status through his work as apostle to the Zyrians of the Ural region. Indeed, the chronicles and histories intimate that large numbers of converts were drawn to the true faith in Siberia as well. “If tn ancient times the Siberian

land was darkened by idolatry, now it is shining with devotion to God; the service of devils has disappeared and the altars of the idols are shattered. Knowledge of God was implanted, the consubstantial Trinity and the uncreated Godhead are glorified according to the saying: “Their sound went into all the earth and their words unto the ends of the world.’” Russians figure in this story as the new apostles of Christ, bringing his message to lands that the early apostles did not reach: “For even if God did not grant to the blessed apostles to go forth to these lands, yet their preachings have gone forth everywhere. 3’ Remezovs all-seeing God had, “from the beginning of time” decreed that the Gospels should be preached “throughout Siberia to the ends of the universe and the limit of the mountains to the supreme city of Tobolsk.’%> Remezov and his

“EXALTED AND GLORIFIED TO THE ENDS OF THE EARTH 161

fellow chroniclers occasionally introduced conversion as a justification for, or at least a positive result of, the conquest. The Stroganov Chronicle states: The unbelievers saw such grace shining forth in their land and the sovereign’s imperial hand raised over them, and many submitted themselves under the sovereign’s hand and left their impious faith. Many unbelievers came to baptism and were baptized, living in the Orthodox faith.°?

In tangible ways, as well as in the religiously inspired pages of the chronicles, conversion was a part of the story of Russian imperial progress. Conversions occurred and the newly baptized were incorporated into the life of Russian outposts. Both religious commitment, presumably, and rather more crass, secular motives drove Russian frontiersmen to baptize captives and slaves. Through conversion, they could secure their

hold on native slaves, who could not be returned to the temptations of their pagan communities after baptism. Limited numbers of native men were encouraged to convert in order to fill out the slim ranks of Russian guards and garrison regiments 1n dis-

tant lands. Furthermore, through baptism unmarried men could convert heathen women into marriageable brides, a scarce resource in the heavily male-dominated Russian settlements. Conversion was indeed a part of the story of Russian imperial progress, but how tmportant a part remains subject to debate. Khodarkovsky argues, with good reason, that conversion was a high priority on the Muscovite imperial agenda from at least the 1590s. He observes that in an age when politics and religion were as yet only minimally differentiated, conversion was necessarily inseparable from the goal of winning the loyalty and obedience of the conquered people. From the late sixteenth century, “the Russian government pursued policies that encouraged the non-Christians’ conversion to Orthodox Christianity as a way of consolidating the society into a single political and relig10US identity under one tsar and one God.’49 “Religious conversion would become the most important policy tool in bringing the newly conquered people into the Russian state. [he non-Christians were expected to shed their previous non-Christian faith.’+! Armed with a “new missionary spirit of an increasingly self-conscious Orthodox Muscovy, the state began “to address the issue of the converts, providing incentives and benefits for those who chose to convert and discriminating against those who refused to do so, Thus, religious conversion in Muscovy was least of all religious and spiritual and involved only a nominal transfer of religious identity. For the non-Christians, conversion promised tangible economic benefits and a hope of social and economic mobility. 44 If the numbers of successful conversions remained low into the seventeenth century, he adds, that was because of the formidable logistical and tactical limitations on

the project. Chronically short of priests, let alone priests who spoke the native languages, and only tenuously in control of many of the frontier areas, the Russian conquerors may have set their conversion plans on hold but never let the aspiration dim. Yet, as best as can be determined, the scale of conversions in Siberia, as opposed to

162 CARTOGRAPHIES OF TSARDOM

elsewhere in the empire, remained strikingly small throughout the century. The numbers are so low that other scholars, notably I. I. Ogryzko, have concluded that Russian policy actively discouraged conversion.+’ Numbers are impossible to establish, particularly since converts took Russian names and quickly merged indistinguishably with Russians in the documentary record, but official policy and practice, while advocating the gradual and voluntary spread of Christianity, actively opposed mass-scale or forced conversion. In an unrelenting flow of decrees, central chancelleries and regional governors instructed their men in no uncertain terms to avoid coerced baptism for fear, on one hand, of alienating the precariously subdued native tribes and, on the other, of diminishing the pool of iasak payers by transferring them to the category of tax-paying Russians. Acknowledging the potential risks to profits associated with conversion and the benefits of religious laissez-faire, a 1655 instruction from the Siberian Chancellery in Moscow to Russian representatives among the newly pacified tribes in the Far East

included baptism on a list of violations that should not be inflicted on the tribal people. “The Daur, Ducher, and Giliak people who have come under our Tsarist Majesty's mighty hand in eternal servitude and pay iasak to us are not to be ruined through war; you are not to pillage nor kill them, nor take their wives and children prisoner, nor baptize them’ (emphasis mine). Spelling out the political and fiscal logic involved, the instruction explains, “You are to collect our iasak from them with kindness and courtesy, not through harsh means; thus seeing our Tsarist mercy, they will attract

people from other hostile lands to come to us, the Great Sovereign, in eternal servitude, and they will pay tasak to us.”44 Neither the state’s commercial ambitions nor the private material interests of the trappers, traders, and adventurers who physically took

on the quest would be served by evangelical crusades, and neither party saw much profit in fishing for souls. Tribute in fur, far more profitable to the crown than tax in money or service, was worth more than the salvation of a few natives. In spatial terms, the distinction between Christians and non-Christians, meaning Russians and non-Russians, was firmly upheld. Once the fortifications went up around a Russian settlement it became a Russian Orthodox space. The territory of the outpost became literally Christianized, and the natives were forbidden by law to enter, as illustrated by the walled settlements on Remezovs maps. One particularly interesting map shows the walled Russian outpost (pristanishche, literally, “haven” or “refuge’’) Sudat, in this case a military outpost full of cannon and manned with armed soldiers, and a neighboring “Kalmyk fort,’ also protected by barricades and filled with tents (Plate 24). Although both Kalmyk and Orthodox regiments were in the tsar’s service, their enclaves are clearly separate.*> It is worth emphasizing that these Kalmyks are not shown as enemies—they are fighting on the same side as the Russians—but they are nonetheless cordoned off from Christian terrain. If one of them should manage to convert, however, he or she had to become a Russian in all ways, and could live only inside the fortress walls, among other Christians.*° When petitioners requested approval to convert, officials demanded careful scrutiny of each individual case to make sure that the act was voluntary. A typical directive, this

“EXALTED AND GLORIFIED TO THE ENDS OF THE EARTH 163

one sent to Metropolitan Pavel of Siberia in 1685, ordered: “If some natives want to convert to the Orthodox Christian faith of their own free will, order them accepted and baptized, but convert no natives against their will.’4” Siberian administrators took this charge seriously, thoroughly investigating each individual request for baptism to make sure that the choice was voluntary, that unconverted relatives would not resent the conversion, and that there was a good reason for a positive decision.*® Many petitions survive in which Russian men sought permission to convert Siberians, particularly women and children. Approval was by no means an automatic or default position. Requests had to be carefully justified if they were to succeed. The most effective requests came from men who wished to convert their own offspring and raise them as Russians or who wished to convert a native woman in order to marry her. Positive resolutions often note: “Baptize because Russian”; or “Baptize because offspring of Russian.” Once approved, the regional governor would forward the order to officially registered “administrative priests,’ who would officiate at the baptisms.*? Occasionally Russians received permission to convert unrelated women or young children in their service, but those cases were murkier and raised suspicion of foul play. In several cases, lakut women complained that their masters had converted them only to force them into their beds, and in one case, some women complained that their masters’ wives had “handed them over to fornication.’°° In another case, the wife of a serviceman in Jakutsk fortress was severely beaten for obtaining permission to convert a certain Iakut girl but then substituting a different girl and baptizing this second girl under false pretenses.°! More rarely, natives themselves seem to have initiated requests for conversion so that they could live among the Russians and earn a living, either by working or living off Christian charity. These petitions often narrate tragic histories of people who had lost connection with their kin and tribe, whether through forcible abduction, sale into slavery by their own kin, or the death or disappearance of their relatives. When requests for conversion were approved, the resolutions often explicitly ex-

plained why a positive ruling was justified. Natives were more useful, more remunerative, and more easily categorized if they retained their non-Christian, nonRussian standing and stayed outside the settlement walls. Both of these interpretations, the view that conversion was a consistent and necessary state priority and the view that the state actively opposed the disruption associated with mass conversion, stand on solid ground, despite their apparent contradic-

tions. In practice, and even in the rhetoric of imperial apologetics, the spread of Orthodoxy retained a central position but was envisioned as a natural corollary of the colonizing presence of Russians as they settled in taiga, tundra, and steppe. Muscovites developed ideas about the primacy of Orthodox culture and its geographical extension that allowed them to view their meager harvest of souls with equanimity. Their understanding of religious geography and their imperial outlook gave them other means to incorporate subject peoples into their empire without necessarily converting them, while their reluctance to upset their new iasak payers never displaced an underlying interest in a militant Christian mission. Their means of expanding Orthodoxy's domin-

1604 CARTOGRAPHIES OF TSARDOM

ion and propagating God's glory differed from both views of Muscovite conversion policies elaborated above. Instead, the spread of Christianity was crucial to Muscovites understandings of their actions in the steppe, but the conversion of natives, while a pleasant and even desirable by-product, was far from essential.

“THE GLORY OF THE SOVEREIGN | SHINES | LIKE THE SUN, IN THE LANDS OF PAGANS AND PEOPLE OF OTHER RELIGIONS If conversion was not the currency in which successful Christianization was measured, then how could success be assessed? Since the interests of God and tsar were in-

distinguishable, success could be easily measured in political-territorial terms. Not only Russian colonists but also the native people they conquered could witness and testify to the supremacy of tsar and God. Remezov articulated a frontier theology that explained the relationship between Russian colonists and their imperial subjects. The same God who created all men and all the creatures of the Garden of Eden also created the iasak people, and created them to be subjugated to the Russians. Native Siberians, too, could learn from the “tree of life” and enjoy the “fruit of truth.” Once enlightened, they would understand the correct way and would “submit to any Christian’ “like all creatures submitted to Adam in Paradise.”°? An artless depiction of Eden shows a barefoot but fully robed Adam gesturing somewhat helplessly toward a chaotic scene full of animals crowding in every direction. The menagerie includes camels, reindeer, cattle, birds, ermines, peacocks, bears and lions, a small, baggy elephant, a sad-looking rhinoceros, a leaping griffin, and a lone unicorn. Birds flock and strange beasts poke their heads out of the roiling waters of a pond. A lofty tree of life fills the middle of the page (Figure 6.6). Submission, rather than conversion, fulfils the agenda set forth for Muscovy’s impe-

rial, Christian march across the continent. It is worth noting that, according to this metaphor, both Russian Adam and submissive Siberian natives reside in paradise. Having established Russian Orthodox domination, they all occupy an edenic space. It is

part of the divine will, the providential plan for the created world, that Russians should name and tame the Siberian tribes and compel them to submit to the Muscovite sovereign.

From distant Kievan times, Russians lived where many worlds met, not in a homogeneous European Christendom where battles and struggles could be conducted in a single religious idiom internally or against a single and identifiable religious foe.°? Russians lived at an active, contentious, polyglot crossroads, where many cultures coexisted, with varying degrees of harmony and conflict, and where the idea of a single faith made no sense, having no plausibility or precedent. Each of the players in this multicultural playground was undoubtedly convinced of the superiority of its own religion and would not have hesitated to raise its own religion to a position of ritual primacy above the others. Yet this inescapable diversity meant that ambitious plans for

“EXALTED AND GLORIFIED TO THE ENDS OF THE EARTH 165

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mass conversion made little sense in the world that the Russians inhabited, where religious divides were too fissiparous to be easily categorized and the struggle too multifaceted to be won. As Yuri Slezkine notes in this regard, early Western travelers such as William of Rubruck, who visited the court of the Mongol khan in the thirteenth century, marveled that they had entered “a new world” on first encountering a new culture. Shakespeare's Miranda famously extols the “brave new World that has such people int.”

gy

The Cossacks, however, never entered a new world because unlike William, they had not been sent to a new world and because they had no “public” that wanted to hear about new worlds. Most important, however, the Cossacks’ own world was not as starkly divided into the Christian and non-Christian spheres as was William's. Rather, it consisted of an apparently limitless number of peoples, all of whom were assumed to have their own faiths and languages. This was not a temporary aberration to be overcome through conversion or revelation—this was a normal state of affairs whereby foreigners were expected to remain foreigners....|N]o one on the frontier seemed to assume that gods were mutually exclusive and that the Russian one(s) would or should prevail any time soon,°4

166 CARTOGRAPHIES OF TSARDOM

This is indeed a different world from the binary world of Christians and Muslims that defined the early European struggles for self-definition and survival or from the world of Christians and pagans in the New World colonies. Russians and Cossacks lived in a world where both inequity and diversity were expected. The most that Muscovite frontiersmen, even those of a religious bent, could hope to achieve, given the practical limitations on what could be accomplished with scant manpower and fragile control over the native population, was to enforce submission to the crown.°> In recognition of this reality, and to make submission more binding, Russians routinely administered oaths to each group of people according to their own local practices and answering to their own gods. The Muscovite Chancellery of Diplomatic Affairs kept a Qur'an on hand from at least the fifteenth century, so that

their Muslim subjects and neighbors could swear oaths appropriately°° Along the frontiers, animist spirits were invoked to guarantee the oaths of the indigenous peo-

ples, while their Russian counterparts swore on a cross. This religious openmindedness did not spring from tolerance or from reluctance to enforce Russian and Orthodox domination but rather from a pragmatic acceptance of the greater efficacy of guaranteeing loyalty with the wrath of the relevant deities. For example, in the early 1640s the Bratsk people were forced to swear allegiance to the tsar “on our faith, by the sun, by the earth, by fire, by the Russian sword and gun.” If they somehow were to break their pledge, “then, in accordance with my faith, the sun will not shine on me, I will not walk on the earth, I will eat no bread, the Russian sword will cut me down, the gun will kill me, and fire will burn all our land and uluses | settlements |.">” Even the clerical Estpov Chronicle approved of the way that Ermak brought the many alien people of Siberia, “Tatars and Ostiaks and Voguls and other tribes,” “to take an oath according to their faith, to be under | the tsar’s| royal, exalted hand for all time.’°8 From the Russian perspective, the routine and categorical acceptance of the utility and logic of forcing native peoples to swear by their own gods suggests that the submission of unconverted pagan peoples was understood as a positive good. On one hand, this is a statement of the obvious: imperial powers seek domination over new lands, peoples, and resources, and so submission on any terms would count in the positive column. On the other hand, the accumulation of non-Christian subjects might have posed a problem for a tsarist regime that based its ideological legitimacy on the divine favor enjoyed by its pious sovereign. As it turned out, however, Muscovite ideological formulations were capacious enough to absorb unreconstructed pagan subjects into an imperial narrative that meshed perfectly with a Christian manifest destiny. When non-Christians swore solemn oaths that apparently (whether accurately or not) attested to their admiration for the Great Sovereign, when they seemed to accept the dominion of the Orthodox tsar in all humility, their obeisances provided compelling evidence of the magnificence of that tsar. If even pagans could see the greatness of the Christian ruler, his greatness must be impressive indeed. This way of evaluating non-Christian testimony had a long pedigree. The logic was clearly articulated in 1493, when the Muscovite diplomat and clerk Misiur' Munekhin, recording his impressions as

“EXALTED AND GLORIFIED TO THE ENDS OF THE EARTH 167

part of an official embassy to Constantinople and Egypt, declared: “In all those lands and all those cities, wherever the sun shines tn the sky, the glory of the sovereign | shines | like the sun, in the lands of pagans and people of other religions, and it will continue to shine from generation to generation for all eternity.’°? Remarkably, although these lands and people remained committed to their distinctly “other” religions, even they recognized the glory and fearsome might (slava i groza) of the grand prince. In later centuries,

with Muscovite conquest and colonization, Russian frontiersmen guaranteed that pagans and people of other faiths would similarly glorify the name of the tsar and the name of God to the ends of time and of the earth, “across Siberia to the end of the universe.’ °° Orthodox chroniclers glowed that in their advance across Siberia, Russians had “inspired with awe infidels and others who know not God.”°! Russia's equivalent of Manifest Destiny, manifest in the foreordained plan of the All-Seeing God, lay in physically demonstrating the awesome might of God and tsar, so that their glory would be extolled by Christians and pagans alike, from sea to shining sea. Remezov's texts and drawings confirm this interest in having the subject peoples testify to the glory of the tsar and his rule. In his celebratory dedication of his Chorographic Sketchbook to Peter the Great, Remezov depicts several of the distinct kinds of tribute payers, “bowing in costume’ and “bringing precious pelts” (Figure 6.7). The illustration labels each separately: an Obdarinets with his long hood reaching his shoulders; a Samoyed in a characteristic one-piece outfit and long, handlebar mustache; a Tatar with hat and coat; and a long-bearded Russian holding an anchor to indicate his preferred mode of travel. The tasak payers kneel before the heraldic crest of Siberia: two ugly sables joined under an imperial crown by a bow and two arrows. According to the explanatory text, the sables and the kneeling tasak payers beneath them “raise their voices to glorify the newly established dominion, all the way to the ends [of the empire |, all the way to China.” Above the Siberian crest is the recipient of these songs of praise, the symbol of the empire as a whole, the crowned double-headed eagle. With each tribe identified by costume and bound in tribute, the peoples of Siberia join winged angels, “with voices like trumpets,’ in singing the praises of the great sovereign

of the Siberian lands. For Muscovites it was a normal state of affairs that Siberia harbored an tmmeasura-

ble variety of peoples, practicing many faiths and speaking a vast assortment of languages, few if any of whom could be expected to accept the Russian faith. Orthodoxy maintained its claim to predominance as the privileged state religion. The symbolic and practical realms were ordered in sharp hierarchy, and Russian officials and colonizers displayed no compunction about treating members of other religions as benighted, lesser beings. Yet in the particular calculus of imperial claims that shaped the Muscovite advance in Siberia, Russian status was elevated rather than threatened by the heterogeneity of the subject population. While conversion might have engaged the Russian imagination in the abstract as a long-term ideal or goal, in the short run diversity rather than homogeneity provided the theater in which their Christian piety was best enacted. Understanding that luxurious pelts were the “El Dorado” of frontier expansion and

168 CARTOGRAPHIES OF TSARDOM

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that “iasak-paying foreigners” or “people of other faiths” were the providers of those furs, Muscovites developed a strategic ideology of empire that harmonized with their own historical experience of religious, ethnic, and political diversity. Rather than attempt to homogenize subject peoples and polities under a single Russian Orthodox cultural regime, they exhaustively detailed the number, extent, and variety of their imperial holdings. This model of empire offered an effective device for extending the traditional Christian legitimizing ideology of Muscovite rule to the many non-Christian people

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who were pulled into the Russian orbit. Never wavering in their commitment to Orthodox supremacy, Muscovite political thinkers articulated a religious cartography as variegated as the population of Siberia.°?

“EXALTED AND GLORIFIED TO THE ENDS OF THE EARTH 169

Preoccupied with their own hermetic understanding of Christian expansion and diffusion, the frontiersmen read the Siberian terrain as part of their own blessed enterprise, and expended little worry on the state of the indigenous peoples’ souls. They were, however, very interested in the multiplicity of peoples populating their eastern reaches. It 1s to that more geopolitical sensibility that we turn next, to a consideration of how Muscovite frontier servitors viewed the indigenous peoples and polities that they confronted in Siberia and how those non-Russian peoples, in all their religious and political variety, were imagined into the Muscovite empire.

170 CARTOGRAPHIES OF TSARDOM

6Myriad, ° Countless / ° 39 Foreigners

Siberia’s Human Geography and Muscovite Conceptions of Empire

When West European conquistadors and colonists staked their claims to territories in the vast New World they discovered across the great ocean, they took great pains to establish the legality, morality, and philosophical legitimacy of their possession and occupation of the new lands and their subjugation of the indigenous populations. Critical to these European discussions was the relationship of the native peoples to their lands prior to the European conquest, a relationship that had to be in some way devalued or invalidated in order to justify colonial appropriation. In righteous tracts and heated debates, in decrees, laws, and ceremonies of possession, Englishmen, Frenchmen, and, most vehemently, Spaniards weighed the competing interests of indigenous peoples and the colonists. In a series of exchanges epitomized by the famous debates between Juan Ginés de Septilveda and Bartolomé de Las Casas, the Spanish explored the moral obligations and pitfalls involved in their seizure of land in the New World, while the English, less conflicted on the issue, confidently composed apologetics under titles such as “The Lawfulness of Removing out of England into the Parts of America. | The agonizing problem of justifying the domination and dispossession of the American peoples produced fierce internal critiques of European colonialism, critiques so powerful that rumors spread in the sixteenth century to the effect that Charles V meant to salve his conscience by renouncing his American holdings.’ In Spain the Las Casas view definitively won the day. Papal assurances that Indians were fully human and had salvageable immortal souls worked in tandem with monarchical interests in preserving the lives and labor of colonial subjects, gaining the residents of the New World some modicum of recognition and legal protection from their Iberian overlords. Particularly in their governance of organized societies in Mexico and Peru, the Spanish colonial regime relied on extant administrative divisions and economic structures, and maintained an interest in preserving them.’ Spanish thinkers and policy makers, along with colonizers from Portugal, Holland, and France, conceded that In-

dians might have legitimate claims to land deriving from the right of first possession as well as from natural law, which granted them rights to sustenance. Conveniently, however, early modern discourse also provided a wide and convincing array of arguments for legitimizing imperial claims. Europeans could refer baldly to the right of conquest, or they could enact elaborate ceremonies to convince themselves and anyone else who might pay attention that the lands had been voluntarily ceded or sold to them. The English, and to a lesser extent the Spanish, invoked their right to the

land by dint of labor, arguing that as the Indians had failed to cultivate and enclose fields and pastures in any proper, recognizable way, they had abnegated any rights or claims they might have to those properties. Through lassitude and neglect, they had yielded to the stronger, clearer claims of honest European farmers who would sink profitable labor into the land. In some New World contexts, particularly the Spanish and French, concerted missionary campaigns could provide a sound basis for imperial conquest. On occasion, colonizers could refer to higher Christian morality, which not only obligated them to propagate the faith among the benighted but also entitled them to seize heathen lands in recompense for various and sundry violations of divine and natural law. Relying on sources as varied as Aristotle, Augustine, and Hobbes, building on Roman law, English common law, and even, perhaps, Muslim aljama law, Europeans fretted over ways to justify their blatant seizure of land and brutal treatment of the inhabitants of the “Indies.”4

Although less inclined to set abstract ideas on paper or to engage in theoretical debates, Muscovites, too, developed a carefully nuanced set of ideas about the property and possession claims of prior inhabitants of the Siberian lands and about their ongoing role in constituting a Muscovite imperial space. Just as Englishmen, Frenchmen, and Spaniards played out their own cultures’ preconceptions about proper ways of making and justifying claims to land in the New World, so Muscovite adventurers and administrators reenacted their particularly Russian understandings of property and possession in the Siberian expanses. Muscovite imperial practices demonstrate a deep and consistent commitment to the kinds of legal and political claims that were operative in Russia at the time. In the sixteenth century Spanish conquistadores were obligated by law to read aloud to uncomprehending audiences of mystified Indians a formal document, the Requerimiento, explaining that they should immediately submit to the supreme authority of God and king or else take responsibility for the death and destruction that would follow. Whether or not the natives understood the content of the Requerimiento, the reading

served a legitimizing function for the Spanish performers. The French preferred a more participatory mode for legitimizing their conquests. They co-opted local people into elaborate ceremonies of acceptance of the dominion of Crown and God. Dressed in brightly colored costumes, native people were somehow cajoled or compelled to perform rituals of purportedly voluntary consent and submission. Dutch and Portuguese modes of claim making tended to be less invasive and less interactive. The Dutch relied on written forms—deeds, authorizations, descriptions, and maps full of newly coined

172 CARTOGRAPHIES OF TSARDOM

Dutch place names—and they chose purchase over conquest whenever possible.> The English preferred to ignore native claims and to establish their own titles through action and labor. They fenced in fields and sowed seeds to prove their title. Russian practices incorporated elements similar in some degree to each of these approaches. Like the English, Russians understood the validity of property claims on the basis of agricultural labor, construction, and enclosure. As evident in real-estate maps and legal testimony from central Russian cases, houses, fences, boundaries, and plowed fields all constituted evidence of claims to property, and this held true whether in Russia itself or in Siberia. As demonstrated earlier, possession through construction of cities, forts, and churches played a significant role in justifying Muscovite claims in Siberia. Like the Dutch, they relied heavily on documentary evidence to legitimize their claims, referring to deeds and grants from the tsar or the chancelleries to support Russian rights in an area. Like the Spanish, they tended to announce the terms and conditions of their conquest to more or less comprehending indigenous audiences. Muscovites enjoyed an advantage over their Spanish counterparts in that their conquest was overland and contiguous, which made it easter to collect skilled translators and interpreters en route. Erofei Khabarov reported of his mission to Dauria: I ordered my interpreters to talk with those princes, telling them to come under the Tsar's mighty hand, and to say, “Give tasak to our Sovereign, and be obedient and submissive in everything, and we will not kill you, but we will protect you against those who threaten you.”®

Those who accepted Muscovite overlordship were encouraged to participate in ceremonies of submission, like their counterparts in early French colonies. Even the colored robes appear in prescribed Muscovite rituals of capitulation, although the Russians rather than the natives don the bright clothing.’ Tribal people, willingly or not, performed rituals and swore solemn oaths that the Muscovites construed to denote submission and loyalty. Even though the participants presumably understood more of the content in the Siberian case, these rituals of possession had meaning not only, perhaps not even primarily, for those forced to participate in them, but also for those who orchestrated the sad charades. Rituals of possession, like all of the discussion and performance of colonial conquest and incorporation, were as much directed to an internal audience of Russian colonists trying to make sense of what they were doing as to the ostensible audience of the conquered and colonized. Despite Muscovy's reputed silence on theoretical or philosophical issues, chroniclers and administrators of the frontier embedded ideas about human geography in their commentaries, maps, and directives. Like their counterparts in the central provinces, they posited a powerful set of relationships based on visible possession of land. In the

colonial peripheries as in the agrarian center, spatial claams could be made and strengthened through human agents who could bear witness to the authenticity of those claims. The peopling of space took on an immediate political and ideological

“MYRIAD, COUNTLESS FOREIGNERS” 173

importance. The role allotted to the indigenous populations in this ideological peopling of space reveals what is in some ways unique about Muscovite empire building. As they attempted to explore, control, and imagine their growing Siberian holdings, Muscovites had to figure out the role that indigenous peoples would play on three primary levels: as economic actors and possessors of property; as political subjects; and as souls in the great drama of salvation. In each of these areas, the mental categories and approaches brought to bear derived from the ideas and practices familiar from Muscovite politics and culture.

