Women's Day Revolution

“The days of the revolution. Filling out police travel documents”

Everyone knows when the October Revolution was. In November. But when was the February Revolution, which preceded it? Naturally, in March. Namely on March 8, Women’s Day.

Demonstration of the female workers of the Putilov Plant in Petrograd (today St. Petersburg) on 8 March 1917 (according to the Julian calendar, 22 February). The banners read: “Feed the children of the defenders of the motherland!” “Increase payments to the soldiers’ families – defenders of freedom and world peace!”

Women’s Day was first held on 8 March exactly a century ago, in 1914. Although female workers all over America and Europe had celebrated it since 1908 on one of the first Sundays of March, increasingly linking it to the clamor for women’s voting rights, this fell on 8 March for the first time in 1914, on the eve of World War I. And for the second time in 1917, on the eve of the revolution.

On that Sunday nearly fifty thousand female workers of Petrograd – the places of the men who had been called up were largely occupied by women in most factories – took to the streets, demanding bread and the end of the war. The protests continued the next day, and on the third day all the Petrograd plant workers went on strike. The Duma vainly sought help from the Tsar on the front, but he did not perceive the danger, and furiously dissolved the Duma. The troops ordered to defend the capital were increasingly sympathetic to the protesters. On 13 March, recalling the practice of the revolution of 1905, workers’ and soldiers’ councils were formed. At the request of the Duma representatives, the Tsar resigned, and a provisional government was established. And ten day later, Germany, to further destabilize the situation in Russia, sent home from Swiss exile, with German passports and at German state expense, Lenin and his companions, who in the April theses proclaimed the continuation of the revolution until the final victory of communism.

“The days of the revolution. The sleigh-car of the former Tsar”

The following 54 photos, documenting the first, hectic days of the February Revolution, were only recently published on the internet. The originals are preserved in the Russian State Museum of Political History, and according to the meagre data available, they come from Ion Dicescu’s collection.

“23 March. The funeral of the victims of the revolution. An overall picture of the flags”

Ion Dicescu, Russian name Ivan Osipovich Dik (1893-1938), was born the son of a house-painter in Bucharest. At the age of 18 he joined the Social Democratic Party, and became a journalist for the party’s newspaper. In 1916, when Romania entered WWI, he fought in Transylvania. He was wounded during the retreat, and he was treated in one of the Romanian field hospitals established in allied Russia. At the beginning of 1917 he was taken to St. Petersburg, where he got in contact with the Bolshevik Party. In April he joined the party, and became a journalist for Pravda. From the October Revolution on he fought with the Red Guards. In 1924, together with other Romanian communists in exile, he made a formal proposal for establishing the Soviet Socialist Republic of Moldova, which at that time was only a narrow strip – roughly today’s Transdnistrian Republic – in preparation for the re-annexation of Romanian Bessarabia. In 1938, he was executed on charges of spying.

The photos preserved in the so-called Dicescu collection were probably not taken by Dicescu himself. Their excellent compositions speak of first-rate press photographers, of which – as we will later write – there were more than one in St. Petersburg at the beginning of the century. The captions written on the pictures might suggest that they are editorial duplicates of press photos made or sold to Pravda. It would be worth checking to see if they were published in Pravda or in other dailies. It is certain that after the October Revolution some of them were published in postcard format. But about this we will write more in a subsequent post.

“The days of the revolution. Nevsky Prospect”

“23 March. The funeral of the victims of the revolution. Funeral procession on the Nevsky Prospect.” The banner reads: “You fell victim in the fatal combat”, the opening verse of the workers’ funeral march. On its various versions see our earlier post.

“The days of the revolution. Barricades on the Liteyny Prospect”

La Revolución del Día de la Mujer

«Los días de la revolución. Rellenando documentos policiales de viaje»

Todo el mundo sabe cuándo fue la Revolución de Octubre. En noviembre. Pero ¿cuándo fue la Revolución de Febrero que la precedió? En marzo, por supuesto. Exactamente el 8 de marzo, el Día de la Mujer.

Manifestación de las trabajadoras de la planta Putilov de Petrogrado (hoy San Petersburgo) el 8 de marzo de 1917 (según el calendario juliano, 22 de febrero). Las pancartas dicen: «¡Alimentad a los hijos de los defensores de la patria!» «¡Subid el sueldo a las familias de los soldados – defensores de la libertad y la paz mundial!»

El Día de la Mujer se celebró por primera vez el 8 de marzo de hace exactamente un siglo, en 1914. A pesar de que las mujeres trabajadoras a lo largo de Estados Unidos y Europa lo celebraban desde 1908 en uno de los primeros domingos del mes de marzo, vinculándolo cada vez más al clamor por los derechos de voto de las mujeres, cayó el 8 de marzo por primera vez en 1914, en vísperas de la Primera Guerra Mundial, y por segunda vez en 1917, en vísperas de la revolución.

