Plotting History: The Russian Historical Novel in the Imperial Age

2. Fact and Fiction in the Romantic Novel

Despite their diversity, historical novels of the period share a number of essential traits. On the most obvious level, this is reflected in recurrent formulas, narrative devices, character types, plot components, motifs, and other frequently overused commonplaces that gave rise to parodies akin to Marlinsky’s samovar-propelled novel machine described in the previous chapter.1 Beneath the surface, however, these similarities can be explained by pointing to the cardinal features of romanticism, thus enabling us to discern the general poetics of the romantic historical novel. Despite a certain consensus achieved in recent decades, the term “romantic,” which can be defined both broadly and narrowly, remains elusive.2 By applying this term to a large group of works, I do not wish to imply that each aspect of a given novel is necessarily romantic or that a given author should be described as a full-fledged romantic . However, with respect to the mode of interaction between fact and fiction, one can speak of a distinctive romantic paradigm underlying the historical novel as a genre. This paradigm emerges as a corollary to the basic binary oppositions of romanticism: (1) the binary picture of the world (romantic dvoemirie/Doppelwelt), with the contradiction between objective and subjective truths and the ensuing romantic irony; (2) a related opposition between the history of fact and that of legend and lore. True/False: The Game of Self-Validation and Invalidation By examining the ways in which novelists of the period deal with historical facts, one can discover a crucial common feature. On the one hand, these writers strive to create a world of historical verisimilitude, convincing the 40 2
 Fact and Fiction in the Romantic Novel reader that their rendering of the past is accurate. They tend to flaunt their historical and antiquarian erudition, often describing their meticulous preparation in a preface, and frequently supply their novels with quasi-academic notes. The novelists also try to be as accurate as possible in reconstructing customs, mores, and material realia of the past. On the other hand, these writers feel themselves at liberty to alter or suppress evidence pertaining to historical events and chronology. At the same time, they interject overt or thinly disguised self-refutations and disclaimers. As a result, the novels are permeated by a contradictory drive on the part of their authors, who both validate and invalidate the historical trustworthiness of their creations. Rather frequent are open disclaimers in a foreword, afterword, or notes, where writers confess their transgressions against history and outline how things were in reality. This device is employed extensively by Walter Scott, who pedantically points to anachronisms and other instances of historical license in his novels.3 For instance, Scott’s Rob Roy is supplied with a lengthy historical introduction revealing that the actual Rob Roy was less noble and romantic than his fictional counterpart. Moreover, his role in the rebellion was not as significant as that portrayed in the novel. An overt disclaimer is found in the very first Russian historical novel, Zagoskin’s Yury Miloslavsky, whose plot revolves around the protagonist’s unfortunate oath of allegiance to Wladyslaw, the Polish crown prince. At the beginning of the novel Yury sets out for Nizhny Novgorod with the important mission of informing the city’s residents that the Muscovites have recognized Wladyslaw as their tsar. According to an explicit indication in the opening chapter, this occurs in April 1612. However, as Zagoskin himself concedes in an endnote, Moscow had already sworn allegiance to Wladyslaw in 1610; by 1612 this fact was known throughout Russia. Yury’s mission could therefore not have taken place in reality. Zagoskin adds: “The author confesses to these anachronisms” (283). A similar disclaimer is found in Zagoskin’s second novel, Roslavlev, where the anachronism concerns the participation of the “Taciturn Oªcer” (based on Captain Figner) in the siege of Danzig (288). In the introduction to Mazepa Faddei Bulgarin (Zagoskin’s literary foe) also acknowledgeshis sins against chronology more generally by confessing that “the exact chronological order of the events was not followed ” (369). Lazhechnikov points out in a note to his Last Page that the attempt to stop the Swedes from fleeing at Hummelshof was made not by the novel’s fictional heroes but by a historical character (295). In Leonid Rafail Zotov confesses that a conspiracy of Bonapartists to assassinate Alexander was afoot not in 1814 but rather in 1819 (573). Similar confessions abound in fact and fiction in the romantic novel...