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Romantic historicism presupposes the idea of the uniqueness of the past, explaining the past within its own peculiar context, as well as the belief that the present emerges from the past in a process of organic growth and development. A corollary to historicism is the comparison between the past and the present, which can be implicit when it is left to the reader to draw conclusions or explicit when it is openly made by the author (Mann, Poetika, 310; Dolinin, Istoriia, odetaia v roman, 190–91). Numerous explicit comparisons found in the novels of the period represent yet another version of “interrupting the puppet show” by signaling the presence of the author, as well as by creating distance between the time of narration and that of the action in order to dispel the illusion of immersion into history created by exotic descriptions. Costumes, Customs, and Mores The romantic fixation on local color—geographical and cultural exoticism—is well known. Traveling back in time, romantics displayed an equal fascination with historical color, whose most obvious manifestation was in the material realia of bygone epochs. Starting with Scott, novelists of the period indulged in archaeological extravaganzas, which became an indispensable attribute of the genre. Heavy borrowing of antiquarian details from histories and other readily available outside sources prompted accusations of compilation as well as self-conscious responses, as in the following digression in Polevoi’s Oath: “If we wanted to dazzle with archaeological knowledge, it would be easy for us to select from old chronicles and notes the names of various dishes 55 3  The Changing and the Unchanged that made up the diet of our ancestors. The more diªcult and obscure the names, the more readers would wonder at our great erudition and expertise concerning Russian antiquities” (Kliatva, 419). Veltman likewise complains about abuses of antiquarian paraphernalia, although he characteristically utilizes the occasion to compile his own catalogue of exotic objects: “Let us turn to that curious time with which invention plays at will, dressing it in many-colored clothing, in a pelisse, with a quiver, in armor and breastplates, pulling a red cap over its head and an iron hat, showering it with gold, silver, pearls, precious and semiprecious stones and jewels, and ornamenting it with beads, seating it on a horse, arming it with spears, swords, kolantyrs, daggers, boidans, battle-axes, sabers, shereshirs, arrows, clubs, maces, cudgels, flails, etc.” (104). Customs and rituals are another favorite component of historical color. As with the depiction of material culture, here the dominant attitude is sheer fascination with the exotic world of the past. Matters get more complicated when mores are involved. A common topic is the crudeness and cruelty of bygone epochs. For example, here is how Zagoskin praises the relative humanism of his Cossack character: “Kirsha was a daring horseman, loved to brawl, drink, indulge in drunken violence . . . but even in the very heat of battle he would spare an unarmed enemy and would not amuse himself with prisoners like his mates would; in other words, he did not cut o¤ their ears or their noses but would content himself with stealing everything from the victim but the shirt on his back and let him go” (Iurii Miloslavskii, 130). Clearly the practice of mutilating prisoners—admittedly a “colorful” detail of the epoch—cannot be treated with the same antiquarian admiration as the magnificent attire of ancient warriors. To solve the problem romantic authors usually employ a “dual focus,” as does Lazhechnikov, who describes the ruthless manner of waging war during the reign of Peter the Great: “The nighttime silence was broken by the cries of citizens who had been robbed, lost the roofs over their heads, and been taken captive by the thousands. That was the manner in which the Russians of the day waged war, or, to be more precise, such was their policy, namely, to turn a conquered land into a barren steppe, to strip the enemy of any means of supporting himself on this land; it was a cruel policy excused only by the time!” (Poslednii novik, 318). On the one hand, Lazhechnikov uses a synchronous scale, explaining brutality in terms of the epoch. On the other, he applies a diachronic perspective , condemning brutality from the standpoint of his own time. The ratio between these two approaches varies from author to author, as does the attitude toward the idiosyncrasies of the past. Lazhechnikov is often openly 56 the changing and the unchanged [3.137.221...

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