Aquel domingo casi cincuenta mil trabajadoras de Petrogrado —los puestos de los hombres reclutados los ocupaban principalmente las mujeres en la mayoría de fábricas— salieron a la calle, exigiendo pan y el final de la guerra. Las protestas continuaron al día siguiente, y al tercer día todos los trabajadores de la planta de Petrogrado se declararon en huelga. La Duma buscó en vano la ayuda del zar en el frente, quien sin percibir el peligro disolvió la Duma airadamente. Las tropas organizadas para defender la capital se mostraban cada vez más favorables a los manifestantes. El 13 de marzo, recordando la práctica de la revolución de 1905, se formaron consejos de trabajadores y soldados. A petición de los representantes de la Duma, el zar abandonó y se estableció un gobierno provisional. Y diez días después Alemania, para desestabilizar aún más la situación en Rusia, enviaba a casa desde el exilio suizo, con pasaportes alemanes y a expensas del Estado alemán, a Lenin y sus compañeros que en las tesis de abril proclamaron el mantenimiento de la revolución hasta la victoria final del comunismo.

«Los días de la revolución. El coche-trineo del antiguo zar»

Las siguientes cincuenta y cuatro fotos, que documentan los primeros, agitados días de la Revolución de Febrero, se han publicado solo recientemente en Internet. Los originales se conservan en el Museo Estatal Ruso de Historia Política, y según los escasos datos disponibles, provienen de la colección de Ion Dicescu.

«23 de marzo. Funeral por las víctimas de la revolución. Visión del total de las pancartas»

Ion Dicescu, de nombre ruso Ivan Osipovich Dik (1893-1938), era hijo de un pintor de brocha gorda de Bucarest. A los dieciocho años ingresó en el Partido Socialdemócrata y se convirtió en reportero del periódico del partido. En 1916, cuando Rumania entró en la Primera Guerra Mundial, luchó en Transilvania. Fue herido durante la retirada y lo atendieron en uno de los hospitales de campaña rumanos establecidos en la aliada Rusia. A principios de 1917 fue trasladado a San Petersburgo donde entró en contacto con el Partido Bolchevique. En abril se unió al partido, y se convirtió en periodista de Pravda. Desde la Revolución de Octubre luchó con los guardias rojos. En 1924, junto con otros comunistas rumanos en el exilio, redactó una propuesta formal para el establecimiento de la República Socialista Soviética de Moldavia, que en ese momento era sólo una estrecha franja —aproximadamente la actual República de Transdnistria—, en previsión de la re-anexión de la  Besarabia rumana. En 1938, fue ejecutado por cargos de espionaje.

Las fotos que se conservan en la llamada Colección Dicescu no fueron probablemente tomadas por él mismo. Sus excelentes composiciones apuntan a fotógrafos de prensa de primera categoría, de los cuales —como veremos más adelante— había más de uno en San Petersburgo a principios de siglo. Las leyendas que acompañan a las imágenes podrían sugerir que son duplicados editoriales de fotos de prensa producidas por o vendidas a Pravda. Valdría la pena comprobar si se publicaron en Pravda o en otros diarios. Es cierto que después de la Revolución de Octubre algunas de ellas fueron publicadas en formato de tarjeta postal. Pero sobre esto escribiremos en una entrada posterior.

«Los días de la revolución. Avenida Nevsky»

«23 de marzo. Funeral por las víctimas de la revolución. Cortejo fúnebre en la Avenida Nevsky. La pancarta dice: «Cayeron víctimas en el combate mortal», versículo de inicio de la marcha fúnebre de los trabajadores. Para sus diferentes versiones, ver nuestra entrada anterior.

«Los días de la revolución. Barricadas en la Avenida Liteyny»

Gulistan

“Ask what you don’t know, for the humiliation of asking will guide you to the dignity of knowledge”
The Gulistan of Saʿdi, trans. Thackston (2008)

Gulistan – Vargaar: همساده Homsadah (Neighbors)

Those who travel the río Wang know the value of serendipity. At the end of last year in a local antique market, two documents with striking calligraphy caught my eye. A 200-year old Persian manuscript turning-up in East Yorkshire suggests an interesting journey! With the documents came a type-written letter dated 30th August 1967, from G. Meredith-Owens, Deputy Keeper of the Department of Oriental Printed Books and Manuscripts at The British Museum. It reads:

Dear Sir,

The three documents which you left in the Oriental Students’ Room are as follows:

1) Diploma from the Shah of Persia dated A.H. 1227 (A.D. 1812-13) conferring a decoration (the Order of the Lion and the Sun) on Sir Gore Ouseley (d. 1844), British Ambassador to Persia.

2) A letter (probably a copy – not the actual letter) addressed to ʿAbbās Mīrsā, Governor of Azerbaijan, by his brother. It is really a petition asking for favours from a rich relation.

3) Letter in Armenian. I am afraid that we have no full-time expert on the staff but it certainly looks as if the Italian is a translation of the letter.

I am returning the three documents by registered post.

It seems I have two of the three documents so described, but which two? The Diploma conferring the Order of the Lion and Sun on Sir Gore Ouseley and the letter in Armenian? I have nothing in Italian. While one can gather some background on Sir Gore Ouseley, information on the second document is more difficult and insight from río Wang scholars would be welcome.

