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V. A. Serov, “Untitled drawing” in Жупель (Zhupel), 1905. From Russian Satirical Journals Collection, USC Libraries

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V. A. Serov, “Untitled drawing” in Жупель (Zhupel), 1905

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V. A. Serov, “Untitled drawing” in Жупель (Zhupel), 1905

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Serov’s drawing appeared in the 1905 edition of Zhupel. The drawing takes place in St. Petersburg in winter, and depicts a cavalry unit rushing towards a group of unarmed civilians, with the leader of the charge shouting, “Soldiers, brave lads! Where is your glory?” This drawing is a clear reference to the “Bloody Sunday” of January 9th, 1905, that took place at the Winter Palace in St. Petersburg. Bloody Sunday would quickly lead to widespread workers’ strikes, and even some military units mutinied as well. While Serov’s drawing is a somber reflection of a horrible event, the drawing is also a satirical take on the massacre as well. It portrays the soldiers as taking part in a glorious charge, as the caption tells us, but here is where the irony of the drawing lays, as it is clear that they are charging against a crowd of unarmed civilians, dressed in Sunday clothing. The drawing is then a poignant criticism of the soldiers that fired upon the crowd in St. Petersburg on January 9th, highlighting the ridiculous irony of such an event. Serov’s drawing is almost funny in its absurdity, as it portrays a gallant cavalry unit, imbued with the glory and honor of the great wars of olden times, charging mercilessly against a standstill crowd of civilians. The style of the drawing itself is smooth, loose, with the fuzzy look of early 20th century modernism, and it gives enough ambiguity to the scene to let viewers focus more on its message and the emotions evoked from the poses of the figures. The drawing feels quickly made, and it portrays a scene of great movement, and so further lends to the revolutionary feelings of 1905, as great change was beginning to sweep Russia. As such, this drawing fits well into the idea of “intellectual rebellion” in Russian history, as it labors to show and criticize so much during a time of great uncertainty and excitement.

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A. Lubimov, “Звездная палата (Zvezdnaya palata)” in Лѣшій (Leshii), 1906. From Russian Satirical Journals Collection, USC Libraries

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A. Lubimov, “Звездная палата (Zvezdnaya palata)” in Лѣшій (Leshii), 1906

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A. Lubimov, “Звездная палата (Zvezdnaya palata)” in Лѣшій (Leshii), 1906

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This drawing by Lubimov appeared in the 1906 edition of Leshii. The title of the work, Zvezdnaya palata, is translated as “star-chamber”, which is a metaphorical term applied to bodies of government that are oppressive, corrupt, and ineffective. Lubimov’s drawing is a clear criticism of the Duma, which by 1906 had been formed and subsequently dissolved by Nicholas II. The figures pictured seem to be of the noble class, with one Orthodox priest crying and praying on the top left. The drawing style of the figures themselves is illuminating. The old man with bony, pimpled skin, the incredibly large man with a comically large saber, and the man on the telephone, breaking a chair, are all not–so-subtle ways of portraying the “leading men” of Russia as complete buffoons. The irony of the drawing itself is that it is completely unclear what is being discussed in this “star-chamber”. It feels as though there is nothing really being done; men are yelling, pointing, praying, breaking things, etc., while, most interestingly, there is the figure of a man being hung in the top left of the drawing. All of the elements of this drawing point to a perceived pointlessness, futility, and showmanship of the first Duma (especially with regards to the oversized epaulets on the men), and perhaps relating to its dissolution as well, as all of the grandiose actions and images from the drawing would of course be for nothing. This drawing fits into the theme of “intellectual rebellion”, as it is a poignant and unrelenting attack portraying one perspective on how the Duma was observed by Russians. Furthermore, it fits within this theme because it was published within a satirical journal, which allowed for this drawing to be circulated, laughed at, and discussed by people who probably were excited to see such a ridiculous yet cutting portrayal of the noblemen within the ineffective first Duma.