“MYRIAD, COUNTLESS FOREIGNERS Siberia’s population was first and foremost a mixed one, as observers never failed to

notice, and as the great Siberian cartographer Semen Remezov himself continually stressed. Setting forth the goals of his cartographic compilations, he explains, “We see all this clearly in this book, as if in a mirror, and we will read extensively of the tributepaying and the non-tribute-paying, the virtuous and the odious. Of them, too, is written in this atlas.”> In the Chorographic Sketchbook, Remezov writes: “Myriad, countless for-

eigners | inozemtsy] and speakers of other languages | inoiazychniki|, with many kinds of dwellings, | live] under the celebrated, greatly praised scepter | of the tsar] in service and in tribute.’? Not content to cluster the “myriad, countless foreigners and speakers of other languages” together, Remezov lingers over long lists of their names and sketches their various dwellings into his maps and illustrations, cataloguing their variety in appreciative detail. In the introduction to his Working Sketchbook, he tells of the orders he and his sons received to assemble all available maps of Siberia and to draw a new map showing: the location with descriptions of various lands and borders and countries with the residents associated with them, with careful drawings of towns and settlements and forts and parishes and tasak-paying settlements and districts of various languages: nomads, Kalmyks, Mongols, Tatars, Ostiaks, Bogulichi, Samoyeds, Yakuts, Tungus, Bratsk, and Kirgiz, iasak-paying and non-iasak-paying, natives | tuzemtsy|, and all kinds of landmarks, rivers and lakes, woods, and stony steppes and pagan nomads and hordes with the lands belonging to them and neighboring settlements in the interior of Siberia and neighboring hordes all around: Tatars, Bashkirs, Kazakhs, Bukharans, Khivins, Bara-

bins, Kirgiz, Munguzts, Bogdonskie, Chinese, Daurs, Bratskie, Iakuts, Koriaks, Mangazes, Polunskie, Samoyeds, Ostiaks, Botiatskie, Chiuvash, and Cheremis, and Kochashkoi.!9

Similarly, when Remezov lists his sources in an effort to validate the information found in his compilations, he includes not only the many “Russian people of various ranks,” residents, explorers, merchants, officials, and mapmakers with whom he consulted but also “foreigners | inozemtsy| and residents of other lands who came to Tobolsk, and longtime residents, and people born in the region, and people with good memories who had been there.” Cataloguing his consultants separately according to

174 CARTOGRAPHIES OF TSARDOM

the Russian towns from which they originally came, he lists “people of Kazan, Ufa, Perm, Usol, Khevrol, Iarensk, Ustiug, Mezen, Kholmogore.”!! Just as interested in the variety of non-Russians he encountered, in just one of the dozens of regional maps in his Sketchbook, Remezov indicates the territories of the Iukagirs, Chuvans, Anauls, Chukchis, Lamuts, Koriaks, Tungus, and Khods.!? As in his descriptions of nature, Remezov writes more eloquently and more loquaciously than other frontline servicemen, but his tone and content are representative of his less literary comrades. Fedor Baikov jotted down similarly detailed lists of people and their particular habits and habitats in his account of his itinerary to China: “At the

mouth of the Vaga River are Tatar yurts, and in those yurts live Tobolsk service Tatars.” “On the left bank of the Irtysh lives the Kalmyk lama.” “In Kaban-Gusan is a Kalmyk mosque, made of fired bricks.” “In the mountains are many groups of no-

madic Kalmyks, under the lordship of Ablai-taisha...and in the steppe are more of Ablai's nomadic Kalmyks.” He went on to note Ablai's settled, agrarian Bukharans, who “live in clay huts”; Mongols, who “speak the same language as the Kalmyks, but have many different taishi (local lords)”; the Tiubetsy, who live in China and speak

Mongolian, and so forth.!’ Petr Beketev noted the characteristics of “Tunguz and Bratsk and Mungal” people as he encountered them. Vladimir Atlasov recorded in detail the allegiances and tribute obligations of Liutorsk people, Iukagirs, Kuriles, Kamchadals, non-iasak-paying settled and nomadic Koriaks, and those who traveled on foot, by reindeer, and by horse. He carefully differentiated among these people. One group of non-iasak-paying Koriaks “live on fish and keep no hostages.” Another group of Kamchadals had bows of whale sinew [?]|, arrows of rock and bone, and no iron. Atlasov even claimed to have encountered a lost soul from the “Uzakinskit” realm, purportedly part of India.!4 Lists themselves can be redolent with meaning, positive or negative. The historian

George Fedotov, writing of the “Testament” of Vladimir Monomakh, a twelfthcentury grand prince of Kiev, recognizes the power of lists. Monomakh “speaks of na-

ture as the manifestation of God's loving kindness. He knows hardly more than to name all the wonders of God’s creation, the sun, the moon, the stars, and the different animals and birds, but his unfergned admiration throbs with joy and tenderness.’!> A similar wonder and delight resonates 1n some of these rosters of indigenous peoples, all submitting or destined to submit to the might of the sovereign tsar. The painstaking depictions, verbal and visual, of the varied dwellings of different kinds of tribal

groups illustrate the same interest in cataloguing the indigenous peoples and their ways. Remezovs maps and illustrations are dotted with rounded yurts, pointed tents, beehive-like dwellings, mosques, temples, and idols. His map of the Upper Tobol River is particularly rich in depictions of a range of dwellings and sacred sites (Plate 25). His map of the Amur Ruver region shows the tents of Abunuts and Arguns. Tiny circles mark Mongol yurts, while red squares and fortified posts indicate Russian settlements (Plate 26). The illustrations in his History provide more detailed versions of the same kinds of tents, yurts, and sites of worship that appear on his maps (Figure

“MYRIAD, COUNTLESS FOREIGNERS 175

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Fi R8.1. Kratkaia sibirskai : phe, t NTE gure Remezov, Kratkaia sibirskaia A small square of paper glued onto a map of “The River Tobol drawn from Tobolsk to its upper reaches, with smaller streams and lakes and settlements,” notes fields, pustoshi, and peasant houses with schematic drawings and letter keys: “p’ for pustosh’, “d” for dvor, household (Plate 31). This map shows Russian

property divisions with architectural and natural landmarks just like those used in sketch maps from the central provinces. Similarly detailed maps were made to help locate native iasak payers. Instructions sent in 1641-42 to one Vas'ka Vitiazev, for instance, instructed him to investigate along

the upper Lena among the Tungus and Bratsy, to find out about the possibilities for iasak collection and the locations of arable land and settlements there, and with all this information, “to sketch a map. 46 In response to similar orders, Fedor Kostiantinovich Fofanov, captain of a new fort on the Tura River, investigated the resident Nogais and Zyrians and “sent us a map showing which yurts own arable fields. But he did not write

down the names of those whose yurts are registered in the jurisdiction and in the tasak-collection district of the new outpost.” Although the map does not survive, the report concluded with a copy of what was written on the map, preserving an impression of the level of detail with which the native population was monitored and recorded: “On the arable fields between Verkhoture and the fort are the yurt of Baigirin, the yurt of Kolmak, the yurt of Iliasov, the yurt of Urgunchin, the yurt of Kokuzov. And from the fort in the direction of Tiumen is the yurt of Ebarkov.’47 Very few maps of native uluses survive, but we do have a few. Remezovs map of “The

River Tobol drawn from Tobolsk,” discussed just above, records not only Russian households but also how many Siberian families inhabit each settlement, and several of his maps chart the locations of small collections of yurts. A map of the upper Tobol

UNDER THE SOVEREIGN’S MIGHTY HAND 207

River marks settlements of various groups with tiny red circles, labels each by type, and indicates where their iasak payments are due: “Two Nogai |yurts|. Iasak to be paid at Ufa.” “Bashkirs live here and pay iasak at Ufa.’48 (Plate 17) A later map in the same atlas is called “The River Tom with landmarks and the steppe and with native inhabitants.” Attached is a list of different kinds of people and how many there are of each.? Once registered and mapped, iasak payers would have a difficult time evading their

tribute payments, but they would also have documentary support for claiming territory—whether for trapping, grazing, or farming. Siberian petitioners inserted themselves, and were inserted by Russian bureaucratic formulations, into the broader categories used by all subjects of the tsar, and Muscovite officials acknowledged them using that common vocabulary of subjecthood in the realm. They adopted the same language of supplication that their Russian counterparts would have used. Native leaders, called “princelings” (kniaztsy) or murzas in Russian sources, referred to themselves as “your slave’ when addressing the tsar, using the same terminology that members of the privileged Russian elite employed. Lesser folk, whether Russian or native, opened their requests to the tsar with the same stock invocation: “I, your orphan, petition you.” Of course, many of their petitions reached the courts through the intermediary pens of official or unofficial scribes and of translators, as the occasional document reveals. “Translated by Ontiushka Odintsoy,” says a note at the bottom of a young Iakut woman's testimony.*° It is perhaps all the more remarkable, then, that the Russian translators chose to employ the same terminology for Siberians as for themselves. As we have seen, Muscovites were prone to making distinctions by type. Tatar land should remain in Tatar hands; Russian land should go to Russians. Members of the elite used one set of terms to describe themselves and were

subject to one set of legal fines and punishments; members of the lower orders used another set of terms and were subject to another, harsher set of fines and punishments. Strikingly, though, the distinctions between colonized and colonizing subjects evaporated when addressing the tsar and representatives of his justice system. Colonial subjects, once incorporated into the empire, became registered members of the polity, with all the burdens and restrictions, entitlements and protections, that entailed. Burdens they certainly bore, and those have been well described elsewhere. Crushed by their obligation to produce furs from animals rapidly disappearing due to overtrapping, attacked by Cossacks and their troops, pushed from their grazing lands by Russian settlers, humiliated and brutalized by the Russian custom of holding hostages and taking women as domestic slaves and sexual partners, the indigenous people endured more than enough abuse to drive them to flight and violent resistance. As subjects of the Russian tsar, however, they could and did exercise a legitimate claim on the mercy, protection, and justice of that monarch. Their entitlements were analogous to those of their Russian counterparts, which is to say, not great. With imperial conquest, the peoples of Siberia entered an autocratic, tsarist system, and so one would not expect to find a model of democratic enfranchisement. What one does find, which 1s perhaps somewhat surprising, is that the rights of the colonized, to the extent that they had any, were

208 CARTOGRAPHIES OF TSARDOM

not much different from those of the mass of the colonizers. Chief among the entitlements granted to all subjects of the tsar was the right to redress in court, which, as we have seen both Russians and Siberians used actively and effectively.°! Next on the list was an entitlement to define themselves in spatial terms, by a powerful, legally guaranteed connection to a particular piece of land. As we have seen, Muscovite peasants, by dint of their legal enserfment, enjoyed an effective claim on particular plots of land, from which they could not be dislodged. For nomadic tribesmen in Siberia, the benefits must have been less apparent, as the complaints about the encroachment of Russian farmers on their grazing lands illustrate. Nonetheless, the Muscovite habit of thinking in spatial terms, of linking people irrevocably with particular places, translated into some degree of geographic and economic protection for the colonized peoples. The impulses underlying New World and Siberian colonial conquest shared many of the same economic motives and political-logistical determinants. Violence and disease took a fearsome toll among the Siberian peoples, just as they decimated the indigenous populations of the Americas. Although the reality of coercion, of guns and microbes, spoke most effectively in establishing possession and dominion, Muscovite attitudes toward people and property, geography and typology, created a fundamental belief that the indigenous population had to be geographically fixed and reified in its difference, rather than assimilated or eradicated. The long-term results suggest that the different ways in which the various European powers and the Russians viewed and imagined imperial conquest, each deriving from particular cultural understandings of possession and dominion, were significant and had real-world implications for the colonized peoples. Muscovite policies, like those of the Spanish crown, relied on the preservation of indigenous populations and polities on the periphery. Russian authorities and frontiersmen envisioned the creation of an empire of various lands, an empire in the truest sense, of a collection of formerly sovereign polities, retaining their political and cultural difference under powerful regional governors appointed by a distant, resource-extracting tsar. Militating simultaneously in two directions, toward differentiation and subdivision on the one hand, and toward integration under tsarist rule on the other, Muscovite imperial policies constructed an idiosyncratic union of particularities and differences. For conquered peoples in Siberia, as for serfs in central Russia, social and political existence and possession of property were integrally interconnected. [he spatial vision

of “subjecthood” in Muscovy endowed the colonized with some small modicum of redress against the violence of the imperial aggressors. By incorporating Siberians into an existing political and religious universe in which claims could be validated and protections could be demanded on the basis of spatial belonging, the Muscovite colonial regime created an ideological and logical structure in which Sibertans, like peasants and all other spatially located members of the tsardom, could demand and, even more remarkably, receive some redress. Muscovite imperial rule drew colonial subjects into the tsars crushing but protective embrace.

UNDER THE SOVEREIGN’S MIGHTY HAND 209

= SSS Conclusion

Spatial thinking and geographical categories provided some of the fundamental concepts by which Muscovites made sense of their lives. Offering them a way to understand their literal and more broadly figurative place in the world, spatial analysis rooted Muscovites 1n society, 1n the world, and in the divine cosmos, giving meaning and purpose, status and recognition, in a society otherwise riven with uncertainty. There is always a danger of predetermining an outcome by focusing on one particular set of sources or research questions. This study, with its insistent preoccupation with maps and geographic sources, risks that kind of self-fulfilling agenda. If one studies geographical sources, the resultant claim that geography played a crucial role in structuring Muscovite thought and society may not carry either the force or the credibility that one might want. For this reason, and because of my reluctance to insist on a single, doctrinaire interpretation of history, I limit my claims here to an assertion that space needs to be taken into account as one of the central organizing principles of Muscovite social, political, and religious understandings of the world. Surely other ways of slicing the pie produce equally fruitful modes for interpreting Muscovite history. Nonetheless, I contend that space offers a particularly productive and fundamental framework for making sense of this distant society, both in its own terms and in comparison with other expansionist, centralizing national monarchies of the early modern era. Why is space a particularly useful place to start an analysis of Muscovite politics and culture in the seventeenth century? First, as noted throughout this book, the two most profound developments of the century both involved shifts in fundamental attitudes toward and relationships with places. At the same time that serfdom incrementally locked the peasants and townspeople into fixed locales and hardened the interconnection between people and places, rapid imperial expansion destabilized notions of fixity—opening up vast frontiers, pushing out borders, undermining central efforts

at freezing the population in space by beckoning welcomingly to enterprising soldiers and settlers who could buttress Russian conquest and colonization. Yet despite the fluidity of populations and the self-evident mobility of advancing Russians and Russian authority through the steppes, fixity in space retained its position at the core of tsarist imperial policy in Siberia. As I argue, in the Muscovite colonial tmagination and hence in practice, imperial success and Christian mission mandated that Russians establish visible structures, towering edifices of Christian settlement, across the Eurasian plains. Through settlement, and by cataloguing the inhabitants of Russian outposts as well as the local varieties of native peoples in particular places, agents of empire enacted their colonial supremacy by means of the spatial categories they brought with them into uncharted lands. Spatial thinking colored Muscovite politics, religion, and culture in significant ways

on a day-to-day level in other important arenas of life. Russian Orthodoxy, for instance, manifested a profoundly localized quality in the practices of veneration of its faithful. As Robert H. Greene's investigation of the role of the saints in popular Orthodoxy demonstrates, an important bond connected the cults of regional saints to their tombs and relics. To gain the most effective miraculous interventions, supplicants visited the tombs of their protectors in person. The much revered practice of pilgrimage reinforced the spatial tenacity of sanctity; only by traveling to a holy site could one benefit fully from the beneficence of saintly intercessors. If distance precluded a personal pilgrimage, then an icon or a token could be taken to the shrine of the holy one and sent long-distance to a believer, conveying with it by proxy the direct, localized spiritual power of the site. The removal of a saint's body from its local shrine severely disrupted the spiritual commerce transacted between saintly intercessor and his or her

devotees! Saints themselves bore toponymic epithets: Anna of Kashin; Vasil of Mangazeia, Simeon of Verkhoture. Even meta-local saints took root in localities; the

many variants on the Mother of God icon each carried a regional identifier: the Vladimir Mother of God; Kazan Mother of God; Korsun Mother of God. Holy spaces were ritually reconstructed, conspicuously named, and symbolically utilized to bring the sanctity of Jerusalem or of the biblical past to Moscow in concrete terms. The New Jerusalem chapel, the raised dais in Red Square called “Golgotha,’ the ceremonially significant “Jordan River,” all figured into the holy topography of the city. Theologically, for Russian Orthodox, knowing about a sacred spot did not carry the same spiritual weight as being in that spot. Recreating holy places effected the necessary isomorphism between symbolic and actual location. Holy Russia, Holy Moscow, and “God-protected” Tobolsk had real meaning as specific places infused with highly localized, site-specific sanctity. On a more secular level as well, the salience of spatial categories emerges clearly in Muscovites’ attempts to make sense of their position in the world. Not only did the tsars convince themselves and others of their overwhelming, awesome might by listing, ad infinitum, the conglomeration of principalities, khanates, tsardoms, and lands over which they ruled, but humble petitioners of all ranks identified themselves right off

CONCLUSION 211

the bat in geographic terms. In petitions, suits, or claims, they introduced themselves by rank and sex, by marital status and standing, but also, and explicitly, by local posttion: “I, your slave, poor widow of Tula,” or “we, your pilgrims, monks of the Iverskui Monastery in Valdai,” or “I, select gentryman of Iaroslavl.” Within towns and districts, finer gradations of collective affiliation played out in spatial terms. Rows of houses and shops and strips of fields and pastures belonged to certain kinds of people, so that the spatial layout of a settlement confirmed ones affiliation. In interacting with court authorities or petitioning the tsar for his mercy, serfs volunteered information about their village affiliation with at least as insistent regularity as they reported the name of the landlord to whom their village belonged. Identity without a spatial marker was incomplete and unreadable. By locating themselves in space, Muscovites could claim to have a position in society or in the polity. Not only serfs but people of all ranks conceived of themselves as part of a particular and meaningful geography. Only slaves at the lowest end of the social spectrum—people without spatial ties to ground their claims to protection and recognition in the polity—and boyars at the highest— whose most meaningful geographic ties were to the court and the Kremlin in Moscow rather than to any particular regional powerbase—routinely omitted a geographic appellation in identifying themselves. The centrality of spatial identity 1s underscored by the difficulty of its opposite. To move legally around the country, people of all ranks, although especially the enserfed and restricted classes, needed transit passes or internal passports, authorizing passage through districts outside their own. Unauthorized wanderers called down not only the force of the law but also the suspicion of peasants and townspeople, as the frequent denunciations of runaways and vagrants attest. Violating the norms of stasis, transients confused categories of understanding and upset social geographies. The ultimate in pathos in Muscovite eyes took the form of the rootless drifter, “wandering from house to house” at the mercy of strangers, a fate invoked in many petitions from the poor and desperate, displaced from their homes and hence from their entire social and cultural being. The wanderer lived a precarious life, outside categories and without any entitlement to protection or belonging, The emphasis on location as a marker of identity facilitated the consolidation of an expansive empire based on the inclusion without assimilation of a vast assortment of peoples, whose membership in the polity and entitlement within that polity derived from their claims to belong to particular places. Places offered identity and meaningful positioning to subjects of the realm, which in turn was imagined as a collection of heterogeneous places, peoples, and ranks. Muscovite society was cross-cut in every direction by clear and insurmountable differences. For countries more concerned with achieving homogeneity, erasing differences, standardizing language, and converting the heterodox to an orthodox faith, these rifts would have posed a serious obstacle. For Muscovy, such diversity was not only taken for granted but was seen as a strength. Subjects of the tsar came in a hierarchy of ranks, religions, languages, and nations; of ages, genders, and occupations. In the eyes of the law and of one another, these distinctions

212 CARTOGRAPHIES OF TSARDOM

had the permanence and immutability of natural divisions, and the idea of equalizing status or value among the various strata would have been inconceivable. Across these divides, nonetheless, the tsarist regime succeeded in creating a spacious mantle, inclusive

enough to subsume all the different groups, binding them in rank and place, but not concerned with clothing them all in a single Russian Orthodox garb, On the basis of their place, both figurative and literal, in the realm, each subject of the tsar could appeal to the sovereigns mercy and could demand, at least in principle, the impartial justice of his courts. The categorical differences and inequalities among peoples that constitute an empire were inherent to Muscovite political society internally as well as in its tmperial holdings, making controlling an empire simply a matter of extending the principles at work at home to a broader terrain. “Myriad, countless foreigners” and “people of all ranks” made all of Muscovy a patchwork quilt of difference, all under a single tsar.

Space and spatiality saturated and shaped the ways that Muscovites conceived of the universe in all its manifold spiritual, political, social, and cultural richness. Turning then to an even broader horizon, and shifting analysis to a comparative level, can we

claim that the Muscovite preoccupation with land, with space and place and geographic logic, was in any way unique, or was it a common denominator for all comparable early modern regimes? My answer here would be that spatial thinking in fact characterizes all ambitious, centralizing, expansionist early modern monarchies, but each tailored its uses and understandings of space and meaning in its own particular way. Hence, spatial concepts provide an ideal category for comparative analysis: present and salient in all relevant cases but significantly variable in their actual uses and manifestations. For example, although the standard picture would not allow such a juxtaposition of

unlike instances, our study of space and subjecthood allow us to assert that Muscovites, like Englishmen, developed complex ideas about the rights and entitlements of subjects of the crown, and both developed legal and anthropological understandings of the relationship between landownership and people. Yet the two conceptual frameworks differed sharply. During the seventeenth century, while they were making their initial inroads in North America, the English were preoccupied at home with enclosure of property and with establishing and fortifying individual, outright ownership. This conception of land as private, divisible, alienable property necessarily entailed dislocating residents and rethinking the relationship among land, possession, and people. Logically, then, citizenship in the English realm had to be conceptually divorced from spatial fixity (although for a long time, not from property ownership). Rights in the polity were understood to derive from the natural rights of Englishmen, rather than from po-

sition on the land. In Russia, by contrast, where the inexorable growth of serfdom makes the concept of “citizenship ” a slippery one, rights and recognition in the polity derived from precisely that spatial fixity that locked the population on the soil. A legal language of rights fully grounded in place substituted at a functional level for a more abstract discourse of rights and freedom.

CONCLUSION 213

Considering the comparative spatialities of the colonial section of this investigation, we find that each early modern colonial power packaged its claim to conquered territories in spatial terms, which derived in turn from the understandings of land and people current in the mother country. The Portuguese, if Seed is correct, laid claim to their South American holdings in clearly cartographic terms, through mapping the heavens and the earth. Knowledge of space provided ample legitimacy, in their eyes, for solid claims to real territories. In their North American ventures, the English premised

their claims to territory on their understanding of the nature of property ownership. Perceiving that the Native Americans did nothing to fence, delineate, and improve the land and had no fixed abode, they concluded that the Indians were fair targets for removal, by one means or another. Since they understood no intrinsic linkage between people and specific places, removal of those classed as nomads with no legitimate claim

to property presented no conceptual or moral problem. To the Spanish, territorial claims were surely equally important, but their vocabulary of conquest emphasized people over space, and the conversion of souls offered the most powerful rationale for Spanish expansion in the New World. These latter two examples, like the Muscovite one, translated into real-world consequences for the indigenous populations. While English North America witnessed the catastrophic removal and elimination of native peoples, the overwhelmingly Catholic native populations of Mexico and South America today bear witness to the practical legacies of differing ideological constructs. Siberia bears the imprint of Russia's approach to human geography, which opted for neither extermination nor conversion. While sorely buffeted and profoundly altered by four centuries of Russian and Soviet domination, Siberia’s indigenous population still shares some of the same wavy outlines traced in Semen Remezovss ethnographic map of the 1690s. At least nominally, many of the same peoples still dwell in particular regions, and few show any deep traces of a militantly evangelical Orthodox Christianity. Without asserting, then, that Muscovy was uniquely preoccupied with spatial issues or that Muscovite culture was predicated to any exceptional degree on geography, we may conclude that spatial analysis gives us unusually productive means of comparing early modern monarchies and highlighting what it was that truly made a difference in guiding historical development. Attitudes toward the relationship between people and places should rightly be numbered among the most influential of those differences.

214 CARTOGRAPHIES OF TSARDOM

a NOTES

Introduction

1. The imaginative work of V. S. Kusov and S. I. Mass.: Blackwell, 1996); Edward W. Soja, Postmodern GeSotnikova are two noteworthy exceptions. See, for ex- _ ographies: The Reassertion of Space in Critical Social Theory (New ample, V. S. Kusov, Kartograficheskoe iskusstvo Russkogo gosu- York: Verso, 1989); and Yi-Fu Tuan, Space and Place: The

darstva (Moscow: Nedra, 1989). Perspective of Experience (Minneapolis: University of Min2. V. S. Kusov, Chertezhi zemli russkoi XVI-XVII vv, _ nesota Press, 1977).

(Moscow: Russkii mir, 1993). 6. Denis Wood, with John Fels, The Power of Maps 3. One sun, labeled “East”: RGADA, f. 1209, Nov- (New York: Guilford Press, 1992); Matthew H. Edney, gorod, stlb. 23 677, ch. 2, 1. 303. Two smiling suns, in Mapping an Empire: The Geographical Construction of British

east, one labeled “Summer East”: RGADA, f. 192, op.1, India, 1765-1843 (Chicago, 1990, 1997); Neil Safter, Kaluzhskaia gubernita, no. 1. Leo Bagrow is mistaken “Unveiling the Amazon to European Science and Sociwhen he asserts that all seventeenth-century Russian — ety: The Reading and Reception of La Condamine's Remaps have “north at the bottom and south at the top” —_ ation Abrégée d'un voyage fait dans V'Intérieur de Amérique (Leo Bagrow, A History of the Cartography of Russia up to méridionale (1745), Terrae Incognitae 33 (2001): 33-47.

1800, ed. Henry W. Kastner [Wolfe Island, Ont. Daniel Lord Smail argues for the transformative power

Walker Press, 1975], 34). of medieval notarial concepts of space in Imaginary Car4. Mark S. Monmonier, How to Lie with Maps (Chi- tographies: Possession and Identity in Late Medieval Marseille

cago: University of Chicago Press, 1991), 45; Henri (Ithaca, N.Y.: Cornell University Press, 2000). Lefebvre, The Production of Space, trans. Donald 7. Franco Moretti, Atlas of the European Novel, 1800—

Nicholson-Smith (Oxford: Blackwell, 1991). 1900 (London: Verso, 1998), 5133 3. 5. See, for example, the ongoing History of Cartog- 8. “Strategies of integration” comes from Nancy raphy project: J. B. Harley and David Woodward, eds., Shields Kollmann, By Honor Bound: State and Society in Early

The History of Cartography, vols. -2 (Chicago: University Modern Russia (Ithaca, N.Y.: Cornell University Press, of Chicago Press, 1987, 1992, 1994, 1998). A piece that 1999), 169—202. Kollmann examines honor as one piece

has set the agenda of the field, broadly defined, for of a complex strategy of integration. Other studies emmany years is Harley, “Deconstructing the Map,” Carto- phasize the religious and socio-economic aspects of graphica 26, no. 2 (1989): 1-20; reprinted in his The New consensus building. For example, see the essays in Nature of Maps: Essays in the History of Cartography, ed. Paul Muchael S. Flier and Daniel Rowland, eds., Medieval Laxton and J. H. Andrews (Baltimore: Johns Hopkins — Russian Culture, vol. 2 (Berkeley: University of California

University Press, 2001). Some other theoretical contri- Press, 1994). butions are David Harvey, The Condition of Postmodernity: g. While historians have overlooked the significance An Enquiry into the Origins of Cultural Change (Cambridge, of space itself as an integrating factor, they have cer-

Mass.: Basil Blackwell, 1989), 201-323; and Harvey, Jus- tainly not overlooked the significance of mobility. tice, Nature, and the Geography of Difference (Cambridge, Quite the contrary, beginning with the work of V. O.

Kliuchevsky, the unparalleled mobility of the Russian Curzon, forthcoming); and Brian L. Davies, State Power and people has been an important trope in historical think- Community in Early Modern Russia: The Case of Kozloy ing. See, for instance, V. O. Kliuchevskit, Sochineniia v de~ 1635-1649 (Basingstoke: Palgrave MacMillan, 2004). See

viati tomakh (Moscow: Mysl', 1987), vol. 1, 50—s1. also A. A. Novosel'sku, “Pobegt krest'tan 1 kholopov 1 ikh 10. On the cultural construct of the continental divi- sysk v Moskovskom gosudarstve vtoroi poloviny XVII sions between Europe, Asia, and Africa, see Martin W. — veka,” Uchenye zapiski RANION, no. 1 (1926): 327-54.

Lewis and Karen E. Wigen, The Myth of Continents: A Cri- 14. Mark Bassin, “Myslit’ Prostranstvom: Eurasia and tique of Metageography (Berkeley: University of California Ethno-Territoriality In Post-Soviet Maps,” in Zeit-

Press, 1997). Raume. Neue Tendenzen in der historischen Kulturforschung aus

u. Celestine Bohlen, “Westward Ho: An Empire der Perspektive der Slavistik, ed. S. K. Frank and I. P. Tries to Become a Normal Nation,” The New York Times, Smirnov (Wiener Slawistischer Almanach 49 |2002]): 15-35;

May 19, 2002, C1. and Bassin, Imperial Visions: Nationalist Imagination and Geo12. V. O. Kliuchevsky, A Course in Russian History: The graphical Expansion in the Russian Far East, 1840-1865 (Cam-

Seventeenth Century, trans. Natalie Duddington (Chicago: bridge: Cambridge University Press, 1999).

Quadrangle Books, 1968), 174-99. The connection be- 15. For a similar argument developed for a much later tween serfdom and the mobility allowed by vast spaces period of Russian history, see Jane Burbank, “Narodnye

is also developed in Evsey Domar, “The Causes of sudy, imperskoe zakonodatel'stvo 1 grazhdanstvo v Slavery or Serfdom: A Hypothesis,” Economic History Re- Rossii,’ tn Rossiiskaia imperiia v sravnitel'noi perspective, ed.

view (1970 ): 18-32. Simon Dixon, Catherine the Great (Har- — Alekset Miller (Moscow: Novoe izdatel'stvo, 2004), low, U.K.: Longman, 2001). On other ways geohistorical 320-58. Burbank argues that “The law recognized and inelements figured into Russian thought, see Mark Bassin, — corporated particularity, and retained its claim to be the “Turner, Solov'ev, and the ‘Frontier Hypothesis’: The — ultimate source of justice.” See also Burbank, Russian PeasNationalist Signification of Open Spaces,” Journal of — ants Go to Court: Legal Culture in the Countryside, 1905-1917

Modern History 65 (1993): 473-511. (Bloomington: Indiana Unwwversity Press, 2004); Elise 13. On this tension, see Brian Boeck, “Containment vs. Kimerling Wirtschafter, “Legal Identity and the PossesColonization: Muscovite Approaches to Settling the sion of Serfs in Imperial Russia,” Journal of Modern History Steppe, in Peopling the Periphery: Slavic Settlement in Eurasia from 70 (1998): 561-63; and Valerie Kivelson, “ ‘Muscovite CitMuscovite to Soviet Times, ed. Nicholas Breyfogle, Abby M. — izenship’: Rights without Freedom,” Journal of Modern His-

Schrader, and Willard Sunderland (London: Routledge- tory 74 (2002): 465-89. Chapter 1. Nesting Narratives

1. Alexei V. Postnikov, “Outline of the History of (Moscow: Nash dom, and Paris: L’Age d’Homme, Russian Cartography,’ in Regions: A Prism to View the 1996), 11-12. Slavic~Eurasian World. Towards a Discipline of “Regionology,” ed. 4. For example, the thirteenth-century “Discourse

Kimitaka Matsuzato (Sapporo: Slavic Research Center, on the Perishing of the Russian Land” describes the exHokkaido University, 2000), 2-3; A. A. Kuzin, “Razvi- tent, location, and peoples of the Russian land. “Slovo tie chertezhnogo dela v Rossu,” Trudy Instituta istorii es~ 0 pogibeli russkoi zeml1” in Pamiatniki literatury Drevnei testvoznaniia i tekbniki 3 (Moscow: AN SSSR, 1955): 131-69. — Rusi. XLT vek (Moscow: Khudozhestvennaia literatura, 2. Entsiklopediia russkogo igumena XIV—XV wv. Sbornik pre- 1981), 130—31.

podobnogo Kirilla Belozerskogo. Rossiiskaia Natsional'naia Bib- 5. A. A. Tits, Zagadka drevnerusskogo chertezha (Moscow:

lioteka, Kirillo-Belozerskoe sobranie, No. XI, ed. G. M. — Strotizdat, 1978).

