Notes I made as I read this excellent book — I’d imagine they are fairly pointless and boring to read!
The Volga has long been a symbol of division in Russia: between west and east; between Orthodox Christianity and Islam; between ‘civilisation’ and the ‘barbarism’ which was perceived by the tsars. There’s a famous legend of Ivan the Terrible whipping the waters of the river and watching welts and blood rise from its surface as he attempted to tame it. He and later tsars used the whip in a more literal fashion in their attempts to subjugate the wild regions which had come into their possession.
The 16th century saw ‘deliberate acts of internal colonization’ undertaken by Ivan IV and later tsars ‘to establish their authority over their new lands.’ Newly-build forts and churches were the overt symbols of Russian authority. Although violence was a useful tool, the Russians’ appropriation of these lands was not always achieved under such duress. Rulers often aimed to assimilate these people, offering elite members of indigenous communities, particularly Tatars, the position of ‘loyal subjects of the tsar’.
The imposition of Christianity was another method of subjugation. Converting people living in the middle and lower Volga regions from their pagan or Muslim faiths to Christianity was a useful way to establish power and control. Peter the Great ‘took a more active role in the policy of conversion’ than his predecessors. He used tax relief and exemption from conscription as incentives for Muslims to shun what he called the ‘disgusting faith of Muhammad’. Hartley offers a wealth of evidence to suggest that many of these acts of conversion were really nothing of the sort: Tatars and pagan people would pay lip service to acts of Christian ceremony while maintaining devotion to their own gods.
Pandemics ripped through the region regularly, with some diseases killing up to 90% of those infected. These often began in lower Volga cities like Astrakhan: a ‘perfect breeding ground for plague’ because of its ‘crowded conditions, poor sanitation, stagnant water in the town, a canal system that ran throughout the town and into which raw sewage was dumped, and warm and often moist climate’. After this, disease would spread up the river on trading vessels. The authorities’ attempts to contain outbreaks were broadly reminiscent of our current attempts to restrict the transmission of coronavirus. They were about as successful too.
Hartley charts the changing ways in which writers and painters have portrayed the river. 19th century Russian writers were often ‘defensive of the Russian landscape,’ asserting that it was ‘better and more spectacular’ than the views elsewhere in Europe. In 1838, Nicholas I commissioned landscape painters to create an ‘enormous panorama’, offering a ‘full river experience’ of the Volga. Tourism followed with guidebooks extolling a river where ‘everything is natural and everything is beautiful in its natural state.’
Later, ‘in the wake of the abolition of serfdom,’ artists became more ‘woke’ to the suffering of the people. Nekrasov’s poem ‘Thoughts on a Vestibule’ (composed just before the abolition) examined the agony experienced by the boat haulers, describing how their suffering mirrored ‘the immense grief of our people’ which ‘inundates our land.’ Repin’s famous depiction of the same occupation, painted in the early 1870s is ‘a wonderful example of realist painting and a compelling social critique.’
The outbreak of World War One was one of many periods which illustrate the uneasy relationship between Russian authorities and their non-Russian citizens. Questions of loyalty were raised of the huge numbers of German colonists and Muslim Tatars and there was a ‘heavy handed reaction by the state authorities,’ involving the arrests of prominent Muslims and the deportation of a German professor who was suspected of espionage. Interestingly, after the revolution of 1917, it was precisely these communities which were least enthusiastic about it, yearning for the original Imperial authority and fearing the ‘rule of the people’.
In the years immediately following the revolution, the Volga region was ‘at the forefront of the conflict in the Civil War.’ The infrastructure of the region was devastated: ‘almost all the bridges over the river were destroyed’ and ‘life in the towns deteriorated so badly that many workers abandoned them and fled to the countryside.’ The upper decks of steamers ‘which had once been the promenades of holiday-seeking Russian aristocrats were covered with miscellaneous rags and bundles’ belonging to refugees.
People suspected of belonging to the ‘bourgeoisie’ were often rounded up and forced onto barges. The vessels were left in the middle of the river, sometimes for months, and their inhabitants were threatened with execution if they attempted escape. Others were forced to live in basements or in ‘hovels on the outskirts of towns’.
Peasants who had seized the land which was previously owned by the nobility had it taken back by the Bolsheviks. Their grain was also requisitioned. This led to violent clashes: the Bolsheviks ‘found themselves in effect fighting a civil war against the peasants.’ It was a war they would win. Stalin’s policy of mass collectivization, begun in 1929, tragically exacerbated the situation for peasants, creating the famine which is brilliantly documented in Applebaum’s Red Famine.
The devastation wrought upon Volga towns — particularly Stalingrad — is well documented here and elsewhere. After World War II, a massive drive to rebuild was instigated. Huge infrastructure projects were planned and completed: ‘a massive series of hydroelectric stations, dams and locks’ were planned to ‘provide water for the new cities and stimulate industrial growth.’ While bringing economic stability, these projects also had ‘devastating consequences for the environment,’ particularly in the case of the Caspian Sea.
The only time I’ve seen the river myself was when I visited Nizhny Novgorod in (I think) 2010. The city stands at the point where the Volga and Oka rivers converge. It’s an awesome sight. On its banks, I observed the contrast between the clean lines and marbled slopes on my side and the battered, abandoned factories across the river. I was accosted by members of the now-defunct pro-Putin Nashi youth group and stopped and searched by the police. I escaped unscathed, physically and ideologically.