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Nikolai Ge, Portrait of Mykola Kostomarov, 1870. Oil on canvas. Tretyakov Gallery.

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Mykola Ge, Portrait of Mykola Kostomarov, 1870

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Mykola Ge, Portrait of Mykola Kostomarov, 1870

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This portrait of Mykola Kostomarov (1817-1885) was completed in 1870 by Nikolai Ge (1831-1894). Kostomarov was a professor of history at Kiev university, and he is well known for his Books of the Genesis of the Ukrainian People, a work that proposed the idea of Ukrainians being of a separate nationality than the contemporary notion of a “tripartite” state consisting of Belarusians, Ukrainians, and Russians. He was also one of the founding members of a secret brotherhood that discussed the possibilities of a Ukrainian government that acted autonomously. Kostomarov was arrested by Tsar Nicholas’ Third Section, and was imprisoned and then exiled for his “radical” ideas concerning the problems with the doctrine of a tripartite Russian nationality. Nikolai Ge was a Russian painter, and painted other Russian intellectuals, such as Alexander Herzen, Alexei Potekhin, and Ivan Tergenev. This painting of Kostomarov is different from the previously analyzed works in this project. Kostomarov himself looks warm, with the slightest hint of a smile underneath his whiskers. His dress is simple, and the background is a simple shade of gray. The portrait itself is not imposing, and not indicative of sorrow, anger, intellectual fury, or any other “radical” or slightly uncomfortable emotion associated with other contemporary intellectuals. It is, in some ways, a reflection of Kostomarov’s writings and ideas; whilst going against the grain of Nicholas I’s idea of a tripartite Russian nation, the idea that Ukrainians should be considered different, culturally speaking, from Russians, is not the same as Shamil’s violent resistance to Russian imperialism. Quite the contrary, this portrait of Kostomarov portrays a tranquil, thoughtful man, one that has done his time in service for his ideas and for the Ukrainian people.

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Franz Roubaud, Study of Imam Shamil (1797-1871) for 'The surrender of aul Gunib and imprisonment of Imam Shamil on 25 August 1859, 1886. Charcoal on paper.

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Study of Imam Shamil for 'The surrender of aul Gunib and imprisonment of Imam Shamil, 1886

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Study of Imam Shamil for 'The surrender of aul Gunib and imprisonment of Imam Shamil, 1886

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This charcoal drawing of Imam Shamil (1797-1871) was sketched by Franz Roubad in 1886. Imam Shamil remains one of the most famous Caucausian “mountaineers” to lead an organized resistance against Russian occupation in the north Caucasus. He advocated (and fought for) Sufi Islam, a sect of Islam that supported holy war against infidels the imposition of laws based upon Islam teachings only. Essentially, Sufi Islam, as preached by Shamil, was an extreme, and temporarily effective, method of protesting the Russian occupation of the Caucasus. Shamil was forced into surrendering in 1859, however his short role as a leader against Russian imperialism has cemented his place as an anti-Russian revolutionary in the minds of many. The artist of the sketch itself, Franz Roubaud, completed this work nearly thirty years after Shamil’s imprisonment, and was himself born in 1856 in Odessa. However, the sketch is notable in the theme of “intellectual rebellion” against the Russian empire because of how it portrays such a notable figure in anti-Russian history. One of Roubaud’s most famous works is his panoramic Siege of Sevastopol, but Roubaud also painted many depictions of Caucasian mountaineers. In this sketch, Shamil is not in battle, heroically fighting off Russians from his homeland, but he is instead standing in a resigned posture, gravely staring ahead at the abyss in front of him. Compared to other depictions of Shamil, especially those that praised his military abilities, this sketch is somber, humbling, and is meant to portray a feeling of pity for the once-powerful resistor of Russian rule. By sketching Shamil in such a way, one sees a man that had fought for what he believed in, fought against Imperial rule, and is now faced with surrender, utter defeat, the death of the soul. It is a notable sketch because it portrays such a revolutionary figure at the end of his resistance, and could have the effect of inspiring frustration and anger towards the Empire that crushed such a man in such a way.