Prokhorov (St. Petersburg: Izd. Olega Abyshko, 2003), 6. David Turnbull, “The Ad Hoc Collective Work 19-26; map on 19; quote on 21. 1 am deeply grateful to of Building Gothic Cathedrals with Templates, String, Aleksei Sirenov for alerting me to this publication. The and Geometry,” Science, Technology and Human Values 18, no.

phrase “eyes of the mind” is used in Orthodox prayer, 3 (1993): 315-40.

for instance, the Acathistos of the Venerable Dosifei of 7. Mary Elizabeth Berry, “The Codification of

Kiev. Space and Society,’ unpublished paper prepared for the 3. First reported but reproduced in poor quality in © Seminar on “What Is Early Modern and Japanese about S. M. Kashtanoy, “Chertezh zemel'nogo uchastka 16 v.,” ‘Early Modern Japan?” Berkeley, Calif, September Trudy Moskovskogo gosudarstvennogo Istoriko~Arkhivnogo Insti- 1996, 20, 21-22.

tuta, vol. 17 (Moscow, 1963), 429-36; reproduced in 8. See Harley and Woodward, History of Cartography; high-quality color in A. V. Postnikov, Karty zemel' rossi-. Peter Barber, “Maps and Monarchs in Europe iskikb: ocherk istorii geograficheskogo izucheniia i kartografirovaniia 1550-1800, in Royal and Republican Sovereignty in Early Modnashego otechestva [also in English as Russia in Maps: A His-~ — ern Europe: Essays in Memory of Ragnhild Hatton, ed. Robert

tory of the Geographical Study and Cartography of the Country] Oresko, G. C. Gibbs, and H. M. Scott (Cambridge:

216 NOTES TO PAGES 7—16

Cambridge University Press, 1997), 75-124; Mary Eliza- 14. Kashtanov, “Chertezh zemel'nogo uchastka 16 v.” beth Berry, “The Codes of Strangers: Homelessness as 15. Samuel H. Baron, “The Lost Jenkinson Map of a Motive for Mapmaking,’ unpublished ms., 1996; Russia (1562) Recovered, Redated, and Retitled,” Terrae David Buissert, ed., Monarchs, Ministers, and Maps: The — Incognitae 25 (1993): 53-66; and Baron, “B. A. Rybakov on Emergence of Cartography as a Tool of Government in Early Mod- the Jenkinson Map of 1562, 3-13.

ern Europe (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1992), 16. Sanktpeterburgski filial Instituta rosstiskoi istorii 1; P, D. A. Harvey, Maps in Tudor England (London: The RAN (SPbFIRI), fond 41 [Collection of N. Golovin], Public Record Office and the British Library, 1993), 65; no. 56. A second order to draw up a map was sent to the and Marcia Yonemoto, Mapping Early Modern Japan: Space, same official the following year. Ibid., fond 41, no. 57. A Place, and Culture in the Tokugawa Period, 1603-1868 (Berke- copy of the same document 1s preserved in the Russian

ley: University of California Press, 2003). Powerful cen- National Library, in a Kirillov copybook: Rosstiskaia tralized states rose with remarkable simultaneity across Natstonal’naia Biblioteka, St. Petersburg, Manuscript Eurasia and apparently shared many of the factors that — Drvision, the Collection of St. Petersburg Spiritual Acagave the impetus to map their territories. Victor Lieber- | demy [Dukhovnaia Akademiia], A. I/16, 1. 495—4950b. man discusses the intensification of demographic vital- This information was given to me by M. M. Krom, to ity, military technologies, and the circulation of money whom | am most grateful. that contributed to the simultaneous rise of Eurasian 17. Lebedev, Ocherki po istorii geografti v Rossii, 207—13. state powers: Victor Lieberman, “Transcending East- 18. Sixteenth-century references to maps are discussed West Dichotomies: State and Culture Formation in Six — in the following works on the history of early modern Ostensibly Disparate Areas,” in Beyond Binary Histories: Russian cartography: Bagrow, History of Russian Cartogra~ Re-imagining Eurasia to c. 1830, ed. Victor Lieberman (Ann phy up to 1800, 1-17; V. S. Kusov, Kartograficheskoe iskusstvo

Arbor: University of Michigan Press, 1999), 19-102. Russkogo gosudarstva (Moscow: Nedra, 1989); Postnikoy, 9. D. M. Lebedev, Ocherki po istorii geografii v Rossii 15 i Razvitie krupnomasshtabnoi kartografti v Rossii (Moscow:

16 vv. (Moscow: AN SSSR, 1956), 200. Also quoted in Nauka, 1989), 19-20; and his Karty zemel’ rossiiskikh, 7-36; Postnikov, “Outline of the History of Russian Cartog- Rybakov, Russkie karty Moskovii XV—nachala XVI veka; and

raphy,” 3. Rybakov, “Russian Maps of the Fifteenth and Sixteenth

10. Leo Bagrow, “The First Russian Maps of Siberia Centuries,” trans. James A. Gibson, The Canadian Cartogand Their Influence on West-European Cartography of — rapher 14 (1977): 10-23. On cadasters as tools of state, see North East Asia,” Imago Mundi 9 (1952): 83-95; Bagrow, Roger J. P. Kain and Elizabeth Baigent, The Cadastral Map History of the Cartography of Russia up to 1800; A. V. Efimov, — in the Service of the State: A History of Property Mapping (Chi-

Atlas geograficheskikh otkrytii v Sibirii i v severo~zapadnoi Amerike cago: University of Chicago Press, 1992); and James C. XVII-X VIII wy. (Moscow: Nauka, 1964), vii—viti; Carl Scott, Seeing Like a State: How Certain Schemes to Improve the Moreland and David Bannister, Antique Maps: A Collectors © Human Condition Have Failed (New Haven: Yale Univer-

Guide, 3rd ed. (Oxford: Phaidon Christie’s, 1989), 238; sity Press, 1998), 1-83. For a refreshingly critical view of Postnikov, Russia in Maps; A. I. Andreev, “Chertezhi 1 the link between maps and state power, see Michael karty Rossii XVII v., naidennye v poslevoennye gody,’ Biggs, “Putting the State on the Map: Cartography, Trudy Leningradskogo otdeleniia Instituta istorii AN SSSR, no. 2 ‘Territory, and European State Formation,” Comparative

(Leningrad: AN SSSR, 1960), 88—go. Studies in Society and History 41 (1999): 374-405. i. B, A. Rybakov, Russkie karty Moskovii XV—nachala XVI 19. A popular legend maintains that Fedor Godunov veka (Moscow: Nauka, 1974), 21-56; Samuel Baron, “B. | made the map himself. Apart from the patent implausiA. Rybakov on the Jenkinson Map of 1562,” in New Per- bility of this claim, the misapprehension results from a

spectives on Muscovite History, ed. Lindsey Hughes (New misreading of the text (Johannes Keuning, “Isaac

York: St. Martin's Press, 1993), 3-13. Massa, 1586-1643," Imago Mundi 10 | 1953], 65-79). 12. The famous and controversial chart of the Tahit- 20. On the Bol'shoi chertezh, and for reproductions ian Islands provided by the “Tahitian polymath” Tupaia of some late copies of the Ukrainian maps, see Bagrow, to Captain Cook in 1769 shows that the island naviga- History of the Cartography of Russia up to 1800, 4-12; Kniga tors had no tradition of visual depiction but nonethe- — Bol’shomu chertezhu, ed. K. N. Serbina (Moscow: AN less navigated the unmarked ocean using mental maps. SSSR, 1950); Postnikov, Razvitie krupnomasshtabnoi karSee Ben Finney, “Nautical Cartography and Traditional — tografti_v Rossii, 20-22; Kusov, Kartograficheskoe iskusstvo Navigation in Oceania,” in The History of Cartography, vol. Russkogo gosudarstva, 75-77. Daniel Waugh's careful study

2, book 3, 446-51; and David Turnbull, Maps Are Territo- of the library holdings of Tsar Alekset Mikhailovich ries; Science Is an Atlas: A Portfolio of Exhibits (Chicago: Uni- _ lists many references to maps, both foreign and indige-

versity of Chicago Press, 1993). nous: Daniel Clarke Waugh, “The Library of Alekset 13. On map discoveries, see also Andreev, “Chertezhii Mikhailovich,’ Forschungen zur osteuropdischen Geschichte 38

karty Rossit XVU v.,” 81-90. (Berlin, 1986): 299-324. Listings of maps in the tsar’s li-

NOTES TO PAGES 16—19 217

brary are found in: S. A. Belokurov, O biblioteke moskovskikh ings in state archives catalogue many maps. For instance, gosudarei v XVI stoletii Moscow, 1898), 311; ChOIDR, 1893, — Zapiski otdeleniia russkoi i slavianskoi arkheologii, vol. 2, 25-28. I

bk. 4, smes', 13-14; “Opis' delam Prikaza tainykh del am grateful to Daniel Waugh for this reference. A num1713 goda,” in Zapiski Otdeleniia russkoi i slavianskoi arkheologii ber of seventeenth-century maps were resketched and Imperatorskogo Russkogo arkheologicheskogo obshchestva, vol. 2 (St. published in Sbornik chertezhei Moskvy, eia okrestnostei i goroda

Petersburg, 1861), 1-43; and Russkaia istoricheskaia biblioteka Pskova XVII stoletiia (Prilozhenie ko L-mu tomu Zapisok (henceforth RIB), vol. 21, cols. 490—91; note the transfer — Slaviano-Russkago Otdeleniia Arkheologicheskago Obshchestva), ed.

of maps of the lower and mid-Volga region to the Vladimir Lomanskit (St. Petersburg: Tipogratfiia Kazan Chancellery (Prikaz Kazanskogo dvortsa), 29 osafata Ogrizko, 1861). November 1682 (RIB, vol. 21, col. 956). On strategic 28. On the northern and western conflicts and miliborder mapping, see H. Kohlin, “The r7th-century tary maneuvers, see Heinz Eberhard Ellersieck, “Russia Swedish and Russian Maps of the Borderland between under Alekset Mikhailovich and Feodor Alekseevich, Russian and the Baltic Countries,” Imago Mundi 9 (1952): 1645-1682: The Scandinavian Sources” (Ph.D. diss.,

95-97. University of California, Los Angeles, 1955); and An21. Kain and Baigent, The Cadastral Map in the Service of | drew Lossky, “The Baltic Question, 1679-1689” (Ph.D.

the State, 344. diss., Yale University, 1948). On the southern frontier, 22. Scott, Seeing Like a State, 47. see Carol Belkin Stevens, Soldiers of the Steppe: Army Reform 23. On Muscovite cadasters, S. B. Veselovskii’s study and Social Change in Early Modern Russia (DeKalb: Northern

remains by far the most valuable: Soshnoe pis'mo: Izsle- Illinois University Press, 1995). On the Crimea and the dovanie po istorii kadastra i pososhnogo oblozheniia Moskovskogo go- East, see Michael Khodarkovsky, Russia’s Steppe Frontier:

sudarstva, 2 vols. (Moscow, 1916). See also G. Kochin, — The Making of a Colonial Empire, ts;00-1800 (Bloomington:

“Pistsovye knigi v burzhuaznot istoriografi,” Problemy is- Indiana University Press, 2002). On Siberia, see R. G. tochnikovedeniia, vol. 2 (Moscow and Leningrad: AN = Skrynnikov, Sibirskaia ekspeditsiia Ermaka (Novosibirsk:

SSSR, 1936), 145-86. Nauka, 1982); and Yuri Slezkine, Arctic Mirrors: Russia and 24. On enserfment and its links to the completion of the Small Peoples of the North (Ithaca, N.Y.: Cornell Univercadasters, see Richard Hellie, Enserfment and Military _ sity Press, 1994).

Change (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1971); 29. On geographical knowledge and the conquest of and V. I. Koretsku, Formirovanie krepostnogo prava i pervaia Siberia, see A. I. Andreev, Ocherki po istochnikovedeniiu Sibiri,

Krest'ianskaia voina v Rossii (Moscow: Nauka, 1975). 2 vols. (Moscow and Leningrad: AN SSSR, 1960, 1965); 25. Scott, Seeing Like a State, 3. On the changes wrought Mark Bassin, “Expansion and Colonialism on the Eastby the rise of state lists and registers in Muscovy, see ern Frontier: Views of Siberia and the Far East in PreMarshall Poe's “The Military Revolution, Administra- Petrine Russia,” Journal of Historical Geography 14 (1988): tive Development, and Cultural Change in Early Mod- 3-21; and A. V. Eftmov, Azlas geograficheskikh otkrytii v Sibiri, ern Russia,” Journal of Early Modern History 2, no. 3 (1998): vol. 1, 272.

247-73; Poe, “Muscovite Personnel Records, 1475-1550: 30. N. EF. Demidova and V. S. Miasnikov, eds., New Light on the Early Evolution of Russian Bureau- — Russko~Kitaiskie otnosheniia v XVII veke, 2 vols. (Moscow: cracy,” Jabrbiicher fiir Geschichte Osteuropas 45, no. 3 (1997): Nauka, 1969, 1972); Efimov, Atlas geograficheskikh otkrytii v

361-78; and Poe, “Elite Service Registry in Muscovy, — Sibiri; Karl Svenske, Materialy dlia istorii sostavleniia Atlasa 1500-1700, Russian History / Histoire russe 21 (1994): Rossiiskoi imperii, izdannago imperatorskoiu akademieiu nauk v

251-88. 1745 godu, sobrany iz arkhiva imperatorskoi akademii nauk, 26. Scott, Seeing Like a State, 49. Scott explores the many __ prilozhenie k [X-mu tomu zapisok imp. Akademii nauk, no. 2

means of resistance used by seemingly powerless social (St. Petersburg: Imperatorskaia Akademiia nauk, subordinates in his Weapons of the Weak: Everyday Forms of 1866); Marc Mancall, Russia and China: Their Diplomatic

Peasant Resistance (New Haven: Yale University Press, Relations to 1728 (Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard Univer1985). On mapping as a tool of local resistance, see Ray- sity Press, 1971); N. N. Ogloblin, Obozrenie stolbtsov i knig mond B, Craib, Cartographic Mexico: A History of State Fixa~ — Sibirskago prikaza (1592-1768), published as ChOIDR,

tions and Fugitive Landscapes (Durham, N.C.: Duke Univer- book 200, 1902, 114-15; Leo Bagrow, “A Few Remarks

sity Press, 2004). on Maps of the Amur, the Tatar Strait, and Sakhalin,”

27. G. V. Alferova, Russkie goroda XVI-XVII vekov Imago Mundi 12 (1955): 128; D. M. Lebedev, Geograftia v (Moscow: Stroiizdat, 1989); Bagrow, History of the Cartog- Rossii XVII veka (Moscow and Leningrad: AN SSSR, raphy of Russia up to 1800, 1-17; N. F. Gulianitskii, ed., 1949), 116-20. Gradostroitel’stvo Moskovskogo gosudarstva XVI-XVII vekov 31. _Bagrow, “First Russian Maps of Siberia.”

(Moscow: Stroiizdat, 1994), passim; Postnikov, Razvitie 32. A convenient catalogue of Muscovite maps may krupnomasshtabnoi kartografti v Rossii, 5-10; Rybakov, Russkie be found in V. S. Kusov, Chertezhi zemli russkoi XVI-X VII

karty Moskovii 7-20. Seventeenth-century lists of hold- — w. (Moscow: Russkii mir, 1993).

218 NOTES TO PAGES 19—22

33. On this genre of property maps, see A. P. Gudzin- — World of the Eighteenth Century, ed. R. P. Bartlett, A. G. skaia and N. G. Mikhailova, “Graficheskie materialy, Cross, and Karen Rasmussen (Columbus, Ohio: Slavica, kak istochnik po istorti arkhitektury pomeshchich'ei 1 1988). Thanks to Elise Wirtschafter for this latter citakrest'tansko1 usadeb v Rossii XVII v.,” Istoriia SSSR, no. 5 tion. (1971): 214-27; Kusov, Kartograficheskoe iskusstvo Russkogo go~ 42. The map survives and is reproduced in G. Edsudarstva; Kuzin, “Razvitie chertezhnogo dela v Rossu,’ = ward Orchard’s English translation of Massa. The hy131-69; and Tits, Zagadki drevnerusskogo chertezha. There are brid perspective, combining an aerial overview with lat-

interesting discussions of chertezhi in Gulianitsku, Gra- eral views of buildings, tents, horses, and carriages, is dostroitel’stvo Moskovskogo gosudarstva XVI—X VII vekov. characteristic of later Russian maps but this is one of 34. RGADA, f. 210, Pomestnyi stol, stlb. 108, Il. 250, the first extant examples, dating well before other

257 (1687). equivalent maps of known Russian authorship. See 35. Postnikov suggests a kind of professionalizing Isaac Massa, A Short History of the Beginnings and Origins of process in “Outline of the History of Russian Cartog- — These Present Wars in Moscow under the Reign of Various Sover-

raphy,” 18. eigns down to the Year 1610, trans. and intro. G. Edward

36. On units of measurement: a verst was just over a Orchard (Toronto: University of Toronto Press, 1982), kilometer, and a sazhen just over 2.13 meters, but meas- 130. urements were not standardized until the eighteenth 43. Quoted in Andreev, Ocherki po istochnikovedeniiu Sibiri, century. On mapping techniques, see L. A. Gol'denberg vol. 1, 43.

and A. V. Postnikov, “The Development of Mapping 44. Bagrow unfortunately does not cite his source Methods in Russia,” Imago Mundi 37 (1985): 63-80; (History of Russian Cartography up to 1800, 6). Other works

Henry Huttenbach, “Hydrography and the Origins of | on Spafarius do not confirm Bagrow’s comment. See Russian Cartography,” in Five Hundred Years of Nautical Mancall, Russia and China; Clifford M. Foust, “Spafaru, Science, 142-52; and W. F, Ryan, “Scientific Instruments — Nikolai Gavrilovich (Nicholaie Spatarul Milescu),” in in Russia from the Middle Ages to Peter the Great,’ Modern Encyclopedia of Russian and Soviet History, vol. 37,

Annals of Science 48 (1991): 367-84. 20-24; V. Pursenko, “Spafart Milesku,” in Russkii biogra37. Postnikov, “Outline of the History of Russian __ficheskii slovar’, vol. 19, 183-90.

Cartography,” 11. 45. J. B. Harley, “Silences and Secrecy: The Hidden 38. Nikolay N. Komedchikov, “The Language of Agenda of Cartography in Early Modern Europe,’ Russian Geographical Drawings of the Period before — Imago Mundi 40 (1988): 61.

1700, paper presented at the 2oth International Con- 46. Ibid., 59. ference on the History of Cartography, Portland, 47. On Vinius and publication schemes, see Bagrow,

Maine, June 18, 2003. History of Russian Cartography to 1800, 42; Bagrow, The 39. Postnikov, Karty zemel! rossiiskikh, 36. On eighteenth- Atlas of Siberia, Facsim. ed., intro. Leo Bagrow (’scentury Russian cartography, see also Denis J. B. Shaw, Gravenhage: Mouton, 1958), 14-15; Bagrow, “Semyon “Geographical Practice and Its Significance in Peter the © Remezov—A Siberian Cartographer,’ Imago Mundi 11 Great's Russia,” Journal of Historical Geography 22 (1996): (1954), 120-21; A. V. Postnikov, “Kartografirovanie 160-76; and Shaw, “‘A Strong and Prosperous Condi- Sibir1 v XVU—nachale XVII veka. Semen Ul'tanovich tion: The Geography of State Building and Social Re- Remezov 1 ego rukopisnye atlasy,” in Chertezhnaia kniga form in Peter the Great’s Russia,” Political Geography 18 Sibiri, sostavlennaia tobol'skim synom boiarskim S. Remezovym v

(1999): 991-1015. 1701 godu, 2 vols. (Moscow: FGUP, PKO Kartografita, 40. On Kirilov and Delisle and the Petrine mapping 2003), vol. 2, 7-10. Andreev noted the Dutch annotaprojects, see L. A. Gol'denberg and A. V. Postnikov, tions but argued that they were part of a legitimate Petrovskie geodezisty i pervyi pechatnyi plan Moskvy (Moscow: joint Russo-Dutch publishing venture: Ocherki po isNedra, 1990); Leonid A. Goldenberg, Russian Maps and tochnikovedeniiu Sibiri, vol. 1, 130. For a vigorous refutation

Atlases as Historical Sources, trans. James R. Gibson of Bagrow’s idea, see L. A. Gol'denberg, Semen (Toronto: B. V. Gutsell, Dept. of Geography, York Ul'ianovich Remezov, sibirskii kartograf i geograf, 1642—posle University, 1971); Postnikov, Russia in Maps, 36-55; and 1720 gg. (Moscow: Nauka, 1965), 92-95. On the signifi-

Svenske, Materialy. cance of printing in Western cartography, see, among 41. Vladimir Genrtkhovich Bukhert, Istoriia Arkhiva others, Jerry Brotton, Trading Territories: Mapping the Early Mezhevoi Kantseliarii (Lsentral'nogo mezhevogo arkhiva) Modern World (Ithaca, N.Y.: Cornell University Press, 1768-1939, Avtoreferat dissertatsti na soiskanie uchenoi 1998), 35-42, and on maps in a non-print culture, the stepent kandidata istoricheskikh nauk, Rosstiskit Gos- | Ottoman Empire, 87—118. darstvennyi Gumanitarny1 Universitet, Moscow, 1991, 6; 48. Bagrow, History of Russian Cartography up to 1800, 163,

and Robert D. Givens, “To Measure and to Encroach: 179, 186, 190—91, 194.

The Nobility and the Land Survey,” in Russia and the 49. Ibid., 179, 194.

NOTES TO PAGES 22—28 219

50. Andreev, Ocherki po istochnikovedeniiu Sibiri, vol. 2, vate person of a unique monument of Russian science

25-32. The dispute between Engel and G. F. Miller and culture of the seventeenth century, by right belong-

dragged on between 1765 and 1777. ing to the Soviet people” (Semen Ul"ianovich Remezov, 85). st. L. A. Gol'denberg, for instance, calls attention to More recently, see A. V. Postnikov, “Kartografirovanie the “ethical aspect of the illegal appropriation by a pri- Sibiri v XVU—nachale XVIII veka,” 13. Chapter 2. Engaging with the Law

1. Harley, “Silences and Secrecy,” 57. Medieval Europe,” in History of Cartography, vol. 1, 464; 2. Kain and Baigent, The Cadastral Map in the Service of | Kain and Baingent, The Cadastral Map in the Service of the

the State. For a particularly trenchant statement of the — State, 3-5, 331-32; J. B. Harley, “Maps, Knowledge, and meanings of maps, see the provocative article by Harley, Power,’ in The Iconography of Landscape: Essays on the Symbolic “Deconstructing the Map,” 1-20. This sally called forth — Representation, Design and Use of Past Environments, ed. Denis

anguished responses: “Responses to J. B. Harley's Ar- | Cosgrove and Stephen Daniels (Cambridge: Cambridge ticle ‘Deconstructing the Map, ” Cartographica 26 (1989): | Untversity Press, 1988), 300. On contingency of devel-

89-127. For discussions of the hegemonic power of opment and acceptance of mapping, see David H. central state maps and their “dominant disciplinary Fletcher, The Emergence of Estate Maps: Christ Church, Oxford, power,” see, among others, Benedict Anderson, Imagined 1600-1840 (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1995), esp. vil, 1353 Communities: Reflections on the Origin and Spread of Nationalism, and Bendall, “Enquire “When the Same Platte Was

rev. and extended ed., 2nd ed. (London: Verso, 1991), | Made and by Whome and to What Intent,’ ” 34—48. 173. See also Thongchat Winichakul, Siam Mapped: A His- g. On the growth of state control and administratory of the Geo-Body of a Nation (Honolulu, 1994), from tion, see Modernizing Muscovy: Reform and Social Change in which Anderson draws his discussion of maps; and — Seventeenth-~Century Russia, ed. Jarmo Kotilaine and MarWood, Power of Maps, 74-75. The idea of mapping as an _ shall Poe (London: RoutledgeCurzon, 2004).

assertion of power has been most fully developed in 10. For example, RGADA, f. 192, op. 1, Pskovskata gustudies of Western cultural imperialism. See Edney, berniia, no. 3; RGADA f. 210, Sevsku stol, st. 397, IL. Mapping and Empire; Walter D. Mignolo, The Darker Side of 401-2. Por many illustrations, examples and discussion, the Renaissance: Literacy, Territoriality, and Colonization (Ann see Alferova, Russkie goroda XVI-XVII vekov; Gulianitskui, Arbor: University of Michigan Press, 1995); and José — Gradostroitel’stvo Moskovskogo gosudarstva XVI-XVII vekov. Rabasa, Inventing America: Spanish Historiography and the For- Postnikov, Razvitie krupnomasshtabnoi kartografii v Rossii, mation of Eurocentrism (Norman: University of Oklahoma — 13-15, esp. fig. 3. Bagrow reproduces a communications

Press, 1993). map of the area between Lake Petpus and Lake Ilmen in 3. Geoff King, Mapping Reality: An Exploration of Cul- his History of Russian Cartography up to 1800, 13, fig. 7. See

tural Cartographies (New York: St. Martin’s Press, 1996), also his “A Russian Communications Map, 1685,” Imago

139, 145. Mundi 9 (1952): 99-101.

4. As the theorist David Harvey characterizes this ou. Waugh, “Library of Alekset Mikhailovich,” view, To produce one dominant cartographic image 299-324. out of all this multiplicity is a power-laden act of dom- —12.. Kniga Bol'shomu chertezhu, 49.

ination. It is to force a singular discursive representa- 13. Alferova, Russkie goroda XVI-XVII vekov, 1-17; Gutional exercise upon multiple cartographies, to suppress lianitskii, Gradostroitel'stvo Moskovskogo gosudarstva XVI— difference and to establish homogeneity of representa- XVII vekov, passim; Postnikov, Razvitie krupnomasshtabnoi tion. To engage in this is a typical discursive strategy of — kartografii v Rossii, 5-10; Rybakov, Russkie karty Moskovii

hegemonic power, that has the intended effect of curb- 720. ing the imaginary and shaping material practices and 14. RGADA, f. 192, op. 1, delo 1/2, Vitebskaia gusocial relations as well as institutions to a dominant _ berniia. mode of production or, as Foucault prefers it, to a 15. RGADA, f. 1209, Uslich, stlb. 35555, ch. 2, 1. 171. dominant disciplinary power” (Justice, Nature and the Geog~ 16. RGADA, f. 1209, Usglich, stlb. 35626, ch. 2, 1. 234.

raphy of Difference, 284). This document is dated 1730 but retells an earlier 5. Winichakul, Siam Mapped, 47. episode. 6. King, Mapping Reality, 165. 17. RGADA, f. 1209, Torzhok, stlb. 27491, I. 177; map 7. Barber, “Maps and Monarchs in Europe onl. 175,

1550-1800, 87, 18. RGADA, f. 1209, Elets-Efremoy, stlb. 23829, I. 12; 8. David Buisseret, ed., Rural Images: Estate Maps in the map on 1.1.

Old and New Worlds (Chicago: University of Chicago 19. Ibid., Il. 4-40. Raymond B. Craib, in his work on Press, 1996). On local maps in a European context, see local mapping in nineteenth-century Mexico, also finds P. D, A. Harvey, “Local and Regional Cartography in that local interests rather than any inherent or naive

220 NOTES TO PAGES 28—35

resistance to the idea of mapping, shapes local re- boundaries, the passage might equally well be undersponse. See his “Cartography and Power in the Con- stood as a complaint about drawing of boundaries that quest and Creation of New Spain,” Latin American Re- — were literally not straight rather than dishonest, crooked search Review 35 (2000): 7-36; and Yonemoto, Mapping — in the figurative sense.

Early Modern Japan. 30. Ibid. Stepan Zhdanov'ss maps are on Il. 68, 176, and 20. The northern provinces preserved a class of in- 180; Aleksei Zemtsov's maps on Il. 73, 185; and the state dependent peasant proprietors well into the seventeenth agent's map on |, 225. There are other cases where the century, and a good deal of research has been devoted disputing sides submitted conflicting maps and disparto sorting out the nature of and limits to their claims to aged each other's renditions of the lay of the land. For property. As I have not yet found any maps produced in _ instance, in a case in Starorussko1 province in the 16gos, litigation involving these peasants, | have omitted them _ representatives of three monasteries each submitted sevfrom this study. See, for example, E. N. Shveikovskaia, eral maps supporting their sides of the story. Of the Gosudarstvo i krest'iane Rossii: Pomor'e v XVII veke (Moscow: five maps, several are in frayed condition. The case Arkheograficheskii tsentr, 1997); and her collection, ed- — sprawls out over hundreds of pages (RGADA f. 1209, ited with N. A. Gorskaia, Predstavleniia 0 sobstvennosti v Novgorod, stlb. 23667, ch. 2, Il. 75-78, 303). rossiiskom obshchestve XV-XVIII wv; problemy sobstvennosti v 31. RGADA, f. 1209, Iurev Polskit (historically, Polobshchestvennom soznanii i pravovoi mysli feodal'noi epokhi skoi), stlb. 34253, ch. 1, L. 132.

(Moscow: Institut rosstiskoi istorit RAN, 1998). 32. A. P. Gudzinskaia and N. G. Mikhailova, “Novye 21. Iu. V. Got'e, Zamoskovnyi krai v XVII veke. Opyt issle- materialy po istorii drevnerusskikh gorodov,” Istoriia dovaniia po istorii ekonomicheskogo byta Moskovskoi Rusi SSSR, no. 4 (1970),: 199-202, Illustration 2. The maps are

(Moscow, 1906). RGADA, f. 1209, Uglich, stlb. 35837, ch. 1, l. 44 and I. 151. 22. For a discussion of land litigation in the fifteenth — 33. B. N. Morozov, “Chertezh kontsa XVII veka podand sixteenth centuries, see V. B. Kobrin, Vast’ i sobstven- © moskovnoi votchiny kniazei Vorotynskikh,’ Arkhiv nost’ v srednevekovoi Rossii (Moscow: Mysl', 1985), 161-98. —russkoi istorii, no. 2 (1992): 189. Map reproduced on 23. The most comprehensive seventeenth-century leg- 186-87. islation and outline of court procedure regarding litiga- 34. RGADA, f. 1209, Pereslavl-Zalessku, stlb, 21993, L tion over boundaries and ownership of property can be — 253 (1601); stlb. 22122, ch. 2, L. 1 (4681); Kashin, stb. found in Richard Hellie, trans. and ed., The Muscovite Law 36641, Il. 123-24 (1690); Moscow, stlb. 33020, ch. 2, L. 230 Code (Ulozhenie) of 1649, Part 1, Text and Translation (Irvine, (1688); stlb. 40875, ch. 2, L 74; RGADA, f. 192, op. 1, Calif: Charles Schlacks, Jr., 1988), chap. 10, arts. 231-37, | Novgorodskaia gubernuia, no. 9. On the domestic archi-

239, 243; chap. 16, arts. 60, 63; chap. 17, arts. 18, 21, 45, tecture of the period, see G. G. Gromov, “Zhilishche,’ 50-52. The law code does not mention mapping as part — 1n Ocherki russkoi kul'tury XVII veka, pt. 1 (Moscow, 1979).

of court procedure. 35. Of the seventy-two, thirty-eight were clerks or sur-

24. RGADA, f. 1209, op. Moskovsku, stlb. 33020, ch. veyors (pod’iachie) of the Chancellery of Service lands, 2, L, 230 (1691). A normal desiatina was a land measure two were clerks of the Patriarchal Treasury (Patriarshii equal to 2.7 acres, but it could also mean a larger plot of — kazennyi prikaz), sixteen were simply called “clerks” (pod'3.6 or 4 acres. A chetvert! was one-half desiatina, and an os- —_achie), and sixteen were local town governors (voevody)

mina was one-half a chetvert’. To complicate matters, | who may or may not actually have drawn the maps with since seventeenth-century land measurements usually which they were credited. The artists were altogether listed only one-third of a three-field system holding, ac- untrained in mapmaking, which 1s not hard to believe tual measurements sometimes had to be tripled. See | when one remembers how utterly unsophisticated their Serget G. Pushkarev, comp., George Vernadsky and cartographic efforts were. Even so, there is a certain deRalph T. Fisher, eds., Dictionary of Russian Historical Terms gree of uniformity in the palette and the conventional from the Eleventh Century to 1917 (London: Yale University symbols they used. Bagrow attributes many of the maps

Press, 1970), 11, 77. that he studies to professional artists, painters (znamen25. RGADA, f. 1209, Suzdal, stlb. 27991, ch. 2, not — shchiki), icon painters (ikoniki, ikonopistsy), printers (pechat-

paginated (1682 or 1683). niki), and draftsmen (chertezhniki), whereas only one of 26. RGADA, f. 1209, Karachey, stlb. 2501, 1. 95. the mapmakers in my sample was a painter of any sort, 27. RGADA, f. 1209, Suzdal, stlb. 28043, 1. 143. See an icon painter. The difference in the kinds of maps exalso f. 210, Prikaznyi stol, stlb. 2449, Il. 281, 284, for an amined may explain the divergence in professional pro-

example of private initiative. file. Bagrow looks primarily at maps commissioned di28. RGADA, f. 1209, Chern, stlb. 24533, IL. 178, 181. rectly by and for the central chancelleries, mainly for the 29. Ibid., 1. 188. The text says that the boundaries were Chancellery of Military Affairs and the Siberian Channot shown “priamye,’ literally “straight.” Since the maps __ cellery. See Bagrow, History of Russian Cartography up to

that Zemtsov submitted do show straight lines as 1800, 1-44. The lone icon painter/mapmaker in my

NOTES TO PAGES 35—43 221

sample (RGADA, f. 192, op. 1, Novgorodskaia gu- 46. RGADA, f. 1209, Uglich, stlb. 3555, ch. 2, 1. 209. berntia, no. 9) is cited in Kusov, Chertezhi zemli russkoi See also Figure 3.10. XVI-XVII w., 211, no. 747. The priest mapmaker is in 47. RGADA, f. 1209, Murom, stlb. 36032, Il. 189-207;

RGADA, f. 1209, Kashin, stlb, 25720, ch. 2, |. 254. maps on Il. 182, 183, 184—85. Similarly, in a three-way 36. For surveyors and boundary markers as mapmak- case pitting the Krutitsa metropolitan against two sets ers, see RGADA, f. 1209, Iurev Polski, stlb. 34278, Il. 1, of gentry landholders in Zvenigorod and Ruza 4, 36; Tula, stlb. 37455, 1. 100, L102. Surveying and provinces in 1683, an official was beaten for falsifying boundary-setting service records are listed in S. B. documents, a judgment that was later reversed several Veselovsku, D'iaki i pod'iachie XV-XVI w. (Moscow, times. See ibid., stlb. 36201, esp. 1. 314. 1975). Other clerks of the Chancellery of Service Lands 48. Timothy Mitchell, Colonizing Egypt (New York: are mentioned in the following cases: Mikhail Tenekov, | Cambridge University Press, 1988), Ix. RGADA, f. 1209, Vladimir, stlb. 33646, ch. 1, I. 110; 49. Monmonier, How to Lie with Maps; Marshall Poe, Fedor Istomin, itbid., Moscow, stlb. 32727, ch. 1, last “The Imaginary World of Semen Koltovskit: Gepage; Euftm Sumorokoy, tbid., Tula, stlb. 37455, L102. nealogical Anxiety and Palsification in Seventeenth37. The quotation 1s from RGADA, f. 1209, Iurev Pol- Century Russia,” Cabiers du monde russe 39 (1998): 375-88. sko1, stlb. 34.236, l. 5. On Andrei Bykovsko1, see RGADA, 50. RGADA, f. 192, op. 1, Pskovskaia guberntiia, no. 3.

f. 1209, Suzdal, stlb. 27992, ch. 1 (not paginated). On 51. The quotation comes from Giles Fletcher, “Of the Ofrosimov, see RGADA, f. 210, stlb. 109. On Postnikov Russe Commonwealth,” in Rude and Barbarous Kingdom: and the musketeer, see RGADA, f. 1209, Torzhok, stlb. — Russia in the Accounts of Sixteenth-~Century English Voyagers, ed.

27217, 1. 73; Shchekin and Mosalitinov, RGADA, f. 210, | Lloyd E. Berry and Robert O. Crummey (Madison: Prikaznyi stol, stlb. 1066, 1. 52; Vasil'ev: RGADA, f.1209, | University of Wisconsin Press, 1968), 132. This position

Elets-Efremov, stlb. 24155; and the rozsyl'shchik, ibid., 1s developed in Marshall Poe, “The Truth about Mus-

Murom, stlb. 36090. covy, Kritika: Explorations in Russian and Eurasian History 3 38. RGADA, f. 1209, Iurev Polskii, stlb. 34032, L 197. (2002): 473-86. 39. RGADA, f. 1209, Suzdal, stlb. 27991, ch. 2, not 52. Kosmografiia 1670 (St. Petersburg: Imperatorskaia

paginated (1682 or 1683). Arkheograficheskaia kommisstia, 1878—81), 267. 40. Kobrin notes this tendency of cases to stretch out —53.. George G. Weickhardt, “Due Process and Equal over decades already in the fifteenth and sixteenth cen- —_ Justice in the Muscovite Codes,” Russian Review 51 (1992.): turies. Vlast’ i sobstvennost’. For examples of long cases, see 463-80; Weickhardt, “Pre-Petrine Property Law,” Slavic

RGADA, f. 1209, Iurev Polsko1, stlb. 34226, Il. 212-426 — Review 52 (1993): 663-79. Jerome Horsey recognized (eleven years ); Kaluga, stlb. 26174, Il. 45-125 (ten years); | Muscovy’s active legal culture and the strictures that it

Murom, stlb. 36201, ch. 2, Il. 266-446 (seven years); placed on the state already in the late sixteenth century. Torzhok, stlb. 274091, ch. 1, Il. 175-84 (twenty-five years); | He wrote that Ivan the Terrible “reduced the ambigui-

Uglich, stlb. 35601, Il. 2-6, 126-47 (sixteen years); and ties and uncertainties of their laws and pleadings into a

Uglich, stlb. 35626, ch. 2, Il. 231-40 (ten years). most perspicuous and plain form of a written law, for 41. Por examples of this commitment to efficiency every man universal to understand and plead his own and truth, see RGADA, f. 210, Prikaznyi stol, stlb. 2449, cause without any advocate, and to challenge upon a I, 265; ibid., stlb, 1086, Il. 296-97; ibid., stlb. 1066, 1.52; f. great mulct to the crown judgment without delay” 1209, Aleksin, stlb. 31086, Il. 186, 227; Kaluga, stlb. (““Travels,” in Rude and Barbarous Kingdom, 311). 26646, |. 141; Murom, stlb. 36032, 1. 202. Por an official, 54. Jane Burbank argues this point convincingly in her

legal formulation of this commitment to truth, see study of peasants and legal culture in the late nineHellie, Muscovite Law Code, chap. to, art. 161, p. 56. teenth and early twentieth centuries. She documents the 42. See, for example, RGADA, f. 210, Prikaznyi stol, flourishing of an active legal culture among Russian stlb, 2440, Il. 285, 296; tbid., f£. 1209, Iurev Polsko1, stlb. peasants. See her “Insult and Punishment in Rural 34253; Kaluga, stlb. 26646, Il. 138-39; and Uglich, stlb. Courts: The Elaboration of Civility in Late Imperial

3555, ll. 2, 178-79, 210. Russia,” Etudes rurales 149-50 (1999): 147-71; and her “A 43. RGADA, f. 1209, Suzdal, stlb. 28053, Il. 151-53; Question of Dignity: Peasant Legal Culture in Late Imcountersuit and orders for new investigation and map, _ pertal Russia,” Continuity and Change 10 (1995): 391-404.

Il. 155-57. In the same case, some of the putative wit- 55. Gadi Algazi, “Lords Ask, Peasants Answer: Making nesses complained that they had been listed as provid- ‘Traditions in Late Medieval Village Assemblies,” in Being testimony that they never gave. They had not been _ tween History and Histories: The Making of Silences and Commemo-

present at the investigation and had never instructed rations, ed. Gerald Sider and Gavin Smith (Toronto: Uni-

anyone to sign in their stead (1. 170). versity of Toronto Press, 1997), 199-229; Stephen P. 44. RGADA, f. 1209, Aleksin, stlb. 31086 (1670s). Frank, Crime, Cultural Conflict, and Justice in Rural Russia, 45. RGADA, f. 1209, Chern, stlb. 24533, Il. 68-225. 1856-1914 (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1999).

222 NOTES TO PAGES 43—51

56. “Povest' o Shemiakinom sude,” in Russkaia demokratich- “Court Ceremony in an Age of Reform: Patriarch eskaia sativa XVII veka, ed. V. P. Adrianova-Peretts, 2nd ed. | Nikon and the Palm Sunday Ritual,” in Religion and Cul-

(Moscow: Nauka, 1977), 17-25. ture in Early Modern Russia and Ukraine, ed. Samuel H. 57- Por examples of people of lesser status winning Baron and Nancy Shields Kollmann (DeKalb: Northcases against more highly ranked opponents, see ern University Press, 1997), 73-95; A. L. Iurganov, KateRGADA f. 1209, Novgorod, stlb. 23667, ch. 1 and 2, Il. — gorii_russkoi srednevekovoi kul'tury (Moscow: Otkrytoe ob-

66-162. shchestvo,1998); Valerie A. Kivelson, “The Devil Stole 58. Horace W. Dewey, “Judges and the Evidence in His Mind: The Tsar and the 1648 Moscow Uprising,”

Muscovite Law,” Slavonic and East European Review 36 American Historical Review 98 (1993): 733-56; Daniel Row-

(1957): 189-94; Dewey, “The 1550 Sudebnik as an In- land, “Did Muscovite Literary Ideology Place Any strument of Reform,” Jahbrbiicher fiir Geschichte Osteuropasto Limits on the Power of the Tsar?” Russian Review 49

(162): 161-80. (1990): 125-56; Daniel Rowland, “Biblical Military Im59. Anatolii Dmitrievich Gorskit, Bor'ba kresttian za agery in the Political Culture of Early Modern Russia: zemliu na Rusi: v XV—nachale XVI veka (Moscow: Iz- The Blessed Host of the Heavenly Tsar,” in Medieval datel'stvo Moskovskogo universiteta, 1974); and I. U. — Russian Culture, 182-212. Budovnits, Monastyria na Rusi i bor'ba s nimi krest'ian 63. Kollmann, By Honor Bound, 202. On the particular (Moscow: Nauka, 1966). The late Soviet “estate-repre- kind of evenhandedness characteristic of Muscovite sentative’ model argued that the tsarist regime rose in law, see Weickhardt, “Due Process and Equal Justice in alliance with the gentry and townspeople. For example, the Muscovite Codes,’ 463—80. see L. V. Cherepnin, Zemskie sobory russkogo gosudarstva v 64. Kollmann, By Honor Bound, 202. shestnadtsatom—semnadtsatom vv. (Moscow: Nauka, 1978). 65. Nicholas Henshall, The Myth of Absolutism: Change 60. RGADA, f. 1209, Elets-Efremoy, stlb. 23829, L 4. and Continuity in Early Modern European Monarchy (London:

61. P. P. Smirnov, “Chelobitnyia dvorian 1 detei Longman, 1992; Valerie A. Kivelson, Autocracy in the boiarskikh v pervoi polovine XVII veke,” ChOIDR 254 — Provinces: Russian Political Culture and the Gentry in the Seven-

(1915), pt. 1, 60, 51-54. teenth Century (Stanford, Calif: Stanford Unversity

62, A. I, Alekseev, Pod znakom kontsa vremen. Ocherki Press, 1997); Lieberman, “Transcending East-West Dirusskoi religioznosti kontsa XIV—nachala XVI vy, (St. Peters- chotomies,’ 509; Donald Ostrowski, “The Facade of

burg: Aletetia, 2002); Michael Flier, “Breaking the Legitimacy: Exchange of Power and Authority in Early Code: The Image of the Tsar in the Muscovite Palm Modern Russia,’ Comparative Studies in Society and History Sunday Ritual,” in Medieval Russian Culture, 213-42; Flier, 4.4 (2002): 534-63. Chapter 3. Signs in Space

1. RGADA, f. 1209, Aleksin, stlb. 31494, ch. 1, 1. 115. 425-26; map on I. 214. Natural features and contours of

2. Soja, Postmodern Geographies, 7. the land presumably would speak more clearly to farm-

3. Ibid. ers, familiar with every dip in the land, than to today’s

4. Tuan, Space and Place, 54. urbanites. Still, the chaotic state of boundary markers

5. RGADA, f. 210, Prikaznyi stol, stlb. 2239 (micro- and the confusion over landmarks makes it clear that

film), I. 30; map on IL 17-18 (1698/99). agrarian people close to the land were frequently 6. RGADA, f. 1209, Iurev Polskit, stlb., 34236, Il. 5-6. | stumped by the indeterminacy of boundaries. 7. RGADA, f. 210, Pomestnyi stol, stlb. 108, 1. 257; 15. RGADA, f. 1209, Iurev Polski, stlb. 34266, ch. 3, I.

map, Il. 258-63. 429.

8. RGADA, f. 1209, Viazma i Mozhaisk, stlb. 29680, 16. RGADA, f. 1209, Moscow, stlb. 32724, ch. 2, IL.

l. 170. 1o—11; map on I. 1,

g. Elena Pavlova, “From Turf to Icon: the Ritual of 17. RGADA, 1209, Aleksin, stlb. 30972, 1. 226; map on Legal Confirmation (Otvod) in Private Legal Docu- _ I. 333 (1688). ments of Northeastern Russian Principalities of the 18. RGADA, f. 1209, Elets, Efremov, stlb. 23829, ch. 7, 1380s—1460s, Chicago Anthropology Exchange 21 (1995): |. 13; map on 1.1.

71-86, 19. RGADA, f. 1209, Iurev Polski, 34226, stlb., ch. 2, 10. RGADA, f. 1209, Suzdal, stlb. 27995, ch. 2, 1. 71. IL. 212-426; map on |. 214.

Maps on IL. 73a, 73b, 1842. 20. RGADA, f. 1209, Suzdal, stlb. 28053, ch. 1, L. 149; u. RGADA, f. 1209, Chern, stlb. 24533, Il. 68, 73, 176, | map on IL. 120.

180, 185, 225. 21. RGADA, f. 1209, Vladimir, stlb. 33646, 1. 117, 81. 12. RGADA f. 1209, Novgorod, stlb. 23677, 1. 303. 22. RGADA, f. 1209, Uglich, stlb. 3555, 1. 166. Maps on 3. RGADA, f. 1209, Suzdal, stlb. 28043, ch. 1, 1. 142. IL. 10, 164. 14. RGADA, f. 1209, Iurev Polsku, stlb. 34226, ch. 2, IL. 23. Ibid., Il. 167, 165. Another case involving multiple

NOTES TO PAGES 51—67 223

names and nicknames is: RGADA, f. 1209, Iurev Polski, 39. RGADA, f. 1209, Viazma 1 Mozhaisk, stlb. 29609,

stlb. 34253, Il. 69-70; map on IL. 132. I. 264, L. 167. 24. This is a stock phrase. See, for example, RGADA, 40. RGADA, f. 1209, Kaluga, stlb. 26646, ch. 2, IL

f. 1209, Iurev Polsku, stlb. 34236, IL. 5—6. 131-32. The case is on Il. 127-47. 25. RGADA, f. 1209, Kaluga, stlb. 26646, ch. 2, IL gr. Ibid., 1. 9.

131-32. See Figure 3.9. 42. RGADA, f. 1209, Kashira, stlb. 25720, ch. 2, IL. 26, Alternatively, colonial maps often depicted native 245-46. The case is found on Il. 241-95. The rough peoples as savages. See J. B. Harley, Maps and the Colombian draft is on I. 243. A case involving extreme violence is Encounter: An Interpretive Guide to the Travelling Exhibition ibid., Tula, stlb. 37455, text on Il. 108-17; map on IL

(Milwaukee: University of Wisconsin, 1990). 11213. 27. RGADA, f. 1209, Uglich, stlb. 35730, Il. 89-90. 43. On the proto-bureaucratic elements in the preSimilarly, ibid., Vladimir, stlb. 33580, ch. 1, 1. 101. Petrine chancellery system, see Borivoj Plavsic, “Seven28. RGADA, f. 1209, Torzhok, stlb. 27015, ch. 1, 1. 132a. teenth-Century Chanceries and Their Staffs,” in Russian Similarly, RGADA, f. 1209, Kaluga, stlb. 26646, ch. 2, Il. Officialdom: The Bureaucratization of Russian Society from the

131-32. Maps also indicated changes in the other direc- Seventeenth to the Twentieth Century, ed. Walter McKenzie tion. A lovely map from Pereslavl-Zalessku notes “Vil- Pintner and Don Karl Rowney (Chapel Hill: University lage that used to be the pustosh’ Korovaevo in the pomest’e of North Carolina Press, 1980), 21-45. of Vasilit and Mikifor Efirfov?]” (ibid., Pereslavl- = 44. RGADA, f. 1209, Voronezh, stlb. 34699, Il. 161-64. Zalesskii, stlb. 22076, |. 231). A map from Uglich men- — 45. RGADA, f. 1209, Viazma 1 Mozhaisk, stlb. 29609, tions “pustosh’ that today is the hamlet Peretiagino” — [. 162. Another beauty, with perfect circles, is Tver, stlb. (ibid., Uglich, 35626, ch. 1, 1. 76; other versions on Il. 77, 40875, ch. 2, I. 74.

231). 46. RGADA, f. 1209, Voronezh, stlb. 34698, IL. 29. RGADA, f. 1209, Moscow, stlb. 32 724, ch. 2, 1.3; 246-47; and Voronezh, stlb. 34699, |. 264.

map on I. 1. 47. RGADA, f. 1209, Kashira, 25720, ch. 2, Il. 245-46; 30. RGADA, f. 1209, Iurev Polskui, stlb. 34252, ch. 1, 15, | another map from the same case is on I. 243.

pt. 2. 48. RGADA, f. 1209, Aleksin, stlb. 30972, ch. 2, L. 31. RGADA, f. 1209, Vladimir, stlb. 336.46, I. 117. 174a. An enormous urban map showing similar social 32. RGADA, f. 1209, Uglich, stlb. 35730, ch. 1, Il. 57-61. divisions mapped in spatial terms is ibid., Galich, stlb. 33. Paolo Squatriti discusses the importance of wet- 20640, ch. 3, L. 1. lands in the medieval economy and the causes andim- —_4g.._ I found useful analyses of ideas of internality and plications of the shift from a classical antipathy to wet- externality, boundaries and exclusion, in Fredric Jamelands to a medieval appreciation for their utility (Water son, Postmodernism or, The Cultural Logic of Late Capitalism

and Society in Early Medieval Italy, ap 400-1000 |New (Durham, N.C.: Duke University Press, 1991), 38-45, York: Cambridge University Press, 1998)). 97-129; and Mary Douglas, Purity and Danger: An Analysis 34. RGADA, f. 1209, Dmitrov, stlb, 38873, ch. 2, Il of Concepts of Pollution and Taboo (New York: Praeger, 1966).

284-85; Viazma i Mozhaisk, stlb. 29753, I. 79. 50. Soja, Postmodern Geographies, 6. See also J. B. Harley, 35. RGADA, f. 1209, Murom, stlb. 36121, I. 86. “Maps, Knowledge, and Power,” in The Iconography of 36. Kosmografiia 1670, 270. Neither Gerhard Mercator — Landscape: Essays on the Symbolic Representation, Design and Use

nor Abraham Orteltus describes the Russian forests in of Past Environments, ed. Denis Cosgrove and Stephen these terms. In fact Mercator notes that the Russian Daniels (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1988; woods, “now by long labour is made so thinne that tt 1994), 277-312. cannot, as most suppose, shew such thick woods, & im- 51. Ann Jensen Adams observes that in the illuminapenetrable forests as heretofore.’ Gerhard Mercator and _ tion for the month of March in the Book of Hours of Jodocus Hondtus, Historia Mundi: Or Mercator’s Atlas Con- Jean, duc de Berry (1413-16) “peasants who work the taining bis Cosmographicall Description of the Fabrick and Figure of | duke’s lands are visually circumscribed by the bound-

the World (London: T. Cotes, 1635), 166. aries of the fields to which they are attached” (“Com37. Quoted in Jules Koslow, The Despised and the Damned: peting Communities in the ‘Great Bog of Europe’: The Russian Peasant through the Ages (New York: Macmillan, Identity and Seventeenth-Century Dutch Landscape 1972), 35. Koslow unfortunately does not cite the source Painting,” in Landscape and Power, ed. W. J. T. Mitchell

of the Gorky quote, and I have not been able to locate (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1994), 42. it. Yi-Fu Tuan uses this passage to illustrate what he 52. RGADA, f. 1209, Murom, stlb. 36201, ch. 2, 1. 442. takes to be a Russian vision of space in Space and Place, Other maps and associated text on Il. 266, 419-20, 464.

56. 53. RGADA, f. 1209, Suzdal, stlb. 27955, ch. 2, I. 1842. 38. RGADA, f. 210, Prikaznyi stol, stlb. 1086, 1. 294; These maps come from the case of the River Tumka

map on I, 292. and its shifting course discussed earlier in this chapter. 224 NOTES TO PAGES 67—79

54. RGADA, f. 1209, Suzdal, stlb. 28053, I. 129. Here 69. RGADA, f. 1209, stlb., Torzhok, 27015, I. 121; map

and elsewhere, the documents often use the generic on I. 133. term poniatye liudi, people who had been “raised up” or — 70. RGADA, f. 1209, Torzhok, stlb. 27217, 1. 74; map called up, summoned to duty as witnesses. Maps very — on L. 87. “A istari toiu pozhneiu Smolikboiu vladeli drvni Biltsyna often attribute information to poniatye liudi. For instance, _ krest’iane k toi svoei drvni.”

Torzhok, stlb. 27386, ch. 1, 1. 224. Other cases use more 71. RGADA, f. 1209, Kaluga, stlb. 26646, ch. 2, lL. 39.

specific terminology, as for example in a Suzdal map 72. RGADA, f. 210, Prikaznyi stol, stlb. 2239 (microthat carries the names of “longtime residents and sur- film), Il. 25-29. rounding people from the Suzdal estates” of various 73. Veselovsku, Soshnoe pismo, On seventeenth-century landlords, all written out in full: RGADA, f. 1209, Suz- taxes and their collections, in addition to Veselovsku,

dal, stlb. 27994, ch. 1. see Jerome Blum, Lord and Peasant in Russia from the Ninth to 55. RGADA, f. 1209, Viazma i Mozhaisk, stlb. 29680, the Nineteenth Century (Princeton, N.J.: Princeton Univer-

I.56. 180. sity Press, 1961), 228-35. RGADA, f. 1209, Dmitrov, stlb. 38873, ch. 2, IL. 74. Ulozhenie, chap. 16, art. 38. The translation of de-

284-85. lovye as “slaves” 1s Richard Hellie’s; tt could be under57. For instance, RGADA, f. 1209, Aleksin, stlb. 31417, | stood instead to refer to hired craftsmen. On slaves, see

Il. 139 ob—40 ob. Richard Hellie, Slavery in Russia, 1450-1725 (Chicago: 58. RGADA, f. 1209, Pereslavl-Zalesskut, stlb. 22076, | University of Chicago Press, 1982).

Il. 209-30. Quoted passage is on I. 217. 75. RGADA, f. 1209, Uglich, stlb. 35741, lacks page 59. RGADA, f. 1209, Novgorod, stlb. 23667, ch. I, IL numbers. 66—85. The maps are located on Il. 76, 77, 78, and 303. 76. On the introduction of the new taxation system 60. RGADA, f. 1209, Suzdal, stlb. 27955, 1. 72. in 1679, see Blum, Lord and Peasant in Russia, 234. 61. RGADA, f. 1209, Iurev Polski, stlb. 34253. Page num- 77. RGADA, f. 1209, Aleksin, stlb. 30972, ch. 2 (1688), bers are hard to decipher. This passage may be on lL. 73. Il. 175-205, ch. 4, Il. 303, 314-15. Maps II. 174a, 333.

62. Krest'ianskie chelobitnye XVII v. Iz sobranii Gosu- 78. RGADA, f. 1209, Usglich, stlb. 3555, ch. I, Il. darstvennogo istoricheskogo muzeia (Moscow: Nauka, 1994), 166-79, 209—10. The same case continues in RGADA,

22-23 (no. 16). f. 1209, Uglich, 35730, ch. 1, Il. 57-61 (1684). One of 63. Krest'ianskie chelobitnye XVII v., 27 (no. 24). the several maps from the case is reproduced as Plate

64. Not all landlords took such a hands-off ap- 5. proach, See for example, Krest'ianskie chelobitnye XVII v.79. “Anonymous plat of land belonging to Governor 27 (no. 25). Refuting the image of Muscovite landhold- Joseph West, 1680, South Carolina,” in Buisseret, Rural ers as absentee, see Donald Ostrowski, “Early Pomest'e Images, plate 4; Samuel Savery, “James Read's estate on Grants as a Historical Source,” Oxford Slavonic Papers, the Ogeechee River,” 1769, with manor house and car-

New Series, 33 (2000): 62. touche, in ibid, plate 6.

65. RGADA, f. 1209, Iurev Polski, stlb. 34253, possibly 80. Peter Kolchin, American Slavery, 1619-1877 (New

I. 67. York: Hill and Wang, 1993), 114.

66. In 1681 peasants of the Spaso-Prilutskit Monas- 81. James Cradock, “Plan of Parnassus Estate, 1758,”

tery petitioned the archimandrite about some land they — in Bursseret, Rural Images, plate 5. “Negro houses” and

were renting from the monastery. Describing their “negro grounds” are listed on the key, but appear on the agreement they stated that they had taken “the unin- map only as letters. Like the American maps, most of habited field to hold [vladet"| and...to plow and clear, these West Indian estate maps date from the eighteenth and from each piece to pay rent | obrok|”” (Krest'ianskie che~ century

lobitnye XVII v., 123 [no. 144]). 82. Michael Craton: “Property and Propriety: Land 67. In the northern parts of Russia the few remaining Tenure and Slave Property in the Creation of a British nonseignorial peasants, called black or taxpaying peas- West Indian Plantocracy, 1612-1740,’ 1n Early Modern ants, who held land themselves and paid taxes directly Conceptions of Property, ed. John Brewer and Susan Staves to the state, might have considered their sovereign’s land (London: Routledge, 1996), 516.

their own. On the proprietary attitudes of the black 83. Thomas Hill, Property at Vauxhall, Surrey, 1681, peasants, see Shveikovskaia, Gosudarstvo i krest'iane, manor house and tenants’ houses; in Buisseret, Rural Im259-77; Shveikovskaia and Gorskaia, Predstavleniia 0 sob- ages, 58, fig. 2.26; John Norden, from survey of King’s stvennosti v rosstiskom obshchestve XV-XVII w.; and N. A. Honour of Windsor, Berkshire, 1607 (with manor Gorskatia, ed., Sobstvennost’ v Rossii. Srednevekov'e i rannee house and tenant farmer, with goat), in ibid., 42, fig.

novoe vremia (Moscow: Nauka, 2001). 2.13. 68. RGADA, f. 1209, Viazma 1 Mozhaisk, stlb. 29680, 84. Walter Johnson, in his study of the day-to-day

1. 180. transactions of the Louisiana slave markets, finds that NOTES TO PAGES 79—95 225

masters sought validation and gratification in their mas- “The Stratification of Muscovite Society: The Townstery of slaves (Soul by Soul: Life inside the Antebellum Slave men,” Russian History / Histoire russe 5 (1978): 119-75.