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Unknown author, Portrait of Alexander Radishchev, before 1790. Oil on canvas. Place: Alexander Radishchev Art Museum, Saratov. https://www.culture-images.de/ci-

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Portrait of Alexander Radishchev, before 1790

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Portrait of Alexander Radishchev, before 1790

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Alexander Radishchev is one of the most important figures of 18th century Russian literature; his 1790 work A Journey from St. Petersburg to Moscow was one of the first highly critical works of the Russian Empire under Catherine the Great. His work was based in realism, and was a poignant critique of serfdom, of state censorship, and of the human cost of the countless territorial wars waged by the Empire.

In the thread of realism, the portrait that I have selected to analyze is indicative of an honest member of Russian intellectual circles, and is generally unpresuming, given Radishchev’s critical and highly “revolutionary” observations of Russia. In the portrait, there is no background, his dress is stately but humble. In many ways, the portrait itself, albeit undated, shares an interesting resemblance with Radishchev’s critiques of his contemporary Russia. There is no attempt to glorify himself in this portrait, as in his work, there is no attempt to glorify or look past the glaringly appalling aspects of the Russian empire. Radischev refers to nobles that owned peasants as “morally base” in their treatment of men and women as cattle, whereas contemporary authors, such as Gavrila Romanovich Derzhavin, wrote various praises and odes to the Russian Empire and its place in the Enlightenment era. The portrait is also notable for its resemblance to many other portraits of Russian noblemen at the time; one would not think that this man would be exiled for radical criticisms of Catherine’s regime. In many ways, the Portrait of Alexander Radishchev is remarkable for its unimposing caricature of a man’s legacy and rebellion against state censorship, and a portrait that portrays much by showing very little. The abstraction and minimalism that is exhibited in the portrait does much to illustrate Radishchev’s humble sacrifice for the expounding of his criticisms of contemporary Russia.

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Orest Kiprensky, Portrait of Alexander Pushkin, 1827

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Orest Kiprensky, Portrait of Alexander Pushkin, 1827

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This oil painting of Alexander Pushkin was completed in 1827. Pushkin is regarded as one of Russia’s finest poets, and served as a source of creative inspiration for later Russian writers such as Dostoevsky, Tolstoy, and others. In 1826, one year prior to this portrait, Pushkin had just returned from a four-year exile in southern Russia as a result of his more “radical” prose. I have chosen to analyze this image through the theme of intellectual “rebellion” in the Russian Empire, as it is a theme that has been prominent within Russia throughout its history. This portrait of Pushkin certainly seeks to show him as a young, unkempt intellectual. Pushkin’s hair, unruly and resembling wisps of clouds or waves crashing along a coast, stands out, as do his prominent side whiskers. Indeed, Pushkin himself was seen as a passionate romantic and critic of Russia, as he was exiled for four years by Alexander I for his writing, such as Ode to Liberty, and some of his more public displays of discontent with the Tsar and his censorship. As for his clothing, it is simple, utilitarian, yet also elegant and lending more to his air of intellectualism. One may associate it with long, cold, hazy nights in a Petersburg salon, or with a thought-filled walk along the Neva on a dark, lonesome night. The portrait, as a whole, portrays a young man occupied with thoughts, passions, and vigor. By the time of this portrait’s completion, Nicholas I had become Tsar of Russia. Lending to Pushkin’s air of intellectual power and “danger” to the Russian state’s image, and continuing along Alexander’s censorship of the arts, Nicholas spoke with Pushkin in 1826, informing the latter that his work would be subject to the Tsar’s approval. The Portrait of Alexander Pushkin serves as an artifact of a young, critical Russian intellectual, in a time of state censorship and empirical expansion.