Market |Cambridge, MA: Harvard Unversity Press, 87. Orlando Patterson observes that certain variants 1999]|). On the master-serf relation see also M. L. Bush, | of Muscovite slavery did not deprive the enslaved of so-

“Serfdom in Medieval and Modern Europe: A Com- cial existence. Slaves could be considered part of the parison, in Serfdom and Slavery: Studies in Legal Bondage, ed. | community-at-large Nor was Muscovy unique in this

Bush (London: Longman, 1996), 223. (Patterson, Slavery and Social Death: A Comparative Study 85. Steven Hoch, “The Serf Economy, the Peasant [Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press, 1982]). Family, and the Social Order,’ in Imperial Russia: New 88. Soja, Postmodern Geographies, 7, 25. Histories for the Empire, ed. Jane Burbank and David Ransel 89. Ibid., 71, quoting Manuel Castells, The City and the

(Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 1998), 200. Grass Roots (Berkeley: University of California Press, 86. Hellie, Slavery in Russia, 1450-1725; and Hellie, 1983), 4. Chapter 4. “The Souls of the Righteous in a Bright Place”

1 IT. V. Panich, Literaturnoe tvorchestvo Afanasiia Khol- 10. In a modern context, Joseph Brodsky underscores mogorskogo, “Estestvennonauchnye” sochineniia (Novosibirsk: this notion, when he notes in an introduction to an Sibirskii khronograf, 1996), 76-77, 81-83; quote on 83.1 album of black-and-white photographs of Soviet Rus-

am grateful to Georg Michels for this reference. On _ sia, “the photograph’s black-and-white 1s highly conshestodnevy, see Slovar’ knizhnikov i knizhnosti drevnei Rusi genial to Russia, since the realm is predominantly (XI-pervaia polovina XIV vy, (Leningrad: Nauka, 1987), threadbare gray. A painter doing his landscape here in

vol. 1, 478-83. vivid colors would be obliging his métier rather than re-

2. W. J. T. Mitchell, “Imperial Landscape,” in Land- — ality—unless of course, he resolves to challenge it” (“In

scape and Power, 15. Praise of Gray,” in Lev Poliakov, Russia: A Portrait | New 3. Outside the Russian field, historians of cartogra- York: Farrar Straus Giroux, 1991], 6). phy have begun to analyze the religious or ideological u. See Daniel Rowland’s observations on the role of visions inherent in maps, but they tend to focus on the vertical structures, churches, and towers in his “Boris ideological content of world and national maps rather Godunov's Uses of Architecture,’ in Architectures of Russthan local maps. See, for example, David Woodward, ian Identity, 1500 to the Present, ed. James Cracraft and “Reality, Symbolism, Time, and Space in Medieval Daniel Rowland (Chicago: Untversity of Chicago Press, World Maps,” Annals of the Association of American Geogra~ 2003), 34-47.

phers 75 (1985): 510-21; and Harley and Woodward, The 12. Morozov, “Chertezh kontsa XVII veka,” 189. Map History of Cartography, vol. 1. For an interesting reading of — reproduced on 186-87.

a city map, see Juergen Schultz, “Jacopo de’ Barbari’s 3. RGADA, f. 1209, Murom, stlb. 36032, Il. 182, 183, View of Venice: Map Making, City Views, and Moral- 184. ized Geography before the Year 1500,” Art Bulletin 60 14. RGADA, f. 1209, Chern, stlb. 2.4533, ch. 1, Il. 68, 176,

(1978): 447-52. 180 (1677). Sketching the same territory, his opponent in

4. Gary Marker, “Literacy and Texts in Muscovy: A _ the case and the court clerk used entirely different symReconsideration,” Slavic Review 49 (1990): 74-89; and his bols for representing villages: Il. 73, 185, 225. On the

“Primers and Literacy in Muscovy: A Taxonomic Inves- meaning and imagery of the cross, see A. V. Svitigation, Russian Review 48 (1989): 1-19. atoslavskii and A. A. Troshin, Krest v russkoi kul’ture. Ocherk 5. Paul Bushkovitch, Religion and Society in Russia: The — russkoi moumental’noi stavrografi (Moscow: DrevlekhranilSixteenth and Seventeenth Centuries (New York: Oxford Uni- _ ishche, 2000).

versity Press, 1992), 102. 15. Michael Baxandall, Art and Experience in Sixteenth6. RGADA, f. 1209, Elets-Efremov, op. 57, stlb. © Century Italy: A Primer in the Social History of Pictorial Style,

86/ 238209, ch. 7, 1. 3. 2nd ed. (New York: Oxford University Press, 1988), 35. 7. RGADA, f. 1209, Iurev Polskit, stlb. 34236, ch.1, 1-16. Ellen Hurwitz, “Metropolitan Hilarion’s Sermon on

II. Law and Grace,” Russian History / Histoire russe 7 (1980): 332, 8. Morozov, “Chertezh kontsa XVII veka pod- 333. The phrase “eschatological psychosis” is from moskoynoi votchiny kniazei Vorotynskikh,” 189. Yi-Fu James H. Billington, The Icon and the Axe: An Interpretive

Tuan observes that “primitive cartography” is often History of Russian Culture (New York: Vintage Books, elaborate and contains more than is strictly necessary. 1966), 139. For representative samples of the pessimistic He attributes this excess to a “desire to enshrine com- view, see Georges Florovsky, Ways of Russian Theology, part munal geographic knowledge in cartographic form” 1 (Belmont, Mass.: Nordland, 1979), 86—114; and David

(Space and Place, 77). Goldfrank, “Pre-Enlightenment Utopianism in Russian g. RGADA, f. 1209, Torzhok, stlb. 27386, |. 296. History,” Russian History /Histoire russe 11 (1984): 123-47;

226 NOTES TO PAGES 95—105

Francis J. Thomson, “The Intellectual Difference be- _ beling these schismatics Old Believers, because, he says, tween Muscovy and Ruthenia in the Seventeenth Cen- the Old Belief did not take shape as a coherent movetury: The Case of the Slavonic Translations and the Re-ment until the eighteenth century.

ception of the Pseudo-Constantinian Constitution 25. L. N. Pushkarev notes the importance of (Donatio Constantini),” Slavic Gandensia, 22 (1995): 63-107. human/divine interaction seen in human beautification

17. Billington, The Icon and the Axe, 139-40. Por another of nature as expressed in Russian folk sayings. See expression of the apocalyptic view, see Russkaia ideia. Os- — Dukhovnyi mir russkogo krest'ianina po poslovitsam X VII-X VIL

novnye problemy russkoi mysli XIX veka i nachala XX veka vekov (Moscow: Nauka, 1994), 98-101. G. V. Alferova (Paris: YMCA Press, 1947; repr. with new pagination, makes a moving case for the idea that Muscovite cities

1971); 195. were designed and built with a fine aesthetic sense defin18. Michael S. Flier, “Till the End of Time: The — ing the town layout: Russkie goroda XVI-XVII vekov.

Apocalypse in Russian Historical Experience before 26. Ia. S. Lur'e, describing sixteenth-century minia1500,” in Orthodox Russia: Studies in Belief and Practice, ed. tures, writes that “the animals and birds were not real

Valerie A. Kivelson and Robert H. Green (University manifestations of the animal world, but above all symPark: Pennsylvania State University Press, 2003), 127-58. _ bols, bearers of particular moral characteristics, objects

See also his “Filling in the Blanks: The Church of the of theological use.” “Dva miniatiurista XV v. K probIntercession and the Architectonics of Medieval Mus- leme tak nazyvaemogo khudozhestvennogo myshlentia covite Ritual,’ Harvard Ukrainian Studies 19 (1995): 120-37; Drevnei Rusi,’ in Kul'turnoe nasledie Drevnei Rusi, ed. V. G.

and Daniel Rowland, “Moscow—The Third Rome or Bazanov (Moscow: Nauka, 1976), 108. the New Israel?” Russian Review 55 (1996): 591-614. 27. Baxandall, Art and Experience in Sixteenth-~Century George P. Fedotov (The Russian Religious Mind, 2 vols. Italy, 34. |Belmont, Mass.: Nordland, 1975], esp. vol. 1, 158-75) 28. A. Fedorov-Davydov, Russkii peizazh XVI[I—nachala endorses both views but divides them chronologically, XIX veka (Moscow: Iskusstvo, 1953); Kusov, Kartografichattributing the bright phase to medieval, Kievan Rus — eskoe iskusstvo Russkogo gosudarstva, 43-56; N. Sultanoy, and the dark phase to Muscovy. This chronological di- Obraztsy drevne~russkago zodchestva v miniatiurnykb izobrazhenivision has been accepted by numerous other scholars; — iakh. Izsledovanie po rukopisi XVI veka: “Zhitie Nikolaia Chusee Alekseev, Pod znakom kontsa vremen, 56-57; and Hur- — dotvortsa” so 16~iu tablitsami risunkov (St. Petersburg: Ti-

witz, “Metropolitan Hilarion’s Sermon on Law and Grace,’ pografiia I. Voshchinskago, 1881); E. Ia. Ostashenko,

332, 333. “Arkhitekturnye fony v nekotorykh proizvedentiakh 19. On pre- and postmillennial versions of apocalyp- drevnerusskoi zhivopist XIV veka,’ in Drevne-russkoe

tic thought, see George M. Marsden, Fundamentalism and _ iskusstvo: Khudozhestvennaia kul'tura Moskvy i prilezhashchikh k

American Culture: The Shaping of Iwentieth-Century Evangeli- nei kniazhestv. XIV-XVI w. (Moscow: Nauka, 1970),

calism: 1870-1925 (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 275-309; Aleksandr Uspenskii, “K istorii russkago by-

1980), 48-55. togo zhanra (Scéne de genre, tirées de manuscrits russes 20. Panich, Literaturnoe tvorchestvo Afanasiia Kholmogorskogo, du XVII-e s.),” Starye gody no. 1 (January 1907): 207-15;

88. Istoriia russkogo iskusstva, vols. 3-4, ed. I. E. Grabar' 21. Ibid., 89. (Moscow: AN SSSR, 1955, 1959). On gardens in Mus-

22. Edward Keenan, “Afterword: Orthodoxy and Het- _ covite culture, see Ivan Egorovich Zabelin, “Moskovskie erodoxy, in Religion and Culture in Early Modern Russia and sady v XVII st.,” in his Opyty izucheniia russkikh drevnostei i

Ukraine, 201. Por a similar view on the limits of under- istorii. Izsledovaniia, opisaniia i kriticheskiia stati, part 2 standing popular religiosity, see Paul Bushkovitch, Reli- (Moscow: Izdanie K. Soldatenkova), 1873), 266-321.

gion and Society, 7, 212—13n3. 29. M. V. Alpatov, Early Russian Icon Painting (Moscow: 23. For a representative sample, see essays by Daniel Iskusstvo, 1984), plate 179, “St. Nicholas of Zaraisk Kaiser, “Quotidian Orthodoxy: Domestic Life in Early with Scenes from His Life.” Border scene: “Nicholas Modern Russia,’ Eve Levin, “From Corpse to Cult in Exorcizes a Demon,” early sixteenth century (Andrei Early Modern Russia,’ Daniel Rowland, “Two Cul- Rublev Museum).

tures, One Throne Room: Secular Courtiers and Or- 30. The clearest rendition I have seen of the stark thodox Culture in the Golden Hall of the Moscow _ transition from the garden of Eden to the barrenness of Kremlin,” and Isolde Thyrét, “Women and Orthodox _ the external world is on a set of doors in the Andret Faith in Muscovite Russia: Spiritual Experience and = Rublev Museum (zhertvennik kontsa XVI-nachala XVII v.). Practice,” all in Orthodox Russia, 179-92, 81-104, 33-58, | Other versions include Alpatov, Early Russian Icon Paint-

and 159-75. ing, plate 203; Gennady Popov, Tver Icons, 13th-17th cen-

24. Georg B. Michels, At War with the Church: Religious — turies (St. Petersburg: Aurora Art Publishers, 1993), plate Dissent in Seventeenth-Century Russia (Stanford, Calif: Stan- 173; V. G. Briusova, Russkaia zhivopis’ 17 veka (Moscow:

ford University Press, 1999). Michels argues against la~- _ Iskusstvo, 1984), 65, black-and-white plate no. 52, details

NOTES TO PAGES 106-110 227

in color plate 115. The Expulsion theme 1s discussed in 35. “Blagorazumnyi razboinik Rakh v raiu,” in Antonova V. N. Sergeev, “Dukhovny: stikh ‘Plach Adama’ na and Mneva, Katalog drevnerusskoi zhivopisi, plate 167.

kone,’ TODRL 26 (1971): 280-86. 36. “Vladimirskaia bogomater' (Drevo gosudarstvo 31. Amusing images from the “Life of the Holy Trin- | Moskovskogo),” in Smirnova, Moscow Icons, plates ity’ show the Expulsion as well as the Creation of the — 199-200; Briusova, Russkaia zhivopis’ 17 veka, color plate 17; world: “Troitsa v bytu,” Iskusstvo Stroganovskikh masterov. Antonova and Mneva, Katalog drevnerusskoi zhivopisi, 411-13 Restavratsiia. Issledovaniia. Problemy. Katalog vystavki Moscow: and plate 143. Isolde Thyrét analyzes this icon in Between

Sovetskit khudozhnik, 1991), 33, plate 4 (text on 32); God And Tsar: Religious Symbolism and the Royal Women of “Troitsa v bytit, 1580-90 gg.,” Drevnerusskoe iskusstvo, vol. 1 Muscovite Russia (DeKalb: Northern Illinois University of Novye otkrytiia restavratorov (Moscow: Vserossiiski1 khu- _ Press, 2001), 70-79.

dozhestvennyi nauchno-restavratsionnyi tsentr iment 37. “Dvoeslovie zhivota i smerti,’ in Briusova, Russkaia Akademika I. E. Grabaria, 1990), plate 20. For Mother __ikonopis’ 17 veka, plates 87, 203 (detail). of God in paradise images, see Alpatov, Early Russian Icon 38. “Bogomater' Vertograd zakliuchennyi,’ in Briusova, Painting, plate 163, “In Thee Rejoice,” from the Dormi- — Russkaia zhivopis' 17 veka, color plates 27, 113 (detail).

tion Cathedral of the Moscow Kremlin, c. 1500; O Tebe 39. Fedorov-Davydov, Russkii peizazh XVU[-nachala raduetsia: Russkie ikony bogomateri XVI-nachala XX. vekov: Kat- XIX veka, 19; Kusov, Kartograficheskoe iskusstvo Russkogo gosu-

alog vystavki iz fondov Muzeia imeni Andreia Rubleva, 1995 — darstva, 43-56. As Kusov demonstrates, architectural rep-

(Moscow: Avangard, 1995), plate 10, text on 39. The icon resentation that mapped the layout of towns or monas-

“O Tebe raduetsia” derives from a hymn by John of _ teries appeared on icons as early as the second quarter Damascus, and its message was constantly reinforced by _ of the sixteenth century. Irees and natural landscape el-

the hymn “Dostoino est'” (Meet it is). ements in settings other than paradise appear later. 32. Alpatov, Early Russian Icon Painting, plate 113, “The Last Postnikov disagrees with Kusov’s analysis of the relaJudgment,’ Tretiakov Gallery, mid-fifteenth century; En- tionship between maps and icons (Karty zemel" rossiiskikb).

gelina Smirnova, Moscow Icons, 14th-17th Centuries 40. Pedorov-Davydov, Russkii peizazh XVI[—nachala XIX (Leningrad: Aurora Art Publishers, 1984), 283, no. 13. A veka, 18-23. In an early, transitional work from 1623, the

number of other images repeat the association between frontispiece to an illustrated “Life of Zosima and Savtrees and paradise: see, for example, Briusova, Russkaia vatit,” the artist depicted the Solovetskit Monastery comzhivopis’ 17 veka, color plate 116 (Novgorodian, mid- plete with surrounding waters, villages, and stylized trees: seventeenth century, from the Symbol of Faith icon, D.S. Likhachey, ed., Arkhitekturno-khudozhestvennye pamiatniki shows souls in the Bosom of Abraham, against a back- — Solovetskikh ostrovov (Moscow: Iskusstvo, 1980), 239.

ground of grape-laden trees). The Annunciation to 41. “Wsiakoe dykhanie da khvalit gospoda,” in Joachim and Anna, a 1642—43 fresco on the third tier of — Briusova, Russkaia ikonopis’ 17 veka, 131. Cf. I. E. Danilova

the southern wall of the Assumption Cathedral of the and N. E. Mneva, “Zhivopis' XVII veka,” in Grabar', Moscow Kremlin, also marks the scenes with trees, but — Istoriia russkogo iskusstva, 426.

particularly the Annunciation to Anna is set against the 42. Daniel Rowland treats the question of the recepparadisical trees of the maps, while Joachim’ trees are tion and understanding of fresco images by Muscovite more naturalistic: T. V. Tolstaya, The Assumption Cathedral of — servitors not highly schooled in theology. He points out the Moscow Kremlin: For the sooth Anniversary of the Unique Mon- _ that the people standing for hours in the tsar’s reception ument of Russian Culture (Moscow: Iskusstvo, 1979), plate 38. chambers “must have understood the mural program in

33. The icon is reproduced in a number of places. Par- some way, even if they saw only a confused jumble of

ticularly good reproductions appear in Smirnova, images. Each courtier brought to his experience of the Moscow Icons, plates 176—79. Discussion of the icon may murals his own experiences and interests, and each took

be found in V. I. Antonova and N. E. Mneva, Katalog away slightly different messages” (“Two Cultures, One drevnerusskoi zhivopisi XI—nachala XVII v., 2 vols. (Moscow: Throne Room,” 33-58).

Iskusstvo, 1963); I. A. Kochetkov, “K istolkovanii ikony 43. Kochetkov, “K istolkovani ikony “Tserkov’ voin“Tserkov’ voinstvutushchaia (Blagoslovenno voinstvo — stvuiushchaia”; Rowland, “Biblical Military Imagery nebesnogo tsaria), TODRL 38 (1985): 185-209; and in the Political Culture of Early Modern Russia,” esp. Rowland, “Biblical Military Imagery in the Political — 183.

Culture of Early Modern Russia.” 44. A classic rendition of the Transfiguration from 34. “Chto Tia narechem, o blagodatnaia,” in O Tebe — the 1490s illustrates this usage of the mandala most draraduetsia, 43, no. 18. The description of paradise as the matically. See Smirnova, Moscow Icons, plates 121-23.

place where both Jesus and the Repentant Thief go Mandalas as signifiers of divine space are present in after their deaths comes from Luke 23:43 john L. Mc icons too numerous to list. A few seventeenth-century Kenzie, S. J., Dictionary of the Bible |London: Geoffrey examples are “Symbol of Faith,” Alpatov, Drevnerusskaia

Chapman, 1972 |, 637). ikonopis', plate 203; Ivan Filat'ev, “Dormition,” Briusova,

228 NOTES TO PAGES 110—113

Russkaia ikonopis' 17 veka, plate 31; “Days of Creation,” 50. A. G. Sakovich, Narodnaia grafirovannaia kniga Vasiliia

plate 61; and “Resurrection,” plate 65. Korenia, 1692-1696 (Moscow: Iskusstvo, 1983), 18-31. 45. RGADA, f. 1209, Murom, stlb. 36032, Il. 183, 184; 51. Oktoikh, sirech’ osmoglasnik s e glasa po i-i (Kiev: TiNovgorod, stlb. 23667, 1 303; and Iurev Polskii, stlb. | pograftia Kievo-Pecherskita Ouspenskiia Lavry, 1904), 34252, ch. 1, 1. 15. My thanks to Dan Rowland for sug- _ glas I, pesn' E, p. 562. gesting this mode of interpreting circles in space. 52. O Tebe raduetsia, 45, no. 21. 46. Revelations 21:10. Antonova and Mneva provide a —53.. Another possible source from which the mapmakcareful reading of the biblical and hymnological refer- ers could have derived their earthly paradise was the ences in this icon, but they do not mention the open cir- only Orthodox cartographic vision available to Muscle or discuss its meaning (Katalog drevnerusskoi zhivopisi, covites before the seventeenth century, the idiosyn128-34). The closest textual analogy that I can find is a cratic sixth-century Christian Topography of Cosmas Indiloose one in Rev. 21:24-25: “And the nations of those copleustes. V. S. Golyshenko and V. F. Dubrovina, who are saved shall walk in [the New Jerusalem's] light, — eds., Kniga naritsaema Koz'ma Indikoplov (Moscow: Indrik,

and the kings of the earth bring their glory and honor 1997), maps (or approximations thereof) on Plates 4, into it. Its gates shall not be shut at all by day (there shall 28. It 1s also interesting to see the illustrations of be no night there).” Other imagery taken from Revela- | Adam and Eve in Eden and the “fruits of the earth,” tions is also loosely interpreted in the icon, as for ex- which use the same kinds of tree elements as both ample, the references to the waters and trees in Revelations maps and icons, plates 22, 35. As Isolde Thyrét has 2211-2: “And he showed me a pure river of water of life, shown, the work was widely copied in sixteenthclear as crystal, proceeding from the throne of God and century Muscovy, with significant modifications of the of the Lamb. In the middle of its street, and on either Greek version, including the reduction or avoidance of side of the river, was the tree of life, which bore twelve all the more representational maps. This finding makes fruits, each tree yielding its fruit every month. The leaves the Christian Topography an unlikely source. Moreover,

of the tree were for the healing of the nations.” the chertezhi bear little resemblance to the illustrations in 47. Kochetkov notes the distinction between fruit- the work. My thanks for permission to cite this work: bearing and fruitless trees in “K istolkovaniit ikony Isolde Thyrét, “The Christian Topography of Cosmas Indi“Tserkov’ voinstvuiushchaia,” 198-99. On the impor- copleustes in 15th and 16th Century Russia,” unpub-

tance of imagery equating Moscow with the New _ lished paper. Jerusalem, the Heavenly City, and on its impact on the —54._ The rich associations attached to trees in particulived environment, see A. L. Batalov and T. N. Viatchan- lar, as opposed to other forms of vegetation, may reflect ina, “Ob ideinom znachenii i interpretatsti Iersusalim- | what Douglas Davies calls “the evocative symbolism of skogo obraztsa v russkoi arkhitekture XVI-XVII wv.” trees,’ “the intrinsic suggestivity and the inherent atArkbitekturnoe nasledstvo 36 (1988); Flier, “Breaking the tractiveness of trees as the basis of and for evocative Code,” and his “Pilling in the Blanks”; M. P. Kudriavt- symbolic responses” (“The Evocative Symbolism of sev, Moskva-Tretii Rim: Istoriko-gradostroitel'noe issledovanie ‘Ttees,” in The Iconography of Landscape, 41).

(Moscow: Sol Sistem,1994), 38-45; Protieret Lev Lebe- 55. Alison Hilton attributes more influence in Russian dev, “Bogoslovie russkoi zemli kak obraza obetovannoi folk art and nature motifs to pagan influences than to zemli tsarstva nebesnogo (na nekotorykh primerakh Christian ones. As few artifacts of a folk nature survive arkhitekturno-stroitel'nykh = kompozitsit XI-XVIH__ from the seventeenth century, it is difficult to speak of vekov,” in Tysiacheletie kreshcheniia Rusi: Mezhdunarodnaia them with much certainty. Alison Hilton, “Piety and tserkovnaia nauchnaia konferentsiia “Bogoslovie i dukbovnost’”’? Pragmatism: Orthodox Saints and Slavic Nature Gods

Moskva, 11-18 maia 1987 goda (Moscow: Izdanie in Russian Folk Art,” in Christianity and the Arts in Russia, Moskovskoi patriarkhii, 1989), 140-79; and Rowland, ed. William C. Brumfteld and Milos M. Veltmirovic “Boris Godunov's Uses of Architecture, 1584-1605.” (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1991), 55-72; 48. John Meyendorff, Byzantine Theology: Historical and Hilton, Russian Folk Art (Bloomington: Indiana UniTrends and Doctrinal Themes (New York: Pordham Unwver- _ versity Press, 1995).

sity Press, 1979), 143. 56. Joel Raba, “The Biblical Tradition in the Old 49. Briusova, Russkaia zhivopis' 17 veka, color plate 114; Russian Chronicles,” Forschungen zur __ osteuropdischen

color plate 130. Geschichte 46 (1992): 20. Chapter 5. Messages in the Land

1. Just a few of many important works are: S. V. | Nauka, 1959), vols. 3-4; George V. Lantzeff, Siberia in the Bakhrushin, Ocherki po istorii kolonizatsii Sibiriv XVIi XVII — Seventeenth Century: A Study of the Colonial Administration

vv. (Moskva: Izdatel'stvo M. 1S. Sabashnikovykh, 1927); (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1943); G. F. and his Nauchnye trudy, 4 vols. in 5 books (Moscow: Miller, Istoriia Sibiri, 2 vols. (Moscow and Leningrad:

NOTES TO PAGES 113-118 220

Nauka, 1937, 1941); V. I. Ogorodnikov, Iz istorii pokoreniia prikaza, 1902, 123; E. Zamyslovskii, “Chertezhi Sibiri: Pokorenie Iukagirskoi zemli (Chita: n.p., 1922); A. A. Sibirskikh zemel', XVI-XVIJI veka,” Zhurnal Ministerstva Preobrazhensku, Ural i zapadnaia Sibir’ v kontse XVI-nachale — Narodnago Prosveshcheniia, 275 (June 1891): 334-47.

XVIII veka (Moscow: Nauka, 1972). 10. Kusov lists 20 seventeenth-century maps of Siber2. Here I follow the brief history provided by Basil ian towns, plus 238 by S. U. Remezov: Kartograficheskoe Dmytryshyn, E. A. P. Crownhart-Vaughan, and _ iskusstvo Russkogo gosudarstva, 13. Thomas Vaughn in Russia’s Conquest of Siberia, 1558-1700: 1. Bagrow, “First Russian Maps of Siberia,” 83-95; To Siberia and Russian America: Three Centuries of Russian East- “Carte générale de la Siberie et de la Grande Tatarie,” in

ward Expansion, vol, 1 (Portland: Oregon Historical Cartes Marines, Edward Everett Ayer Collection, the

Press, 1985), xxxix—xli. Newberry Library, Chicago, discussed in Alexey V. 3. Notable examples include Archpriest Avvakum Postnikov, “Russian Cartographic Treasures of the and the grandfather (or father, according to Bagrow) of | Newberry Library.” Mapline 61-62 (1991): 6-8. the Siberian cartographer Semen Remezov, both dis- 12. Tuan, Space and Place, 83.

cussed below. Other important seventeenth-century — 13. Samuel Hazzard Cross and Olgerd P. SherbowitzSiberian exiles include the Polish mapmaker Afanasit Wetzor, trans. and ed., The Russian Primary Chronicle: Lauvon Beiton, the Croatian Iurt Krzhanich and Prince I. — rentian Text (Cambridge, Mass.: The Medieval Academy N. Khovanskit. On Khovanskii, see O. E. Kosheleva, of America, 1953, repr. 1968).

“Prigovor kniaziu Ivanu Nikitichiu Khovanskomu, 14. Mark Bassin addresses this question for the nineArkhiv russkoi istorii, no. 5 (1994): 139-44. teenth century in Imperial Visions, 58. See also his work on 4. Michael Khodarkovsky, “‘Ignoble Savages and the seventeenth century, “Expansion and Colonialism Unfaithful Subjects’: Constructing Non-Christian — on the Eastern Frontter.” Identities in Early Modern Russia,’ in Russia’s Orient: 15. Quoted in Yuri Slezkine, “Naturalists versus NaImperial Borderlands and Peoples, 1700-1917, ed. Daniel R. — tions: Eighteenth-Century Russian Scholars Confront Brower and Edward J. Lazzarini (Bloomington: Indiana — Ethnic Diversity,” in Russia’s Orient, 27. University Press, 1997), u. Khodarkovsky discusses 16, Atlasov, in Zapiski russkikh puteshestvennikov X VI-X VII these issues further in Where Two Worlds Met: The Russian wv, comp. and ed. N. I. Prokof'ev and L. I. Alekhina State and the Kalmyk Nomads, 1600-1771 (Ithaca, N.Y.: (Moscow: Sovetskaia Rossita, 1988), 423. Cornell University Press, 1992); and Russia’s Steppe Fron- 17. Stephen Greenblatt, Marvelous Possessions: The Wonder

tier. of the New World (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 5. A useful overview of the exploration and mapping 1991), 13.

of the Far Northeast is found in Bagrow, “A Few Re- 18. William Cronon, Changes in the Land: Indians, marks on Maps of the Amur, the Tatar Strait, and Colonists, and the Ecology of New England (New York: Hill Sakhalin,” 127-36. Unconvinced of the separation of and Wang, 1983), 22-23, quoting William Wood and Asia and America, Peter the Great commissioned anew John Josselyn. Also Susan Scott Parrish, “The Female map of the Pacific Coast, which was completed by I. I. Opossum and the Nature of the New World,” The Kirilov on the basis of Chinese maps in 1724 (ibid., William and Mary Quarterly, 3rd Ser., 54, no. 3 (1997): 130-31). On Dezhney, see also Bagrow, History of Russian 475-514.

Cartography up to 1800, 22, 18. On Atlasov and the map- 19. Galya Diment, “Siberia in Literature,’ in Between ping of Kamchatka, see D. M. Lebedev, Geograftia v Rossii Heaven and Hell: The Myth of Siberia in Russian Culture, ed.

XVII veka (Moscow-Leningrad: AN SSSR, 1949), Yuri Slezkine and Galya Diment (New York: St. Mar-

32-34. tins Press, 1993), 8; Yermak’s Campaign in Siberia: A Selection 6. Again I draw on Dmytryshyn, Crownhart- of Documents Translated from the Russian Chronicles by Tatiana

Vaughan, and Vaughn, Russia’s Conquest of Siberia, Ix—Ixtt, Minorsky and David Wileman, ed. Terence Armstrong

as well as Bassin, “Expansion and Colonialism on the | (London: Hakluyt Society, 1975), 64-65.

Eastern Frontier.” 20. Yermak’s Campaign in Siberia, 64—65.

7. Dmytryshyn, Crownhart-Vaughan, and Vaughn, 21. On Avvakum and the Old Belief, see Pierre Pascal,

Russia’s Conquest of Siberia, 1x. Avvakum et les débuts du Raskol (1938; repr. Paris: Mouton, 8. Ogloblin, Obozrenie stolbtsov i knig Sibirskago prikaza, 1963); and Michels, At War with the Church.

1902, 114-15; Bagrow, “A Few Remarks on Maps of the 22. Bruce JT. Holl, “Avvakum and the Genesis of Amur, the Tatar Strait and Sakhalin,” 128; Lebedev, Ge- Stberian Literature,’ in Between Heaven and Hell, 33-46;

ooraftia v Rossii XVII veka, 116—20. quote on 37—38. 9. Miller, Istoriia Sibiri, vol. 1, 354; vol. 2, 232-34; 23. Ibid., 40—41. 347—50 (survey and census of population; maps of dis- —_ 24. Tbid., 41. covery of Krasnoiarsk); Bagrow, History of Russian Cartog- 25. Panich, Literaturnoe tvorchestvo Afanasiia Kholmogorskogo,

raphy, 22; Ogloblin, Obozrenie stolbtsov i knig Sibirskago 76-77, 81-83.

230 NOTES TO PAGES 119-126

26. A. Irving Hallowell, Culture and Experience 43. On the Godunov Map and its later copies, see An(Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 1955), | dreev, Ocherki po istochnikovedeniiu Sibiri, vol. 1; and Bagrow,

187; quoted in Tuan, Place and Space, 87. A History of Russian Cartography up to 1800. Bagrow gives 27. Petlin, in Zapiski russkikh puteshestvennikov, 334. high-quality black-and-white reproductions of the 28. As identified by Bagrow, the map survives in a maps. Andreev reproductions are less clear, but several copy by Delisle (History of Russian Cartography up to 1800, of his illustrations are not reproduced in Bagrow. Re-

41 and fig. 32). mezov included copies of the Godunov map in his at29. DAI 4, 22; Bagrow, History of Russian Cartography up lases and a large, unbound copy 1s preserved at Har-

to 1800, 22. vards Houghton Library, Bagrow Coll.

30. Atlasov, in Zapiski russkikh puteshestvennikov, 425. 44. “Map of All Siberia to the Chinese Tsardom and

31. RGADA, f. 383, op. 1, d. 148. Japan” (1673). Author unknown. Rosstiskit gosu32. J. FE. Baddeley, Russia, Mongolia, China (London, 1919; darstvenny1 voenno-istorichesku arkhiv (RGVIA) reprint New York: B. Franklin, 1964), vol. 2, 208-14. (Russian State Archive of Military History), Fond 846. Bagrow discusses Spafarti’s map and accounts in History Op. 16 (VUA), no. 20220. Reproduced and discussed in of Russian Cartography, 35; and his “A Few Remarks on Andreev, Ocherki po istochnikovedeniiu Sibiri, vol. 1, 40-42;

Maps of the Amur, the Tatar Strait, and Sakhalin,” and in Postnikov, “Outline of the History of Russian

128-29. Cartography,’ 16; and in Lainema and Juha, Ultima 33. Chorographic Sketchbook, “WVershina Tobola reki, I. 23 Thula, map no. 89, reproduced on 128, discussed on 334.

(for full archival reference, see note 48 below).” John Noyes explores the importance of a “myth of mo34. Batkov, in Zapiski russkikh puteshestvennikov, 347. bility” in overcoming “stases and blockages” as an inte-

35. Ibid., 347. gral part of colonial expansion (Colonial Space: Spatiality

36. Dmytryshyn, Crownhart-Vaughan, and Vaughn, in the Discourse of German South West Africa 1884-1915

Russia’s Conquest of Siberia, 191n60. | Philadelphia: Harwood Academic Publishers, 1992), 37- Beketev, in Zapiski russkikh puteshestvennikov, 370-71. 189).

Maksimov reportedly drew up a map as well, but if it 45. Working Sketchbook, 1. 15 ob (For full archival refersurvives, it has not yet been identified. Bagrow, History of _ ence, see note 48 below).

Russian Cartography up to 1800, 22. 46. Saul Steinberg, “View of the World from oth Av-

38. DAI 8, no. 44, xxiv. enue, The New Yorker, March 29, 1976, cover.

39. Working Sketchbook, 1. 102 ob. (for full archival refer- 47. Gol'denberg, Semen Ul'ianovich Remezov; and his Izoence, see note 48 below); described and attributed in — graf zemli sibirskoi (Magadan: Magadanskoe knizhnoe 1z-

Bagrow, History of Cartography, 41. datel'stvo, 1991); E. I. Deracheva-Skop, “S. U. Reme40. Atlasov, in Zapiski russkikh puteshestvennikov, 423. Cf. | zov—sibirskit prosvetitel' kontsa XVU veka,” in Ocherki Chorographic Sketchbook, 1. 98 (for full archival reference, see —russkoi_literatury Sibiri, vol. 1, ed. A. PB. Okladnikov

note 48 below); and Mark C. Elliott’s analysis of de- (Novosibirsk: Nauka, Sibirskoe otdelente,1982), 95-106; scriptions of flora, fauna, and terrain in Manchu writ- V. K. Ziborov, “Remezov, Semen Ul'ianovich,” in Slovar’ ings about “Tartary”: “The Limits of Tartary: Man- — knig i knizhnikov Drevnei Rusi vol. 3, pt. 3 (St. Petersburg: churia in Imperial and National Geographies,” Journal of | RAN, 1998), 298-302.

Asian Studies 59 (2000): 603-46. 48. The Chertezhnaia kniga is held at the Manuscript 41. Dmytryshyn, Crownhart-Vaughan, and Vaughn, Division (Otdel rukopiset) of the Russian State Library Russia’s Conquest of Siberia, 171-74 (no. 53); similar report (Rosstiskaia gosudarstvennaia biblioteka, or RGB, in

from Vasilit Poiarkov in 1643, tbid., 217. Sadly, some Moscow, f. 256, Rumiantsev Collection, no. 346. This maps note regions, where “They used to hunt sables, | magnificent atlas was reproduced in a facsimile edition but now they don't because there are no more animals” as S. U. Remezov, Chertezhnaia kniga Sibiri, sostavlennaia to(Petlin map from Delisle, reproduced in Bagrow, History bol'skim synom boiarskim Semenom Remezovym v 1701 godu (St.

of Russian Cartography up to 1800, fig. 32). Petersburg: A. M. Kotomina, 1882). A new digital re42. This observation reflects my general dissatisfac- production of the atlas has just appeared under the tion with the dominance of dualistic models for under- same title: Chertezhnaia kniga Sibiri, sostavlennaia tobol'skim standing Muscovite (or any) culture. The dualistic — synom boiarskim S. Remezovym v 1701 godu. Volume 1 is the model is most powerfully and interestingly presented in _ atlas; volume 2 has commentary and paraphrases Reme-

Ju. M. Lotman and B. A. Uspenskit, “The Role of Dual _zov's text in contemporary Russian. The Chorographic Models in the Dynamics of Russian Culture (Up to the — Sketchbook (Khorograficheskaia kniga) 1s located at Harvard

End of the Eighteenth Century),” in The Semiotics of Russ~ | Universitys Houghton Library, Bagrow Collection, ian Culture, ed. Ann Shukman (Ann Arbor: Dept. of | MS. Russ 72, where it is held together with several other Slavic Languages and Literatures, The University of — seventeenth-century Russian maps (including maps by

Michigan, 1984), 3-35. Spafari and Kirilov) and Western copies of Russian

NOTES TO PAGES 126-133 231

maps. The Working Sketchbook (Sluzhebnaia chertezhnaia kniga), form of an old woman, ...I found it to be but a very

as yet not published or reproduced although there are fable” (“Of the Russe Commonwealth,” 202-3). plans afoot, is located in the Russian National Library 62. The “swan song” epithet comes from Postnikoy, (Rosstiskaia national'naia biblioteka, or RNB) in St. Karty zemel’ rossiiskikh, 24. Petersburg, listed as Ermitazhnoe sobranie, no. 237. The 63. Working Sketchbook, 1. 1; Chorographic Sketchbook, 1. 1 ob.

illustrated history of Ermak’s campaign is available with 64. On the gathering of maps from many mapmakers, complete text and illustrations both in Russian and in see, for instance, Sketchbook, 1. 3, which explains that the English: Semen Ul'tanovich Remezov, Kratkaia sibirskaia tsar ordered the mapping of Siberia in 7177 (1668/69), letopis' (Kungurskaia) so 154 risunkami, ed. A, Zost (St. Pe- and maps were collected between that year and 7209 tersburg: Tipografiia F. G. Eleonskago, 1880); and Yer- (1700/1701). Some maps in the atlas credit their original

mak’s Campaign in Siberia. authors, as, for example, Chorographic Sketchbook, 1. 147, 49. On the educational opportunities in Tobolsk, see which credits Lieutenant of the Daur Regiment Gol'denberg, Semen Ul'ianovich Remezov, 212n82. Afonasit Ivanov syn Baikov with a sketch of the Amur 50. Working Sketchbook, 1. 2; Chorographic Sketchbook, Il. 2, 5; River, China, Nerchinsk, and Irkutsk.

Gol'denberg, Semen Ulianovich Remezov, 37. Paul Bushkovitch 65. ‘This is one of the major thrusts of recent scholar-

discusses the importance of the Epiphany Ceremony, as ship on empite. See, for example, Nicholas B. Breyfogle, presented in Moscow, in enacting and disseminating an es- — Heretics and Colonizers: Forging Russia’s Empire in the South

chatological message: “The Epiphany Ceremony of the — Caucasus (Ithaca, N.Y.: Cornell University Press, 2006); Russian Court in the Sixteenth and Seventeenth Cen- — Imperial Russia; and Paul W. Werth, At the Margins of Or-

turtes, Russian Review 49 (1990): 1-17. thodoxy: Mission, Governance, and Confessional Politics in Russia’s 5st. “Do laskovago chitatelia,’ Working Sketchbook, 1. 12. Volea~Kama Region, 1827-1905 (Ithaca, N.Y.: Cornell

52. Ibid., 141-43. Gol'denberg says that Remezov de- Unversity Press, 2002). In non-Russian literatures the liberately challenges the reader to compare his work — same theme has emerged strongly. See Frederick Cooper with Herberstein’s less-informed 1546 map of Russia and Ann Laura Stoler, eds., Tensions of Empire: Colonial and generally refers to foreign sources in order to high- — Cultures in a Bourgeois World (Berkeley: University of Cali-

light his own superiority (136). fornia Press, 1997); and Richard White, The Middle 53. Gol'denberg, Semen Ul’ianovich Remezov, 49. Ground: Indians, Empires, and Republics in the Great Lakes Re54. In the Working Sketchbook, ll. 2-4, he praises Peter for gion, 1650-1815 (New York: Cambridge University sending Russians to “Europe” to learn about maps, var- _ Press, 1991).

ious kinds of compasses, and ways to measure the earth 66. On Remezov's work as urban designer and planand the seas. In the Chorographic Sketchbook he sets out a ner of the city of Tobolsk, see my “Angels in Tobol’sk: grand heritage for his work based on Greek, Latin, and — Celestial Topography and Visionary Administration in German cartographic and philosophical traditions and — Late Muscovite Siberia,” Harvard Ukrainian Studies, forth-

defines chorography (I. 1 ob.). coming, 2006.

55. Working Sketchbook, ll. 107 ob—8, “Chertezh zemli 67. Gol'denberg, Semen Ul'ianovich Remezov, 139. Here

khanskago velichestva,’ with cartouches, vignettes, and Remezov draws on the same mixed Christian and an-

Latin labels; Chorographic Sketchbook, 1. 2 ob. two- cient astrological traditions that Afanastt Khol-

hemisphere map. mogorskii integrates in his Shestodnev. See Panich, Liter56. Working Sketchbook, ll. 107 ob.—8. aturnoe tvorchestvo Afanasiia Kholmogorodskogo, 77-88. 57- Gerhard Mercator, Atlas; or, A Geographicke Description 68. Working Sketchbook, 1. 12; E. I. Deracheva-Skop, of the World (London, 1636); Rabasa, Inventing America, 186.“ ‘Pokhvala’ Sibiri S. U. Remezova,” TODRL 21 (1965), 58. Sketchbook, 1. 27; Gol'denberg, Semen Ul'ianovich Reme- 266-74.

zov, 89. 69. Working Sketchbook, 1. 14. All these various elements 59. Sketchbook, 1. 27 (To the Gentle Reader). appear in detail on Remezov’s architectural plan of the 60. Gol'denberg, Semen Ul'ianovich Remezov, 15-20. city of Tobolsk, ibid., Il. 20 ob—21; Gol'denberg, Semen 61. Working Sketchbook, Il. 22 ob.—23. Zlata Baba is found — Ulianovich Remezov, 137.

on most early Western maps of Russia, including the — 70. Gol'denberg, Semen Ul'ianovich Remezov, 139-41. Herberstein Map of 1549, Anton Wied’s map of 1555, 71. Cliffs protect Tobolsk in Working Sketchbook, IL. 15 the Jenkinson Map of 1562, and in Rumold Mercator’s — ob., 146 ob.—47, 164; and Chorographic Sketchbook, 1. 164. “Europa,” in the 1595 Atlas sive cosmographicae meditationes de 72. Gol'denberg, Semen Ul"ianovich Remezov, 139.

fabrica mundi et fabricati figura (1602 edition). The English- 73. Atlasov, in Zapiski russkikh puteshestvennikov, 424.

man Giles Fletcher reported in his 1591 account of his 74. Sketchbook, I. 22. travels to Russia: “As for the story of Zlata Baba or the 75. Working Sketchbook, Il. 1, 8. Golden Hag (which I have read in some maps and de- 76. Chorographic Sketchbook, 1. 9 ob. Gol'denberg, Semen scriptions of these countries to be an idol after the — Ul'ianovich Remezov, 137.

232 NOTES TO PAGES 133-142

77. Chorographic Sketchbook, 1. 8. with several stmilar maps in Eftmov, Atlas geograficheskikh 78. Working Sketchbook, 1. 69. On these still unidentified — otkrytii v Sibiri, figs. 35-37. Another example is RGADA, f.

runes, see G. F, Miller, “O sibirskikh pisanykh kamni- 924, Tobol'skaia prikaznaia palata, op. 1, ed. khr. 10, Il.

akh, in his Istoriia Sibiri, vol. 1, 526—40. 1-26. + plan (listed separately as ed. khr. 11), Passing 79. Working Sketchbook, I. 1. See also Sketchbook, 1.1. Inter- references to the map in the accompanying land dispute estingly, he dates Peter’s reign as beginning only in 1698. _ show that it was used in much the same way as chertezhi 80. RGB, Otdel rukopiset, no. 2214, Il. 3-3 ob; quoted —_ were in central Russian cases: Mention of chertezhi on Il. in A. I, Andreev, Ocherki po istochnikovedeniiu Sibiri, vol. 1, 1, 13. Another report on locating available arable land 1s

186. The ethnographic history has been lost, but An- RGADA, f. 924, op. 1, d. 5, Il. 1-9. Other documents dreev argues convincingly that large pieces of it were record the allocation of arable land and describe the copied verbatim into a surviving eighteenth-century defining landmarks verbally (Miller, Istoriia Sibiri, vol. 2,

source. 244-45, 287, and 303.

81. Ordinary documents produced in central Russia 87. In his Chorographic Sketchbook Remezov promises that occasionally invoke similar dating systems. A dragoon “this work will be useful to residents and pleasant and writing to the tsar from Novgorod in 1676/77 empha- constructive in disputes about titles [to land], signed by sized the Christian referent of his dating system (get- officials and stamped with official seals. This isoting it wrong): “In this, the 7185th year from the birth graphic work is like a bird raising its wings (taking of Christ.” He should have written “from Adam,” or _ flight?)” (1. 8). Some of his maps depict the kinds of “from the Creation of the World.” RGADA, f. 210, | surveying and boundary measurements of fields that he

Novgorodskii stol, stlb. 272, I. 143. describes, e.g., Chorographic Sketchbook, ll. 11, 44. 82. Working Sketchbook, Il. 26 ob.—27. 88. Bassin, Imperial Visions, esp. 58. Bassin quotes 83. ibid., 1. 116 ob, The conclusion (okanchanie) charac- Gogol’s Dead Souls to good effect: “Is it not here [in Rus-

teristically appears about halfway through the work, not sia boundless space], is it not in you that a limitless

at the end. thought will be born, because you yourself are limitless?

84. Biographies of many of the frontier explorers/ Is this not the place for a Russian knight, here where he conquerors can be found in: Bakhrushin, “Sibirskie slo- has room to spread out and stride about?” For an inbodchiki (1z istorit kolonizatsii Sibiri),” in his Nauchnye triguing discussion of the psychology of desire and

trudy, vol, 3, pt. 1, 213-15. colonial perceptions of boundless space, see Noyes, 85. DAI 1, 73-74; Dmytryshyn, Crownhart-Vaughan, — Colonial Space, 166-82.

and Vaughn, Russia’s Conquest of Siberia, 461. 89. Thanks to Rudolf Mrazek for raising the ques86. RGADA, f. 383, op. 1, d. 148; reproduced together tion of pustyni. Chapter 6. “Exalted and Glorified to the Ends of the Earth” 1. Beketev in Zapiski russkikh puteshestvennikov, 361. On _ bol’skogo severa v XVIL v. (Leningrad: Leningradskoe otdele-

Beketev, see E. V. Vershinin, “Zemleprokhodets Petr nie Uchebno-pedagogicheskogo izdatel'stva Narkomprosa Ivanovich Beketev,” Otechestvennaia istoriia, no. 5 (2003): RSFSR, 1941).

35-49. 5. Here and throughout I quote from the excellent 2. For instance, B. N. Rumiantsev, and S, B. Okun, translations of the chronicles in Yermak’s Campaign in eds., Sborniki dokumentov po istorii Buriatii XVII vek, vol. 1 — Siberia, but I have altered the translations when I felt the

(Ulan-Ude: AN SSSR, Sibirskoe otdelenie, 1960), 40. original could be more faithfully rendered and to bring 3. Michael Khodarkovsky, “Four Degrees of Separa- transliteration into accord with the Library of Congress tion: Constructing Non-Christian Identities in Mus- system. The Russian texts of the Stroganov (Spasskit covy,” in Cultural Identity in Muscovy, 1359-1584, ed. A. M. — manuscript) and Estpov (Sychevskit manuscript) chron-

Kleimola and G. D, Lenhoff (Moscow: Izdatel'stvo Its- icles, I have taken from Sibirskiia letopisi (St. Petersburg: Garant, and Columbus, Ohio: Slavica Publishers, 1997), _Imperatorskaia arkheograficheskaia kommissiia, 1907),

248—66, quote on 255. 1-46 and 105~70, respectively. The Remezov Chronicle 4. Compare, for example, David N. Collins, “Subjuga- is also available in Sibirskiia letopisi, but I refer instead to tion and Settlement in Seventeenth- and Eighteenth- _ the facsimile edition in S. U. Remezov, Kratkaia sibirskaia Century Siberia,” in The History of Siberia from Russian Con- — letopis' (Kungurskaia) so 154 risunkami, ed. A. I. Zost (St.

quest to Revolution, ed. Alan Wood (New York: Routledge, Petersburg: Tipografiia F. G. Eleonskago, 1880). Chap1991), 39-40; Michael Khodarkovsky, “The Conversion of _ ter numeration is the same in the Armstrong and Zost Non-Christians in Early Modern Russia,” in Of Religion editions, so I have provided only one chapter citation in and Empire, 120; Andreas Kappeler, The Russian Empire: A the notes from Remezov that follow. Por the Stroganov Multiethnic History, trans. Alfred Clayton (New York: Long- and Esipov chronicles, page numbers in both Russian man, 2001), 142; I. I. Ogryzko, Khristianizatsiia narodov To~ and English are provided. This quote 1s taken from the

NOTES TO PAGES 143—I51 233

Stroganov Chronicle, Yermak’s Campaign in Siberia, 69; 29. “Kosmografiia v 76 glavakh,” Hilandar microfilm: Sibirskiia letopisi, 122-23. Minorsky and Wileman here Krakow, Czartoryski Library, Ms. no. 1417, ff. 32a-33. translate busormanskii as “infidel.” Busurmanskii actually Thanks to John R. Wilson, for allowing me to read his means “Muslim,” but in this context their choice seems master’s thesis from the Ohio State University (OSU):

appropriate. “The Geographical Imagination in Early Modern Rus6. Yermak’s Campaign in Siberia, 62; Sibirskiia letopisi, 105. sia,’ Columbus, 2000. See also similar entries in Kosmo7. Yermak’s Campaign in Siberia, 35; Sibirskiia letopisi, 1. grafiia 1670, 13; and A. N. Popov, ed., Lzbornik slavianskikh i 8. Yermak’s Campaign in Siberia, chap. 1; Remezov, — russkikh sochinenii i statei, vnesennykh v khronografy russkoi redak~

Kratkaia sibirskaia _ letopis’. Perhaps this Protestant- tsi (Moscow, 1869), 516.

sounding predestination came from the influence of — 30. “Kosmografiia v 76 glavakh,” f. 33. Also in Dutch cartographic contacts? Remezov also sees in “Izbranie vkrattse ot knigi glagolemyia Kosmografia,” Ermak’s triumph a fulfillment of Isaiah's prophesy: in Popov, Lzbornik slavianskikh i russkikh sochinenii i. statei,

chap. 136. 528-29, which A. I. Andreev says was written in the 9. Yermak’s Campaign in Siberia, chap. 1; Remezov, 1690s: Ocherki po istochnikovedeniiu Sibiri, vol. 1, 156-58.

Kratkaia sibirskaia letopis’. “Empty” lands are also described in Kosmograftia 1670, 10. Yermak’s Campaign in Siberia, chap. 148; Remezov, 14. The Estpov Chronicle, too, emphasizes that while

Kratkaia sibirskaia letopis’. Kuchium reigned and his “abominable gods” held sway, u1. Yermak’s Campaign in Siberia, chap. 18-21, 26—27. Siberia with its “unholy temples” was “still a nesting 12. Yermak’s Campaign in Siberia, chap. 20-21; Remezov, _ place for wild beasts and a habitation for owls,’ while

Kratkaia sibirskaia letopis’. later, after the construction of cities, forts, and 13. Yermak’s Campaign in Siberia, chap. 139; Remezov, churches, it was a land of beauty and abundance. Yer-

Kratkaia sibirskaia letopis’. mak’s Campaign, 69.

14. Working Sketchbook, 1. 9 and frontispiece. 31. “Sbornik smeshannogo soderzhaniia, Hilandar 15. Sibirskiia letopisi, 312; Slezkine, Arctic Mirrors, 42. Research Library, OSU: St. Petersburg State University

16. Working Sketchbook, I. 1. Library, St. Petersburg, Russia. Reel 76, Ms. 22, ff.

124-25. 1O—Il.

17. Yermak’s Campaign in Siberia, 70; Sibirskiia letopisi, 13r—41v. Quote from ff. 21-22. Also in Kosmografiia 1670,

18. Working Sketchbook, I. 8. 32. “Map of All Siberia to the Chinese Tsardom and 19. Yermak’s Campaign in Siberia, 62; Sibirskiia letopisi, 106 Japan.”

(Estpov Chronicle). Similarly in the Stroganov Chroni- 33. Patricia Seed, Ceremonies of Possession in Europe’s Concle: Yermak’s Campaign in Siberia, 35; Sibirskiia letopisi, 1. quest of the New World, 1492-1640 (Cambridge: Cam20. Yermak’s Campaign in Siberia, chaps. 18, 112; Sibirskiia bridge Untversity Press, 1995), 10—11.

letopisi. 34. Ibid. On the complicated legal history of claims 21. Yermak’s Campaign, 70; Sibirskiia letopisi, 124-25. to land in the American Southwest, see Maria E. Mon-

22. Yermak’s Campaign in Siberia, chap. 139. toya, Translating Property: The Maxwell Land Grant and the 23. Yermak’s Campaign in Siberia, 60; Sibirskiia letopisi, 43-44. Conflict over Land in the American West, 1840-1900 (Berke-

24. Matthew 18:20; quoted in Yermak’s Campaign in ley: University of California Press, 2002). Siberia, chap. 1; Remezov, Kratkaia sibirskaia letopis’. 35. G. F. Miller, Istoriia Sibiri, 2 vols. (Moscow and 25. Other detailed maps and plans of cities and Leningrad: Nauka, 1937, 1941), vol. 2, 154, 155, 164, 192, churches include Chorographic Sketchbook, 1. 2; Working Sketch- 195, 265-66, 266-67; concerning monastery churches

book, Il. 20 ob.—21, 65 ob—66, 117 ob., 118, 164 ob.—65. and priests, see 181-83. Other cases can be found in 26. Yermak’s Campaign in Siberia, 60; Sibirskiia letopisi, 44. Ogloblin, Obozrenie stolbtsov i knig Sibirskago, vol. 194, bk. 3 27. Yermak’s Campaign in Siberia, 83; Sibirskiia letopisi, 162. (1900), 84-85.

28. Working Sketchbook, 1. 8. This image is based on — 36. Russell Zguta, “The One-Day Votive Church: A Simeon Ushakov's “Tree of the Russian State.’ The Religious Response to the Black Death in Early Russia,” Ushakov icon can be seen in Briusova, Russkaia zhivopis'17 Slavic Review 40 (1981): 423-32. veka, color plate 17; and is discussed in Thyrét, Between 37. Yermak’s Campaign in Siberia, 70; Sibirskiia letopisi, 125.

God And Tsar, 70-79. Remezovs icon painting is dis- 38. Yermaks Campaign in Siberia, chap. 1; Remezov, cussed in V. N. Alekseev and E. I. Dergacheva-Skop, — Krratkaia sibirskaia letopis’.

“Novonaidennoe svidetel'stvo ob ikonakh ‘Sviataia 39. Yermak’s Campaign in Siberia, 60; Sibirskiia letopisi, 44;

Sofiia premudrost' Bozhua’ 1 ‘Raspiatie’ pred- also Remezovy, chap. 134: “And some became Christians polozhitel'no pridnadlezhashchikh kisti S. U. Reme- and were enlisted in the roll of new converts. ... After zova,’ in Problemy istorii, russkoi knizhnosti, kul'tury i obshch- the baptism of many infidels Sibir expanded, and towns

estvennogo soznaniia, ed. E. K. Romodanovskaia et al. and monasteries were built with everything necessary to

(Novosibirsk: Sibirskit khronograf, 2000), 264-74. their subsistence.”

234 NOTES TO PAGES 151—162

40. Khodarkovsky, “Conversion of Non-Christians 51. Kolonial'naia politika, no. 112.

in Early Modern Russia,” 117. 52. Yermak’s Campaign in Siberia, chap. 151; Remezoy, 41. Khodarkovsky, “Ignoble Savages and Unfaithful — Kratkaia sibirskaia letopis’.

Subjects, 9—26, quote on 17. 53. Robert Bartlett, Lhe Making of Europe: Conquest, Colo42. Khodarkovsky, “Four Degrees of Separation,” nization, and Cultural Change, 950-1350 (Princeton, N.J.: 263. See also his Russia’s Steppe Frontier, esp. 191-92. Princeton University Press, 1993). On the implications

43. The best work on conversion specifically in of a “non-territorial, frontierless concept of a universal Siberia is Ogryzko, Khristianizatsiia narodov Tobol'skogo sev- Christian empire, see Daniel Power and Naomi era v XVIII v,, esp. 7-24. See also Ogorodnikoy, Iz istorii Standen, eds., Frontiers in Question: Eurasian Borderlands, pokorenii Sibiri, 87-92. Source materials are available in 700-1700 (New York: St. Martin's Press, 1999), 5, xx. Russko-kitaiskie otnosheniia v XVII veke, vol. 1, 203-4; and — 54. Slezkine, Arctic Mirrors, 41.

Dmytryshyn, Crownhart- Vaughan, and Vaughn, Russia’s 55. Furthermore, the few churchmen available had

Conquest of Siberia, 315-16 (no. 86). their hands full looking after the conduct of their Russ44. Russko-kitaiskie otnosheniia v XVII veke, vol. 1, 203-4; 1an flock. See the list of infractions routinely commitDmytryshyn, Crownhart-Vaughan, and Vaughn, Russia’ ted by Russians in Siberia in a directive from Patriarch Conquest of Siberia, 126, 130, 315-16; M. N. Tikhomiroy, ed., Filaret to Archbishop Kiprian of Siberia: Miller, Istoriia Khrestomatiia po istorii SSSR XVI-XVII w. (Moscow: Gosu- _ Sibiri, vol. 2, 276-82, 293-98). Submission rather than

darstvennoe uchebno-pedagogicheskoe _izdatel'stvo, conversion was also the first step in Spanish and French 1962), vol, 2, 550-52; Miller, Istoriia, vol. 1, 330-33. colonizing efforts. Practical limitations on the scale of

45. Chorographic Sketchbook, 1. 97. conversion certainly were important factors in minimiz46. Slezkine, Arctic Mirrors, 43; Ogryzko, Khristianizat- ing the demand for immediate mass conversion in all siia narodov Tobol'skogo Severa, 22-23; V. A. Aleksandrov, — these colonial efforts. See the discussions in Greenblatt, Russkoe naselenie Sibiri XVU[—nachala XVII v. (Moscow: Marvelous Possessions; Peter Moogk, La Nouvelle France: The

Nauka, 1064): 121-23. Making of French Canada—A Cultural History (East Lans-

47. PSZ, vol. 2, 662. ing: Michigan State University Press, 2000), 17-50; and 48. Injunctions to avoid cruelty in forcing baptism Seed, Ceremonies of Possession.

and corruption in gaining permission to baptize were 56. Edward L. Keenan, “Muscovy and Kazan! frequent. Dmytryshyn, Crownhart-Vaughan, and = 1445-1552: A Study in Steppe Politics,’ Ph.D. diss., HarVaughn, Russia’s Conquest of Siberia, 126, 130; Tikhomirov, — vard University, 1965.

ed., Khrestomatiia po istorii SSSR XVI-XVII w., vol. 2, 57. Kolonial'naia politika, no. 9. See also Zapiski russkikh 550-52; Miller, Istoriia Sibiri, vol. 1, 330-33; vol. 2, 377-78; _ puteshestvennikov, 352.

V. Bakhrushin, “Ocherki po istorit Krasnoiarskogo 58. Sibirskiia letopisi, 137; Yermak’s Campaign, 74.

uezda v XVII v.,” in his Nauchnye Trudy, vol. 4, 97-2209; 59. N. I. Prokof'ev, “Literatura puteshestvit XVIOgloblin, Obozrenie stolbtsov i knig Sibirskago prikaza, 20-21, XVII vekov,” in Zapiski russkikikh puteshestvennikov, 9.

50-53, 54. 60. Sibirskiia letopisi, 312; Slezkine, Arctic Mirrors, 42. 49. Converts had to testify that the conversion was 61. ‘Yermak’s Campaign in Siberia, chap. 148; Remezoy, voluntary and that their kinsmen would not complain. — Kratkaia sibirskaia letopis’. See, for example, RGADA, f. 177, Iakutskaia prikaznaia 62. Chorographic Sketchbook, 1. 8.

izba, op. 1, 12, 1. 180; no. 14, Il. 30, 174-74 ob., 337-38 ob.; 63. This analysis responds to what has been described no. 26, Il. 17-19; and Ia. P. Al'kor and B. D, Grekovy, eds., as a failure on the part of the tsarist regime to imagine Kolonial'naia politika Moskovskogo gosudarstva v Iakutiti XVII v. a way “to include Russia's numerous non-Russian sub-

Sbornik dokumentov (Leningrad: Institut narodov Severa jects in this [Orthodox and patriarchal] ‘tmagined comTsIK SSSR, 1936), nos. 97, 99, 100, 107—12, 123, 176. munity.” Nancy Shields Kollmann, “Society, Identity 50. RGADA, f. 1177, Iakutskaia prikaznaia izba, op.1, and Modernity in Seventeenth-Century Russia,’ in

12, Ll. 180. Modernizing Muscovy, 425. Chapter 7. “Myriad, Countless Foreigners”

1. On English apologists and this work in particular, — Natural Man: The American Indian and the Origins of Compara-

see Cronon, Changes in the Land, 56-59. On the Spanish _ tive Ethnology (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, and other European views, see Anthony Pagden, “Dis- 1992); Pagden, Lords of All the World: Ideologies of Empire in possessing the Barbarian: The Language of Spanish — Spain, Britain and France, c. 15;00—c. 1800 (New Haven: Yale

Thomism and the Debate over the Property Rights of | University Press, 1995); and Stephen Greenblatt, Marthe American Indians,” in The Languages of Political Theory — velous Possessions: The Wonder of the New World (Chicago:

in Early-Modern Europe, ed. Pagden (New York: Cam- University of Chicago Press, 1991), 55-64, 168—71. bridge University Press, 1987), 79-98; Pagden, The Fall of 2. Pagden, “Dispossessing the Barbarian,” 95.

NOTES TO PAGES 162-171 235

3. James Lockhart and Stuart B. Schwartz, Early Latin trations. On the ethnographic illustrations around the America: A History of Colonial Spanish America and Brazil borders of maps, and their meanings in establishing a

(New York: Cambridge Unversity Press, 1983); hegemonic gender order, see Valerie Traub, “Mapping Frangois Chevalier, Land and Society in Colonial Mexico: The the Global Body,” in Early Modern Visual Culture: RepresenGreat Hacienda (Berkeley: University of California Press, tation, Race, and Empire in Renaissance England, ed. Peter Er-

1963); Steve J. Stern, Peru’s Indian Peoples and the Challenge of | ickson and Clark Hulse (Philadelphia: University of Spanish Conquest: FHuamanga to 1640 (Madison: University Pennsylvania Press, 2000), 44-97.

of Wisconsin Press, 1982); and Stern, “Paradigms of 19. One noteworthy exception to this rule is found in Conquest: History, Historiography, and Politics,” Jour- maps produced by indigenous cartographers in the early nal of Latin American Studies 24, Quincentenary Supple- years of the Spanish colonization of Mexico. These ment: The Colonial and Post-Colonial Experience. Five Centuries maps bear a striking resemblance to Muscovite local

of Spanish and Portuguese America (1992): 1-34. maps and depict native villages and landholdings in de4. Patricia Seed (Ceremonies of Possession) argues that tail. Since the Spanish, like the Muscovites, aspired to Spanish imperial practices derived from the experience incorporate existing societies and administrative strucof Muslim domination. Also on claim-making and pos- tures into their imperial dominion, this similarity 1s session in colonial New England, see Virginia DeJohn more than coincidental. See Barbara Mundy, The Mapping Anderson, “King Philip's Herds: Indians, Colonists, — of New Spain: Indigenous Cartography and the Maps of the Rela-

and the Problem of Livestock in Early New England,” —ciones Geographicas (Chicago: University of Chicago, William and Mary Quarterly, 3rd series, 51:4 (1994): 601-24. 1996). On the incomplete erasure of the indigenous eleOn property claims, see the interesting exchange in ment in colonial maps of the New World, see Rabasa, Richard Epstein, “Possession as the Root of Title,’ — Inventing America, 130-209, esp. 182-83. Georgia Law Review 13 (1979): 1221-43; Carol M. Rose, — 20. Valerie Traub describes a shift in European carto“Possession as the Origin of Property,’ University of Chi- graphic conventions from a Renaissance-era depiction

cago Law Review 52 (1985): 73-88. of natives involved in useful labor in the landscape to a 5. Seed examines the various national claiming tradi- tendency to move ethnographic depictions out to the tions in Ceremonies of Possession, summary statements on margins and borders (“Mapping the Global Body,” 71-97. On the Spanish Requirement, see tbid., 69-99, 44-97). For examples of North and South America dewith the text of the Requirement on 69. See also Green- _picted with Indians isolated in decorative cartouche, see

blatt, Marvelous Possessions, 97—08. Arnoldus Montanus, De Niewwe en Onbekende Weereld of 6. Khabarov, in Zapiski russkikh puteshestvennikov, 373, Beschryving van America en°t zuid-Land, Vervaetende d’OorSprong

378. de Americaenen en Zuidlanders, gedenkwaerdige togten derwaerds,

7. For example, Miller, Istoriia Sibiri, vol. 1, 381-82. Gelegendheid der vaste Kusten, Eilanded, Steden, Sterken, Dorpen,

8. Working Sketchbook, 1. 1. Tempels... (Amsterdam: Jacob van Meurs, 1671), before 9. Chorographic Sketchbook, 1. 9 ob; Gol'denberg, Semen 1; also 259. This publication also depicts lurid scenes of

Ul"ianovich Remezov, 137. Indians burning, beheading, and sacrificing victims that 10. Working Sketchbook, 1. 1. See also Sketchbook, I. 3. are found in a geographical account of the New World,

11. Chorographic Sketchbook, 1. 3 (?). e.g, 261, 244-45; and scenes of natives laboring for 12. Sketchbook; also reproduced in Ogorodnikovy, Iz istorii | commanding Spaniards, pp. 230-33. See also Sebastian

pokoreniia Sibiri. Munster's “Novae Insulae,’ in Anne Mackin, “The New 13. Batkov, in Zapiski russkikh puteshestvennikov, 342-47. England Plates,” in Mapping Boston, ed. Alex Krieger and

He may have been slightly confused, or loose with his | David Cobb, with Amy Turner (Cambridge, Mass.: terminology, when he noted the Kalmyk mosques. MIT Press, 2001), 77, plate 4. Many early European Kalmyks were Buddhists. However, it is possible that he — ethnographic illustrations are collected in Ernest and

refers to mosques of the resident Bukharans. Johanna Lehner, How They Saw the New World (New York: 14. Zapiski russkikh puteshestvennikov, 415-109. Tudor, 1966). 15. Fedotov, Russian Religious Mind, vol. 1, 370. 21. See also Pierre de Vaulx, Atlas of 1616, “Brazil,”

16. Chorographic Sketchbook, I. 8. with Indians depicted larger than life on territory but

17. Slezkine, Arctic Mirrors. not localized. The map is marked with royal shields, 18. These visual strategies are evident in the maps re- showing lands held by Spain and France. A few despa-

produced in Barbara Backus McCorkle, comp., New En- _ tialized natives engage in unproductive activities. gland in Early Printed Maps 1513-1800: An Illustrated Carto- 22. Robert Cushman, quoted in Cronon, Changes in the

Bibliography (Providence, R.L: John Carter Brown — Land, 56. Library, 2001). Map 685.1 more unusually fills the terri- 23. John Winthrop, quoted in tbid., 56. tory with scenes of indigenous peoples, their houses 24. William P. Cumming, British Maps of Colonial Amerand practices, more like Remezovs ethnographic illus- ica (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1974); Cum-

236 NOTES TO PAGES I7I—I79

ming, The Southeast in Early Maps; 3rd ed., rev. and enl. by _ lists are provided in Kosmografiia 1670 (St. Petersburg, Louis De Vorsey, Jr. (Chapel Hill: University of North 1878-81), 34, 265; and in Miller, Istoriia Sibiri, vol. 1, 34.4,

Carolina Press, 1998); Cumming, R. A. Skelton, and D. — which 1s discussed in Miller's text on 207-8. The HerB, Quinn, The Discovery of North America (London: Elek, itz Map lists the tsar's agglomerative label extensively, 1971). Blaeu’s The Grand Atlas of the 17th Century World, with as does Giles Fletcher in his account “Of the Russe

an introduction, captions, and selection of maps by Commonwealth,” m—12. John Goss (London: Studio, 1997); for natives in a 32. My thanks to Lindsey Hughes, for raising this framing border, see “Americae nova tabula,” 156-57, and _ point. “Africae nova descriptio,” 140—41; for wild life and sav- 33. Mercator’s 1554 map, for instance, labeled the vari-

ages, see “Venezuela,” 178-79, and “Americae nova tab- ous _ principalities (Wologda, Galitz, laroslaw, Susdal ula,” 156-57; and for savages in cartouche, see “Virginiae principatus) and dukedoms (Tver, Moscow ducatus),

partis australis,’ 170-71. nestled among dense forests in its representation of 25. This theory applied best to the nomadic and Russia (reproduced in Bagrow, A History of the Cartography seminomadic peoples of North and Central America of Russia up to 1600, 92—93 | figs. 45—46 |). The famed map

and made a less compelling or reasonable case in the by Anthony Jenkinson, known until recently only in sedentary societies that the Spanish encountered in _ later editions published by Ortelius (1570, 1605) and de Mexico and Peru. In those cases, and wherever native —Jode (1578), dotted in the boundaries between the prinlabor was needed to plow fields, mine for precious met- _cipalities, lands, and regions that constituted the Musals, or hunt fur-bearing animals, European colonizers covite tsardom (reproduced in ibid., 95, 97 |figs. 48, worked out different ideological and administrative for- 50). On the Jenkinson map and its exciting discovery,

mulations. see Valerie Scott, “Map of Russia Revealed at Confer26. Blaeu, Grand Atlas, 156-57, 164-65, 166-67, 178-79. ence, The Map Collector 48 (1989): 39-40.

27. Ibid., 172-77. 34. Harvard, Houghton Library, Godunov Map, 1667; 28. John Smith, The Generall Historie of Virginia, New- Remezov Map of Siberia. West European copies of the England, and the Summer Isles with the Names of the Adventurers, | Godunov Map are reproduced and discussed in Bagrow, Planters, and Governours from Their First Beginning. ano: 1584. History of Russian Cartography.

to This Present 1626 (London: I[ohn] D[awson] and 35. “Carte generale de la Siberie et de la Grande I[ohn] Haviland] for Edward Blackmore, 1632). Other _Tatarie”; discussed in Postnikov, “Russian Cartographic

examples of New World colonial maps that include Treasures,” 6-8. tiny Indians scattered about the landscape and/or over- 36. Guillaume Delisle’s early eighteenth-century maps

sized Indians in cartouches or vignettes, see William of Russia have been criticized for their inclusion of Wood, 1634, reproduced in Mackin, “New England outdated principalities. The findings of this chapter Plates,” 87; John Seller, A Mapp of New England, 1675, about the lasting, residual use of these ancient geoin Barbara McCorkle, “The Mapping of New England — graphic divisions suggests that the French cartographers

before 1800,” in Mapping Boston, 22. were more up-to-date in their political geography than 29. Many of the scholars who have written on Russ- has been conceded. ian cartography make this point: for example, Lebedev, 37. Ronald Grigor Suny, “The Empire Strikes Out: Geograftia v Rossii XVII veka; and Postnikov, Karty zemel' Russia, the Soviet Union, and Theories of Empire,” in rossiiskikh, On Muscovite mistakes in naming steppe peo- A State of Nations: Empire and Nation-Making in the Age of Lenin

ples, see Khodarkovsky, “Six Degrees of Separation,’ and Stalin, ed. Suny and Terry Martin (New York: Ox254. On the importance of claiming by naming in the ford University Press, 2001), 23-66. European New World experience, see Seed, Ceremonies of 38. Sketchbook, 1. 25.

Possession, 163, 174—75. Indian toponyms, of course, dot 39. Patricia Crone, “The Tribe and the State,” in States

the North American map as well: Nantucket, in History, ed. John A. Hall (Oxford: Basil Blackwell, Saugatuck, Saginaw, Lake Winnipesaukee. 1986), 48-77; Khodarkovsky, Russia’s Steppe Frontier; Rudi 30. Working Sketchbook, 1. 12; “Izbranie vkrattse ot knigi Paul Lindner, “What Was a Nomadic Tribe?” Comparaglagolemyia Kosmografia,” in Popov, Lzbornik slavianskikh tive Studies in Society and History 24 (1982): 689-711.

i russkikh sochinenii i statei, 398; 508-17. 40. Thanks to Ronald Suny for this insight. Kho31. The great seal is reproduced in Zapiski russkikh darkovsky also observes that in Muscovite taxonomies, puteshestvennikov, 351. Massa includes in the tsar’s titles language and people were equated. To this pair, I would sovereignty over the Nogais, Severia, Livonia, and the — add spatial location. “Six Degrees of Separation,” 253. Samoyeds: see Massa, A Short History of the Beginnings and 41. Zapiski russkikh puteshestvennikov, 415-16. Origins of These Present Wars, 23. Dmytryshyn, Crownhart- —-42.. Khodarkovsky, Russia’s Steppe Frontier, 9.

Vaughan, and Vaughn provides a slightly different ver- 43. Peter Sahlins, Boundaries: The Making of France and sion in Russia’s Conquest of Siberia, 400. Other impressive Spain in the Pyrenees (Berkeley: University of California

NOTES TO PAGES 180—186 237

Press, 1989); Khodarkovsky, Russia’s Steppe Frontier. The 51. Zapiski russkikh puteshestvennikov, 342—45.

process was more compressed in the That case; see 52. Hale sees a consistent effort in early modern EuWinichakul, Siam Mapped. On the ethnic variety of the ropean maps to represent Europe as a unified whole and

Russian Empire as a source of imperial pride, see to downplay national divisions of the continent (CiviBassin, Imperial Visions; Suny, “The Empire Strikes lization of Europe in the Renaissance, 34-35). Remezov and Back”; and Richard S. Wortman, Scenarios of Power: Myth company take a very different tack. and Ceremony in Russian Monarchy, vol. 1 (Princeton, N,J.: 53. Anderson, Imagined Communities, chap. 10. Reme-

Princeton University Press, 1995). National borders zov’s vision also contrasts with Winichakul’s idea of the were more sharply defined earlier in the western and creation of a “geo-body” of the modern nation, in Siam southern parts of Muscovy. Por instance, Trifon Ko- Mapped. robeinikov, who traveled to Constantinople in 1583-84, 54. “Izbranie vkrattse ot knigi glagolemyia Kosmowas very clear about the precise day when he passed into — graftia,” in Popov, Izbornik slavianskikh i russkikh sochinenii i Lithuania (Zapiski russkikh puteshestvennikov, 23; commen-__ statei, 516.

tary on this source, 439). 55. On the significance of imperial competition, see 44. Working Sketchbook, I. 1. James D. Tracy, “Iasak in Siberia vs. Competition among 45. Working Sketchbook, 1. 106. The Great Wall and Pekin the Colonizers in Canada: A Note on Comparisons beare illustrated in ibid., 1. 30 ob.; Chorographic Sketchbook, Il. tween Fur Trades,” Russian History / Histoire russe 28 150-51; and particularly beautifully drawn on Sketchbook, 1. (2001): 403-10. The French, too, required ritual perfor-

19 (Drawing of the Land of the Town of Nerchinsk); mances of consent from their colonial conquests, alreproduced in Postnikov, Karty zemel’ rossiiskikh, 30-31 (fig. though they tended more often to enter into trading re-

17). lations rather than colonial relations in the New World 46. Houghton Library, Bagrow Collection, Semen U. _ in this period. See L. Blussé and F. Gaastra, eds., Compa-

Remezov, “Map of Siberia.” nies and Trade: Essays on Overseas Trading Companies during the 47. John R. Hale, The Civilization of Europe in the Renais- Ancien Régime (Leiden: Leiden University Press, 1981);

sance (New York: Atheneum, 1994), 20. Seed, Ceremonies of Possession; and Moogk, La Nouvelle 48. Sahlins, Boundaries, 62, 37. Hale argues that even — France. these colored boundaries were “not intended to induce —_56. Sketchbook, 1. 25.

a setious teading of the continent in political terms. = 57. Suny, “The Empire Strikes Out,” 23-66; and They reflected the taste for maps as decorative objects, Ronald Grigor Suny, The Revenge of the Past: Nationalism, or defined broad geographical zones.” Moreover, the Revolution, and the Collapse of the Soviet Union (Stanford, color washes, he maintains, were often added without — Calif.: Stanford University Press, 1993); Suny, “Nationthe publishers’ permission (Civilization of Europe in the alities in the Russian Empire,” Russian Review 59 (2000): Renaissance, 34-35). Political boundaries and their depic- 487-92; Terry Martin, “An Affirmative Action Empire:

tion in European cartography of the late seventeenth The Soviet Union as the Highest Form of Imperialcentury are discussed in J. A. Akerman, “Cartography ism,” in A State of Nations, 67-92; Martin, The Affirmative and the Emergence of Territorial States,’ Proceedings... Action Empire: Nations and Nationalism in the Soviet Union,

Western Society for French History, 84—93. 1923-1939 (Ithaca: Cornell Unversity Press, 2001); 49. Houghton Library, Bagrow Collection, Godunov — Rogers Brubaker, Nationalism Reframed (Cambridge: Cam-

Map, 1667; Working Sketchbook, Il. 30 ob.—31. bridge University Press, 1996); Yuri Slezkine, “The 50. Zapiski russkikh puteshestvennikov, 333. Khodarkovsky USSR as a Communal Apartment, or How a Socialist defines “ulus” as “an appanage consisting of people and State Promoted Ethnic Particularism,” Slavic Review 53 herds, or a people in general among the Turko-Mongol (1994): 414-52.

peoples” (Russia’s Steppe Frontier, 232). 58. Miller, Istoriia Sibiri, vol. 1, 34.4, discussed on 207-8. Chapter 8. Under the Sovereign’s Mighty Hand 1. Beketev, in Zapiski russkikh puteshestvennikov, 364—65. Russia and the Mongol-Turkic System in the Sixteenth 2. RGADA, f. 1177, no. 12, I. 183-86; Kolonial'naia poli-. Century,” in The Mutual Effects of the Islamic and Judeo~ tika Moskovskogo gosudarstva v Iakutii, tablitsy 2-14. Christian Worlds: The East European Pattern, ed. Abraham As-

3. Miller, Istoriia Sibiri, vol. 2, 307-8. cher, Tibor Halasi-Kun, and Bela K. Kiraly (Brooklyn, 4. Slezkine, Arctic Mirrors, 29-31. N.Y.: Brooklyn College Press, 1979); Michael Rywkin, 5. Yermaks Campaign in Siberia, 266; Remezov, Kratkaia “The Prikaz of the Kazan Court: First Russian Colo-

sibirskaia letopis’. nial Office,” Canadian Slavonic Papers 18 (1976): 293-300. 6. Jaroslaw Pelenski, Russia and Kazan: Conquest and See also “A Discussion on Kazan! and Muscovy,” Slavic Imperial Ideology (1438—-1560s) (The Hague: Mouton, Review 26 (1967): 541-83 (articles by Sevéenko, Keenan,

1974); and Pelenski, “State and Society in Muscovite Pritsak, and Pelensk1).

238 NOTES TO PAGES 186-197

7. Dmytryshyn, Crownhart-Vaughan, and Vaughn, women and girls to Verkhoture in ibid., 374-75 (no. Russia’s Conquest of Siberia, 315-16; Russko-kitaiskie otnosheniia v 284). See also Ogloblin, Obozrenie stolbtsov i knig Sibirskago

XVII veke, 203-4. prikaza, vol. 194, bk. 3 (1900), 53-65, 72-76. 8. Miller, Istoriia Sibiri, vol. 1, 331-32 (Prilozhenuia, no. 20. Miller, Istoriia Sibiri, vol. 1, 346-54.

1). 21. Ibid., 361. The verb, vladet', is the same as that used 9. Khabarov, in Zapiski russkikh puteshestvennikov, 377. by landlords and peasants in the Russian agricultural 10. Atlasoy, in ibid., 415, 418-19. Dezhnev reports a re- lands. For arable land granted to tasak-paying Jakuts, quest for protection, in this case Chiuvanzi asked for see RGADA, f. 1177, op. 1, ed. khr. 28, Il. 86-88.

protection against “pogroms” of renegade Russians. 22. Miller, Istoriia Sibiri, vol. 1, 372-73. The speed with They also requested a reduction in their tasak payments. — which ecological disaster followed Russian conquest is The Russians were holding Chiuvanzi hostages at the sobering, Maps drawn just years after Russian arrival

time, to ensure obedience (ibid., 401-2). note areas that used to be rich in fur-bearing animals u. Beketev in Zapiski russkikh puteshestvennikov, 365. but are now denuded.

12. Atlasov and Khabarov, in tbid., 428, 418, 374. 23. Ibid., 38182. Slezkine provides a searing overview of Muscovite 24. Ibid., 390-02. treatment of “the small peoples of the north” in Siberia —-25._Ibid., 383-84. Similar issues are discussed in in the first chapter of his Arctic Mirrors. V. I. Ogorod- Bakhrushin, “Sibirskie slobodchiki (iz istorii kolonizatnikov offers a heroic picture of the bravery and loyalty su Sibirt),” 216-17. Because plowing land to feed the of the Russian conquerors (Iz istorii pokorenii Sibirii, tsar’s servicemen was another form of service foisted on 51-82), followed by a sharp indictment of their treat- the native populations, petitions survive in which

ment of the natives (83-104 ). people asked for less rather than more plowland: Miller, 13. Remezov, Kratkaia sibirskaia letopis', ch. 73; Working — Istoriia Sibiri, vol. 2, 149-50. Others asked to be relieved

Sketchbook, Il. 47 ob.—48. of farming obligations altogether and placed on tasak 14. Chorographic Sketchbook, 1. 147. rolls instead: ibid., 206-7, 245-46. On forced farming,

15. Ibid., 1. 97. see Ogorodnikovy, Iz istorii pokorenii Sibiri, 87.

16. Miller, Istoriia Sibiri, vol. 1, 332-35. Other examples 26. Kolonial'naia politika Moskovskogo gosudarstva v Iakutii,

of wanderers and exiles being set up in the appropriate no. 117. Similar clashes over land usage occurred in colo-

level of service in Siberia include tbid., vol. 2, 177-78, nial New England. See Anderson, “King Philip's

213-14, 226, 273. Herds,” 601-24; and Cronon, Changes in the Land, 54-81.

no. 95. no. 134.

17. Kolonial'naia politika Moskovskogo gosudarstva v Lakutii, 27. Kolonial'naia politika Moskovskogo gosudarstva v Lakutii,

18. Tsarist reluctance to cross the Urals in many ways 28. Muscovite Law Code (Ulozhenie) of 16.49, chap. 16, arts.

parallels the reluctance Brian Boeck identifies in Mus- 13-14, 41. Division of lands between Tatars and Ruscovite policy toward settling the Ukrainian frontier: fear sians was carried out throughout Siberia, e.g., Miller, [sof irritating powerful neighbors and of draining the _ toriia Sibiri, vol. 2, 187. center of laborers and taxpayers restrained Muscovite 29. Ogorodnikov, Iz istorii pokorenii Sibirii, 93; Slezkine, imperialist ambitions (“Containment vs. Colonializa- Arctic Mirrors, 1-46.

tion” ). 30. DAI 4, no. 30; no. 82. Ogorodnikoy, Iz istorii poko-

19. Petition from exiled Cherkasy to be granted arable __renii Sibirii, 97. land near the River Cherpanikh: RGADA, f. 1177, op.1, 31. Zapiski russkikh puteshestvennikov, 428, 418. no. 28, |. 43. Registration of peasants on arable land — 32. Kolonial'naia politika Moskovskogo gosudarstva v Iakutii,

neat Tobolsk (1677): RGADA, f. 924, Tobol'skaia no. 138. prikaznaia palata, no. 4, no. 5 (1693). Registration of 33. Prokof'ev, “Literatura puteshestvii XVI-XVII wanderer (guliashchii chelovek) with peasants, ibid., no. 6. — vekov,” 13.

Agreement of wanderer to be in service of Berezov 34. Kolonial'naia politika Moskovskogo gosudarstva v Lakutii, Cossack: RGADA, f. 833, Berezovskaia prikaznaia izba, no, 138. no. 1. Exiles enrolled in Cossack regiments: RGADA, f. 35. Slezkine also notes the ability of natives to achieve 1177, lakutskaia prikaznaia izba, op. 1, no. 21, L. 14. Invi- _ results in tsarist courts (Arctic Mirrors, 29-31). tation to wanderers and trappers to settle on land near —36.._ Beketev, in Zapiski russkikh puteshestvennikov, 364—65.

Him: RGADA, f. 1177, Iakutskaia prikaznaia izba, no. 5, | This seems to illustrate Khodarkovsky’s point, that the

Il. 141-52. On settling wanderers and wol'nye liudi, see Russians construed as submission what tribal people Miller, Istoriia Sibiri, vol. 2, 308. Resettling peasants from understood as treaties of mutual defense (Where Two overpopulated villages where families have outgrown Worlds Met; Russia’s Steppe Frontier).

their land supply is mentioned in ibid., 378-79 (no. — 37. Weickhardt, “Due Process and Equal Justice in 287), and bringing fifty marriageable “free, wandering” the Muscovite Codes,” 463-80. On popular commit-

NOTES TO PAGES 197-205 239

ment to the same sense of justice, see Kivelson, “Devil conjunction with its documentary material in his 1898

Stole His Mind,” 733-56. catalogue of materials of the Siberian Chancellery: 38. RGADA, f. 1177, Iakutskaia prikaznaia izba, no. 12, | Obozrenie stolbtsov i knig Sibirskago prikaza, 138-39. It is repro-

Il. 253-54. duced along with several similar maps in Eftmov, Atlas 39. Miller, Istoriia Sibiri, vol. 2, 149-50, 253-54. When a —_geograficheskikh otkrytii v Sibiri, figs. 35-37.

iasak-paying Tatar protested that his land had been 46. RGADA, f. 1177, no. 24, IL. 45~-52. taken by Russians, the governor of Turinsk heard the 47. Miller, Istoriia Sibiri, vol. 1, 392-93. case and referred it up to higher authorities. The resolu- 48. Chorographic Sketchbook, I. 23.

tion, unfortunately, does not survive (1bid., 251-52). 49. Ibid., |. 10. 40. A wonderful assortment of such cases appears in 50. Kolonial'naia politika Moskovskogo gosudarstva v Lakutii, Kolonial'naia politika Moskovskogo gosudarstva v Iakutii; and in no. 110.

Ogloblin, Obozrenie stolbtsov i knig Sibirskago prikaza. 51. Other early modern colonial regimes also heard

41. RGADA, f. 1177, no. 2, I. 152. cases brought by indigenous peoples against European 42. Ibid., no. 7, 1. 67. Another charge against a shaman _ settlers. The French and the Spanish even went so far as

for bewitchment ts in tbid., no. 16, Il. 78—80. to imagine the incorporation of all their conquered 43. Ibid., no. 12, Il. 183-86. For another, similar case, people or, alternatively, all Christian converts as sub-

see Miller, Istoriia Sibiri, vol. 2, 377-78. jects of the crown, subject to the monarch’s justice. See 44. Miller, Istoriia Sibiri, vol. 2, 405-6. Other such lists Gibson, Aztecs under Spanish Rule; Stern, Peru’s Indian Peoappear in RGADA, f. 1177, no. 21, Il. 1-16; and Ogloblin, __ ples; Stern, “Paradigms of Conquest,” 1-34; and Moogk,

Obozrenie stolbtsov i knig Sibirskago prikaza, 78-709. La Nouvelle France, 43-45. In other cases, so-called justice 45. RGADA, f. 383, op. 1, d. 148. This chertezh is pre- was pro forma and transparently stacked in favor of the

served with no accompanying documentation but ap- colonists. See, in particular, Anderson, “King Philip's parently is the map that N. N. Ogloblin described in Herds,” 601-24. Conclusion

1. Robert H. Greene, “ ‘Bodies Like Bright Stars’: 1an Court in the Sixteenth and Seventeenth Centuries, ’ Saints and Relics in Orthodox Russia, 1860s—1g20s” 1-18; Flier, “Breaking the Code,” 213—42; Flier, “Filling

(Ph.D. diss., University of Michigan, 2004). in the Blanks,” 120-37; Flier, “Court Ritual and Re2. Bushkovitch, “Epiphany Ceremony of the Russ- form, 73-95.

240 NOTES TO PAGES 206—211

BIBLIOGRAPHY

ABBREVIATIONS AN SSSR: Akademia nauk Soiuz sovetskikh sotsialisticheskikh respublik. ChOIDR: Chteniia v Obshchestve istorii i drevnostei rossiiskikh pri Moskovskom universitete. Sbornik, 264 vols.

(Moscow, 1845-1918). Chorographic Sketchbook: Khorograficheskaia kniga (see Harvard University below) DAI: Dopolneniia k aktam istoricheskim, sobrannye i izdannye Arkheograficheskoiu kommissieiu, 12 vols. and Index

(St. Petersburg, 1846-1975). PSZ: Polnoe sobranie zakonov rossiiskoi imperii, 45 vols. (St. Petersburg, 1830-1843).

RANION: Rosstiskata assotsiatsita Nauchno-issledovatel'skikh institutov obshchestvennykh nauk, Moscow. Sketchbook: Chertezhnaia kniga (See Rosstiskata gosudarstvennaia biblioteka below). TODRL: Trudy Otdela drevnerusskoi literatury (Leningrad-St. Petersburg). Working Sketchbook: Sluzhebnaia chertezhnaia kniga (See Rosstskaia national'naia biblioteka below).

ARCHIVAL SOURCES CITED IN TEXT Harvard University, Houghton Library, Bagrow Collection, Remezovs copy of the Godunov Map, MS Russ 72 (1); Remezov Map of All Siberia, MS Russ 72 (3); Spatharios Map, MS Russ 72 (2); Remezov, Khorograficheskaia kniga (also known as the Khorograficheskaia chertezhnaia kniga). Here: Chorographic Sketchbook MS Russ 72 (6).

Harvard University Map Collection, Mt 180.1929 pf. Northamptonshire 1580-1797, English Common Fields, Photo Reproductions. Hilandar Research Library, Ohio State University, Kosmografiia v 76 glavakh (without beginning), Hilan-

dar microfilm: Krakow, Czartoryski Library no. 1417. —— , Sbornik smeshannogo soderzhaniia, ff. 13r.—41v., Hilandar microfilm: St. Petersburg State University

Library, St. Petersburg, Russia. Reel 76, Ms. 22.

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256 BIBLIOGRAPHY

a INDEX

Page numbers in italics refer to illustrations.

Adam and Eve imagery. See edenic gardens Baikov, Fedor, 122, 128, 175, 188

Adams, Ann Jensen, 224.51 Barber, Peter, 30

administrative maps, 3, 5—6, 117-18; cartographic Baron, Samuel, 17 secrecy and, 28; historiography of, 17, 18, 20— Baxandall, Michael, 104, 109 22, 24; state centralization and, 31-32. See also Beketev, Petr, 149, 175, 188, 195, 198, 205

Siberia, mapping of; sketch-maps Beloozero Province, 17 Afanasit Kholmogorskit, 99, 107, 126, 2321.67 Bermuda, 181 Alekseev, Vasilei. See Oshanin, Danilo, case of Berry, Mary Elizabeth, 15—16

Alekset Mikhailovich, tsar, 31-32, 183 Bezhetsk (district), 85

Aleksin Province, 47—48 black peasants, 36, 225n.67

Alferova, G. V., 227.25 Blaeu, Willem Janszoon, and Joan, 134, 180— Algazi, Gadi, 51 81 Amur River, 175, 199, pl. 26 “Blessed Is the Host of the Heavenly Tsar” Anastasov Monastery (Chern Province). See Icon, 110, 113-14, 115

Zhdanov, Stepan, case of Bludov, Ivan, 62, 63-64 Andreianovo (village), 71 Boeck, Brian, 239n.18 Andrianovo (village), 80, pl. 8 Bol'shoi Chertezh. See Great Sketch Map

Antipin, Leontei, 82 Boris Godunoy, tsar, 18-19, 202-3 apocalyptic thought, 105-8 Borovsk (town), pl. 1

“Appearance of the Mother of God and St. boundaries: cadastral surveys and, 62—65; circles Nicholas to Sacristan Iurysh” icon, 115 as images of, 70-71, 96, 110, 112—14, 139, pls. 6—

Armenevo (town), 71 7, 16, 23; of empire, 186—90; on European

Artemii, 61-62 maps, 187—89; for indigenous peoples, 185—86,

Artillery Chancellery, 24 190, 195-96, 214; on property maps, 57—67,

Artsybyshev, Agei, 47—48 70-71, 96, pls. 6-7

Atlasov, Vladimir, 121; indigenous peoples and, boyars, spatial identity of, 212 175, 188, 198; natural world described by, 124, Bratsk people, 167, 195-96

127, 129, 141; violence and, 186, 204—5 Brazil, 178

Avvakum, 125-26, 129, 132 Briusova, V. G., 112 Brodsky, Joseph, 226 n.10

Bagrow, Leo, 27—28, 2151.3, 2210.34 Burbank, Jane, 2161.15, 222.54

Baigent, Elizabeth, 19 Bykovskoi, Andrei, 43

cadastral surveys (pistsovye and perepisnye knigi), &3- | Dmuitrov Province, 71, 79-80, pl. 8

19, 62-65 Dmytryshyn, Basil, 121

Calvino, Italo, 61 Dnieper River, 24—25 cardinal directions, 3, 23, pl. 1 Domashney, Fedor, 43

“Carte generale de la Stberie et de la Grande Driaplovo (village), 39-40, 102

Tatarie,” 184 Dunat, K. S., 203

Castells, Manuel, 98 Dvina River, 32-33 Catherine I, the Great, empress, 8, 24—25 Chancellery of. See specific ones (e.g, Military Af- edenic gardens, 11-12, 108-15, 132, 145, 165-66

fairs Chancellery) Efremov (town and province), 34—35, 66

Chaple Bramton, England, 96 Elets (town and province), 44, 92, 103, 106, pl. 15

Chern Province, 38 Elizabeth, empress, 28

chertezhi. See sketch maps empty lands, 57, 59, 67-77, 145-48, 177-79, 201 Chertezhnaia kniga. See Sketchbook (Remezov ) Engel, Samuil, 28

China, 21, 121-22, 127-28, 187, pl. 29 England, 160, 171-73, 178-79, 181, 213-14 Chorographic Sketchbook (Remezov ), 133-35, 137,142— Epancha, 202-3

43, 232.54; dedication in, 168—69, 176-77 Ermak Timofeey, 21, 19, 133, 150-53, 206 Christian Topography (Cosmas Indicopleustes), Esipov, Savva, 124-25, 132, 151

2290.53 Esipov Chronicle, 151, 154-55, 158, 167

Church Brampton, England, 96 estate maps, Anglo-American, 92—95, 96-97 churches and monasteries: as elements of colo- European countries: boundaries on maps of, nization, 153-58, 160; as map images, 3, 23, 39— 187—89; cadastral surveys in, 18; cartographic

40, 87, 102-6, 109, 148, pls. 14-15 secrecy in, 27; conquest and expansion by, 68, circles, as boundary images, 70-71, 96, 110, 12— 149, 159-60, 171-73, 177-81, 188; indigenous

14, 139, pls. 6-7, 16, 23 peoples, cataloguing of, by, 177-81; land owncollective landholders, 36, 52 ership and, 159—60, 171-73, 17880, 213-14; colonization, 149, 153-61, 200-201, 210-11. See also mapmaking in, 16, 136, 184, pl. 21. See also indi-

conquest and expansion vidual countries

communes, 36

communications maps, 20—21 Fedor Borisovich Godunov, tsarevich, 18

compasses, 23, 134-35 Fedor Ivanovich, tsar, 201—2 conquest and expansion, 9—10, 16, 18, 210, 214; by — Fedotov, George, 175

European countries, 68, 149, 159—60, 171-73, Filatev, Sergushka, 49 177-81, 188; Orthodoxy, spread of, and, 12, 18, Fletcher, Giles, 232.n.61 137, 149-53, 158, 160-61, 190; into Siberia, 21, Flier, Michael, 107 117—23, 132, 137-38, 149-61; violence of, 121, Fofanov, Fedor Kostiantinovich, 207

186, 194, 198-200, 204, 206, pls. 24 , 30; folk art, 116 wildlife depletion and, 119, 208, 239.22 Foucault, Michel, 26, 29

Cosmas Indicopleustes, 229 n.53 France, 171—72, 178 cosmographies, 51, 71-72, 158-59 Frank, Stephen, 51 Cossacks, 36, 52, 72, 161, 166, 201 fur trade, 119, 208, 239n.22. See also tasak (fur

courts, provincial. See property litigation tribute ) Craib, Raymond B., 22 n.19

Crimea, 19, 21 Garden of Eden tmagery. See edenic gardens Gavrilov, Vtorot, 129

Danilov Monastery (Iurev Polskot and Perelavl- General Boundary Measurement Survey, 24-25 Zalesskii Provinces). See Koriakin, Nikifor, “Generall Map of Virginia,” 181-82

case of (1674) Geodeisic Institute, Naval Academy, St. Peters-

Davies, Douglas, 229n.54 burg, 24

Delisle, Guillaume, 237n.36 Gerasimov, Dmitrit, 17 Delisle, Joseph Nicolas, 24, 26, 28 Gtovio, Paolo, 17

Diment, Galya, 118, 124 Gobi Desert, 127, 148 Diplomatic Affairs Chancellery, 21, 119, 167 Godunov, Boris. See Boris Godunov, tsar

distance measurements, 23, 134 Godunov, Fedor Borisovich. See Fedor Borisovich Dmitrov Monastery (Murom Province), 64 Godunov, tsarevich

258 INDEX

Godunov Map (Siberia), 21, 1430-31, 184, 188, pl. 65, 172, 181, pl. 24; social relations and, 203;

18 state building/ centralization and, 182—86,

Gol'denberg, L. A., 133, 2200.51, 2321.52 190—91; as subjects, 11, 121, 165-70, 192—93, Golden Woman figure, 136, 232.61, pl. 22 194-98, 204-9, 212—13; as witnesses, I91, 195,

Gorchakoy, Petr, 201-2 204-5

Gorky, Maxim, 72 “In Thee Rejoice” icons, 110

Gorsku, A. D., 52 Irtysh River, 182, 199-200, pls. 24, 27 Great Dormition Cathedral (Dmitrov Province), — Iukagirs, 204

79-80 Turev Polskoi Province, 38—40, 42, 63, 65-66, 68—

Great Sketch Map (Bol’shoi Chertezh), 19, 32 69, 83, pl. 4

Grebenshchikov, Mikhail, 203 Ivan III, tsar, 15, 16 Greenblatt, Stephen, 124 Ivan IV, the Terrible, tsar, 17-18, 198, 201 Greene, Robert H., 211 Iverskoi Monastery (Starorusskii Province), 61—

Griboedov, Nikifor, 59 62 Grinev, Vasilet, 59-60

Gudzinskaia, A. P., 39 Jamaica, 93-94

Gumilev, Nikolai, 8 Japan, 15-16

Jenkinson, Anthony, 237 n.33

hagiographies, 116 Jenkinson Map (1652), 17 Hale, John, 188, 238n.52

Harley, J. B., 27, 29 Kain, Roger J., 19

Harvey, David, 220n.4 Kalmyks, 163, 199—200, pl. 24

Heaven. See edenic gardens Kaluga Province, 68, 73-74, pl. 1

Hellie, Richard, 95 Kamchatka, 21, 124, 127, 129-30, 141 Herberstein, Sigismund von, 17, 51, 2321.52 Karachev (province and town), 37

hermits and holy men, 147—48 Kashin (province and town), 34, 44, 46, 49, 64,

Hilton, Alison, 229n.55 102, 103—5 hirelings, 86—87 Kashira (town), 74-77, 80 Hoch, Steven, 95 Kashtanov, S. M., 17 Holdenby Manor, England, 97 Keenan, Edward, 108

Holl, Bruce T., 125 Kekin, Petr, prince, governor of Kursk, 22 Holland, 172-73, 196 Khabarov, Erofet, 121, 173, 198 Horsey, Jerome, 222.53 Khodarkovsky, Michael, 121, 149, 162, 186, “How Shall We Name You, O Woman Full of 239.36

Grace?” icon, 110 Kholokholnia River. See Zhdanov, Stepan, case of

Takuts, 203-6 Khorograficheskaia kniga. See Chorographic Sketchbook Taroslavl school (icon painters), 112 (Remezov)

Taryshkin, Petr, case of, 37 Khovanskoi, Petr, 22 iasak (fur tribute), 121, 150, 163, 187, 201-2, 206-7 —- Kievan Rus, 14—15

icons, religious, 23, 109-16, 211, 221N.35 King, Geoff, 29 identity, political/ social, 6-9, 54, 78, 184, 211-12 Kirillo-Belozerskit Monastery, 14, 17

Ilimskoi District, 207 Kurilov, Ivan Kirtlovich, 24, 26

Iimsk region, 127 Kliuchevsky, V. O., 8 indentured laborers, 92—93 Kochetkoy, I. A., 113 indigenous peoples: boundaries imposed on, Kolchin, Peter, 93

185-86, 190, 195-96, 214; cataloguing of, 174— Kollmann, Nancy Shields, 54, 215.8, 235.63

82, 198-99, 206-8, 211, pls. 25-26, 31; cere- Kolotskot Monastery (Mozhaisk Province), 79,

monies of possession/acceptance and, 172— 82, 85 73, 202; “empty lands” and conquest of, 68, Komedchikov, Nikola1, 23 177-79, 201; tasak (fur tribute) and, 121, 150, Konopleev cousins, case of, 73, 75-77 163, 187, 201-2, 206-7; land ownership claims Koriakin, Nikifor, case of (1674), 63, 65-66, pl. 4 and, 171-72, 178-80, 191-92, 195, 200-201, Kortaks, 186 203-4; oaths of submission/ loyalty and, 167, Korsakov, Andrei, 62, 63-64 173, 195; religious conversion of, 150, 158, 161— Kosmografia of 1670, 51, 71-72

INDEX 250

Kovrigin, Ignatit Semenovich, 83 Mitchell, Timothy, 49 Kozlov, petty servitors of, 72-73 Mitchell, W. J. T., 99 Kozlov, Zhdan, 195—96 mobility, 9-10; cadastral surveys and, 19-20; of Kuchium, khan of Siberia, 119 peasants, 7, 19-20, 98, 201, 212; religious conKursk Province, 22, 59-60 version and, 162; of Siberian settlers, 201

Kusoy, V.S., 2, 228n.39 Mojave Desert, Calif., 59

Monmonier, Mark, 5 landholders, 32, 36-37, 84-85; collective, 36, 52; Monomakh, Vladimir, 175 social relations with peasants of, 51-54, 95-96, | Moretti, Franco, 6

98, 203 Morozov, Boris, 40, 101-2

land measurements, 2210.24 Mosalitinov, Gavrilo, 44

land ownership, 35-36, 57; building of structures | Moscow Mathematical-Navigational School, 24 and, 92, 160, 173, 211; European concepts of, Moscow Province, 66, 68 159-60, 171-73, 213-14; indigenous claims to, Mother of God tcons, 110-11, 114-15, 211 172-73, 17880, 191-92, 195, 200-201, 203-4} “Mother of God Is an Enclosed Garden” icon,

peasants and, 83—98, 191; slaves and, 92—93, II 191; taxes, payment of, and, 35-36, 85-87, 95; Mozhaisk Province, 79, 82, 85. See also Konopleev

tsar and, 35-36, 52; witnesses to, 47, 60, 78-83, cousins, case of

87, 95, 173, 191, 195 Munekhin, Mistur', 167—68

Law Code of 1649 ( Ulozhenie), 20, 46, 51, 203-4 Murom Province, 71-72, 78-79, pl. 9

Lebedev, D. M., 16 Muromtsev, Timofei, governor of Kaluga, 73-75 LeFebvre, Henrt, 5 Muscovites: identity and, 6-9, 54, 78, 211-12; “‘sILiatskiu, Ivan, 17 lence” of, 1-2, 123; subjecthood and, 1o—11, 86, Lithuania, 21, 32-33 212-13. See also indigenous peoples; peasants Lur'e, Ia. S., 227n.26 Muscovy: cartographic secrecy in, 25-28; conquest and expansion by, 9—10, 12, 16, 18, 21,

Maksimoy, Ivan, 129 117-23, 132, 137-38, 149—61, 210—11; diversity as

Malgin, Afanaset, 81 characteristic of empire in, 182—g0, 198, 212— Maloiaroslavkit Province, pl. 3 13; geographical vastness and, 7—8; imperial mandalas. See circles, as boundary images ideology of, 190-93, 195-98, 200; legalism in, mapmakers: litigants as, 38; popular piety and, 47, 50-55, 205-6; mapmaking, history of, in, 100, IoI—2, 104, 108; social status and rank of, 13-28; “strategies of integration” in, 7, 54; 22-23, 40, 43-44, 46, 55; training of, 22, 24, tsar, authority of, in, 35, 52-54, 183, 193, 211. See

B4 also state building and centralization

“Map of the Dangers Facing the City of To-

bolsk,” 144, pl. 23 natural world, imaginings of the: edenic gardens

“Mapp of Virginia Discovered to Ye Hills,...”, and, 11-12, 108—15, 132, 145, 165-66; emptiness

177, 180 and, 71-72, 146—48; as God's gift, 1—12, 99—

Massa, Isaac, 26-27, 123-24 100, 107—8, 112, 115, 148; in Remezov, 138-45;

Mathematical-Navigational School, Moscow, 24 Siberian context of, 118, 123-32, 138-48, 158-59

Matveev, Dementet, 91 Nedobrova, Avdotia, 47—48 measurements: distance, 23, 134; land, 221n.24 Nerchinsk Province, 146

Melenki (village), 45 New England, 179 Mercator, Gerhard, 51, 134-35, 224.36, 237.33 New Yorker, The, 133

Meshcherinoy, Ivan and Aleksei, 34-35 Nikitskir Monastery (of Pereslavl Zalesskii, in

Mexico, 178, 214, 220n.19, 2371.25 Uglich Province), 48, 67, 68, 92, pl. 5

Meyendorff, John, 13-14 Nikolo-Uleiminsko1 Monastery (Uglich

Michels, Georg B., 2270.24 Province), 39, 43, pl. 2 Mikhailova, N. G., 39 North America, 68, 92-93, 178-79

Mikhalevo (village), 69 northern peasants. See black peasants Mikhalikha, (pustosh’ and village), 68—69 Norwood, John, 181 Milescu, Nikolai. See Spafarit (Nikolai Milescu) Novgorod (town), 81

Military Affairs Chancellery, 19, 21, 32, 48 Novokshchenov, Lukian, 83-84

military regiments, 36, 52 Novosilskaita Road. See Zhdanov, Stepan, case of

miracle cults, 100, 116 Novosiltsov, Vladimir, 68—69

260 INDEX

Novotorzhok Province, 85 Poltev, Petr Fedorovich, governor of Suzdal, 37 Numbers and Land Measurement, School of Poluekt, Fr., 75-77

(Moscow), 24 Porotva Ruver, pl. 1 Portugal, 27, 172, 178, 214

oaths, 46, 50, 60, 167, 173, 195 Postnikov, A. V., 14, 23-24, 228n.39

Ofrosimov, Osip, 43 Postnikoy, Petr, 44 Ogryzko, I. 1, 163 Postnikov, Savin, 103 Oksianov, Pronka, 81 projection, use of, 23

Orthodox Christianity, 99—116; apocalypticism Prokhorov, G. M, 14, 17 in, 105-8; church/monastic imagery and, 3, 23, property litigation, 51-52, 54, 117; court proce39-40, 87, 102-6, 109, 148, pls. 14-15; compet- dures and, 36-37, 46-50; witnesses and, 47, ing eschatologies of, 104-8, 115; conquest / ex- 60, 78-83, 87, 95, 173, 191 pansion and, 12, 118, 137, 149-53, 158, 160—61, property maps, 1-3, 117; boundaries and, 57—67,

190; conversions and, 150, 158, 161-65, pl. 2.4; 70-71, 96, pls. 6-7; cartographic secrecy and, hermits / holy men and, 147—48; landscape im- 28; historiography of, 14, 16, 17-18, 22; lanagery and, 108—16; localized quality of, 211; guage of, 37, 70, 100—101; local interests in, 35— natural world/creation in, 1-12, 99-100, 107— 46, 55; peasant houses on, 40, 87-92, 96, 191, 8, 110, 112, 115, 118, 147—48; sin in, 113-14 pl. 11; state centralization and, 31, 37, 49, 53, 54.

Oshanin, Danilo, case of, 47, 67 See also sketch-maps

Osminskoe, Lake, 62 Pskov (city), 49-50 Pskov Province, 16

Pafnut'ev Monastery (Borovsk Region, Kaluga Puksha Ruver, 87, pl. 11

Guberniia), pl. 1 Pushkarev, L. N., 227.25 Palitsyn, Andrei, 129 pustynia, 147-48 Palmguist, Erik, 27, 131 Putil'tsov, Ivan, 24-25 Panich, T. V., 99, 107 Putivl (town), 44 pagan imagery, 229n.55 pustoshi, 683-73, 146

paradise. See edenic gardens

Patterson, Orlando, 226n.87 real-estate maps. See property maps Pavlovets, Nikita, 111 Remezov, Semen Ul'tanovich, 21-22, 18, 133-45; peasants: black/northern, 36, 225n.67; cadastral cartographic training of, 23, 134; conquest / exsurveys and, 19—20; court processes and par- pansion as reflected by, 137-38, 151-53; dating ticipation by, 51-52; enserfment of, 9, 20, 77— systems of, 143; “ethnographic map” of, 184— 78, 98, 210; houses of, on maps, 40, 87-92, 96, 87, 189, 214, pl. 28; indigenous peoples and, 191, pl. 11; identity and, 78, 212; land and, 83— 168—69, 174-76, 181-82, 192, 196—99, pls. 25—

98, 191; mobility of, 7, 19-20, 98, 201, 212; 26; job responsibilities of, 133-34, 146; mapresistance and, 20, 32, 34-35; social relations ping traditions and, 135-37, pl. 21; natural with landholders of, 51-54, 95-96, 98; subject- world described by, 128, 129, 138-45; place hood and, 11, 86; as witnesses, 78—83, 87, 95, names used by, 183, 186-87; violence depicted

19! by, 199-200. See also Chorographic Sketchbook; Reme-

Pereslavl-Zalesskii (town), 81 zov Chronicle; Sketchbook; Working Sketchbook

Peru, 237n.25 Remezov Chronicle, 151-58, 161-62, 165, 175-76, 178— Peter I, the Great, tsar, 24, 32-33, 2301.5 79, 199-200, pl. 30 Petlin, Ivan, 21, 121-22, 126—27, 188 Rowland, Daniel, 13, 228n.42

“place,” 9, 58-59, 196 runes, 143-44

place names, 66—67, 122, 181, 183, 186—87, 211 Ruza Province, 34, 222.47

plantation maps. See estate maps, Anglo- Rybakov, B. A., 17 American

Pleshcheev, Grigori, 68—69 Sahlins, Peter, 186, 188

Potarkov, Vasilii, 198 Said, Edward, 29

Pokrov Convent (Iurev Polskoi Province), 84 Saint Nicholas the Miracle Worker Church (pusPokrovskii Convent (Suzdal Province), 60—61, tosh’ site), 70, pl. §

79, 81 Saints Kos'ma and Dem'ian Church (Kashira), Poland, 21 75-76 Polivkin, Shumilo, 83 saints’ lives, 116

INDEX 261

scale, use of, 3, 23 maps and, 31-32; boundaries of empire and, School of Numbers and Land Measurement, 24 186—90; cadastral surveys and, 18—19; indige-

Scott, James C., 19-20 nous peoples and, 182—86, 190—91; landholdSeed, Patricia, 159-60, 214, 236n.4 ers obligations and, 35-36; power of maps

Seleznev, Andrei, 42 and, 5—6, 25-28, 29-32, 54-56, 98; property “Sermon on Life and Death” icon, 11 maps and, 31, 37, 49, 53, 54; resistance to, 32— Serpukhov (town), 45, 77, 89-91, pl.10 35, 49; Soviet Union and, 192-93 Service Lands Chancellery, 2-3, 22, 36-37, 47-48 Steinberg, Saul, 133

Shaklovity1, Liubim, 103 Stepan's Stone, 14 Shchekin, Mikita, 44 Stotanov, Afonka, 85—86 Shershavino (village), 87, pl. 11 Stroganov, Grigorit Anikievich, 119, 200-201 Siberia, 3, 5, 120; expansion into, 21, 177-23, 132, Stroganov Chronicle, 151, 154, 158, 162 137-38, 149-61, 200-201; Godunov Map of, 21, — subjecthood: Muscovites and, 10—11, 86, 212-13; 130—31, 184, 188, pl. 18; land ownership claims in Siberia, 11, 121, 165-70, 192—93, 194-08,

in, 172, 191-92; legalism in, 205—6; mapping 204-9, 212-13 of, 122-23, 126, 135, 214; natural world context Suny, Ronald, 184 of, 118, 123-32, 138-48, 158-59; Remezov's vi- Suzdal Province, 37-38, 47, 60-61, 67, 79 sion of, 138-45; 1673 map of, 131-32, 159, pl. 19; Sweden, 21 subjecthood in, 1, 121, 165-70, 192—93, 194-98,

204-9, 212—13. See also indigenous peoples “Table or Description of The Muscovite Princi-

Siberian Chancellery, 119, 137, 163 pality...”, 136-37, pl. 22

Siverskoe Lake, 14 “Tale of Shemiaka’s Judgment,” 51 Sketchbook (Remezov ), 27—28, 133, 135, 141 “Tataria or the Realm of the Great Khan” map, sketch maps (chertezhi), 4; authors of, 22-24, 38, 134, 136 40, 43-44, 46, 55, 100-102, 104; cardinal direc- _ taxes: tasak (fur tribute), 121, 150, 163, 187, 201-2,

tions on, 3, 23, pl. 1; as cultural metaphors, 2, 206-7; land ownership and, 35-36, 85-87, 95 5-8; format of, 3, 62; imagery on, 3, 23, 38-45, | _Tetiurka Grove. See Koriakin, Nikifor, case of

70-71, 87, 102—6, 109, pls. 2, 6-7, 11-15; mate- (1674)

rials used for, 23; measurements on, 23, Thyrét, Isolde, 229.53 221n.24; orientation on, 3, 23, 127, 135, pl. 27; Tikhonov Monastery (Kaluga Province), 73-75, perspective of, 182-83; power of, 5—6, 19, 25— 85 28, 29-32, 54-56, 98. See also administrative Tits, A. A,, 15

maps; property maps Tobol River, 128, 175, 182, 200, 207-8, pls. 17, 25, Skrypitsyn, Turi, case of, 48, 92, pl. 5 27, 31 slaves, 86-87, 92-94, 96, 162, I91, 212 Tobolsk (city), 133, 138-41, pls. 18, 20, 23, 27

Slezkine, Yuri, 118, 153, 166, 176 Tolpygino (village), 68 Sluzhebnaia chertezhnaia kniga. See Working Sketchbook topographical maps, 18

(Remezov) Torzhok (town), 44

Smith, John, 181-82 Traub, Valerie, 236n.20

59 234N.28 Soja, Edward, 78, 98 148

Smolianin, Andrei, 75-76, 77 Traurnicht, D., 129

Snovitskit Monastery (Iurev Polskoi Province), “Tree of the Muscovite State” tcon, 111, 115,

social relations, 51-54, 95-96, 98, 203 trees, imagery of, 23, 38, 87, 106, 109-13, 115,

Solov'ev, Vladimir, 8 Trinity Belopesotsko1 Monastery. See Kashira

South America, 178, 214 (town)

Soviet Union, 192-93 Trinity Monastery (Dmitrov Province), 79-80, “space, 6-8, 30, 58-59, 78, 210-14, 224.37 pl. 8

Spafarit (Nikolai Milescu), 27, 122, 127-28 Trinity-St. Sergius Monastery: Bezhetsk DisSpain, 27, 171-72, 178, 181, 214, 2371.25 trict, 85; Iurev Polskoi Province, 63, 65; Kaluga Spaso-Prilutskit Monastery, peasants of, 225.66 Province, 68, pl. 4

Stadukhin, Mikhail, 129 truth, search for, 46-47, 50, 60

Staraia Rusa (town), 71 Tselykovskii, Kiril, 44

Starorusskii Province, 61-62, 221n.30 Tsyzyrev, Maksim, 32-33 state building and centralization: administrative Tuan, Yi-Fu, 58, 224.37, 226n.8

262 INDEX

Tumka River, 60—61, 224.53 Vladimir (province and town), 46, 67-68, 70

Tunguska River, 207 Voeikov, Pan'ka. See Konopleev cousins, case of

Tungus Ruver, 127 Voluika (town), 75 Turnbull, David, 15 Voronezh (town), 77

Tver Province, 14, 17 Vysotskit Monastery: Serpukhov, 45, 77, 87, 89— g1, pl. 10; Borovsk, pl. 1

Uglich (town), 34, 39, 43, 68, 87, pls. 2, 11

Ugra River, 73-74 Weickhardt, George, 205 Ukrainian territories, 19, 21, 32 West, Joseph, estate of, 94

Ushakov, Dmitri, 43 West Indies, British, 93-94 Ushakov, Simon, 111, 115, 234.28 wilderness. See empty lands “Wise Thief in Paradise” icon, 10—11 Varsunofu, Metropolitan. See Zhdanov, Stepan, Working Sketchbook (Remezov), 133-34, 137-45, 199,

case of pl. 30

Vasil'ev, Andrei, 69

Vasilev, Fedka, 44 Zabore (village), 89 Vasilii HI, tsar, 16 Zagore (town), 39, 42 Vedernitsyn, Afanaset, 81 Zaikin, Stenka, 91

Vel'iaminoy, Ivan, governor of Serpukhov, 90-91 ~~ Zemtsov, Aleksei. See Zhdanov, Stepan, case of

Venezuela, 180—81 Zertsalov, Master, 24 Vepreika River, 73-74 Zhdanov, Stepan, case of, 38, 39-41, 48, 60—61, Viazma Province, 70—71 66, 102

Vinius, A. A., 24, 28, 196 Zlata Baba (Golden Woman) figure, 136, 232 n.61,

Virginia, 181-82 pl. 22

Vitiazev, Vas'ka, 207 Zvenigorod Province, 222.47

INDEX 2.63