The Diploma shows some water damage to one edge and appears to have been tightly folded in the past, but is otherwise in good condition. It is currently framed and behind glass, so the images below are preliminary, but legible. Enlarging the view is recommended.



Who was Sir Gore Ouseley?

Sir Gore Ouseley in 1830, with two distinguished orders (see below)

“Sir Gore Ouseley, 1st Baronet (1770-1844). In India from 1787-1806, attached to the Court of Oudh at Lucknow, 1800-4. A considerable Persian scholar. Author of Biographical Notes on Persian Poets. One of the founders of the Royal Asiatic Society.” This is how Sir Denis Wright introduces Ouseley in The English Amongst the Persians: Imperial Lives in Nineteenth-Century Iran.

Ouseley’s appointment in 1810 as ambassador to the Qajar court of Fath Ali Shah marked a shift in British interest in Persia, which hitherto had been largely left in the hands of the East India Company. Anticipating what was to become the “Great Game”, with Persia as a buffer between Russia and India, relations were now deemed too important to be left for the Company. The aims of the Company’s agents in Calcutta and the British Government in London were increasingly at variance and the appointment of Ouseley as “Ambassador Extraordinary and Plenipotentiary” at the Qajar court, was “a slap in the face” for the East India Company and a clear indication of the intention to have permanent diplomatic representation.

Banyan leaves and fruit. A watercolor from the collection of Gore Ouseley, now at Kew Gardens.

Ouseley had served in India and was proficient in Persian and Arabic and a collector of manuscripts. His instructions from the Government were all-embracing, and probably at his own instigation, included a petition to Fath Ali Shah for a grant of land on which to construct a residence appropriate to the dignity of the Ambassador in Tehran: the cost, including furnishings, was not to exceed £8,000. He was instructed to purchase manuscripts for the British Museum and seeds for Kew Gardens.

His party left England on 18 July 1810: it included Lady Ouseley and their infant daughter, his brother the scholar Sir William Ouseley as secretary and, on a second vessel, the returning Persian envoy Mirza Abdul Hasan and his Persian servants. After several port calls, they reached Bombay in January 1811. After resting and exchange of letters, they reached the port of Abu-Shahr on 1st March. The overland journey from Bushehr to Tehran was slow and arduous involving as it did Ouseley’s large ambassadorial party, replete with baggage and diplomatic gifts. It must have even harder for Lady Ouseley who gave birth to their second daughter in Shiraz! There was also continual friction on matters of protocol as this was no mere trading delegation and Ouseley “was strict in asserting the honours due to him as Ambassador and Plenipotentiary”.

British delegation at the Court of Fath Ali Shah: Gore Ouseley, John Malcolm and Harford Jones (Partial image of the Nigaristan Palace Mural, 1816-20)

On reaching Tehran, Ouseley refused to deal with Court intermediaries and was granted audience with Fath Ali Shah on 30th November 1811, within the three days that precedent demanded. Ouseley had brought from London the “Definitive Treaty”

Fath Ali Shah’s portrait in the Gulistan Palace. For more portraits of the Shah, check here

based on earlier drafting by Harford Jones. With one eye on France, it promised British assistance to Persia against European aggression, but with Napoleon checked, it was already overtaken by events, including renewed Persian hostilities with Russia. It was finally signed in March 1812.

“Upon the 25th May, 1812, the Embassy departed from Tahrán, which was an unhealthy residence during the heat of the summer, to the cooler capital Tabríz, (i.e., the city Febrifuge, or Fever-dispersing) passing through the celebrated city of Káswín. On the road, the Ambassador received information that peace had been probably concluded between England and Russia, and that a Russian diplomatist, Colonel Freygang, had arrived at Tabríz, sent by the Commander-in-Chief in Georgia to the English Embassy. This event was soon verified, and afforded facilities to Sir Gore for the commencement of negotiations for peace between Persia and Russia, through the mediation of England.” (Memoir, lxxviii).

Acting as a mediator at the request of Russians, Ouseley persuaded the Shah to accede to a treaty with Russia, the infamous Treaty of Gulistan, signed on the River Seiwa on 12 October 1813, in the village of Gulistan (today Goranboy, Azerbaijan). As Wright describes it: “The resultant Treaty of Gulistan of 12 October 1813 was a bitter blow for the Persians who were obliged to surrender virtually all their territory north of the river Aras, which became, as it has since remained, the country’s north-western boundary.” While the Caspian Sea was open to both countries commercial fleets, Russia had the exclusive right to the Caspian for its military fleet. It was not helpful when London then had second thoughts about the “Definitive Treaty” of March 1812, and renegotiated another version, duly signed in November 1814. By then, Ouseley was on his way back to London via St Petersburg. Whatever the political realities this was not a high-point of English-Persian relations and is remembered to this day. One wonders therefore, for which treaty did Sir Gore Ouseley receive the Order of the Lion and Sun? The Definitive Treaty between England and Persia of 1812 or the Gulistan Treaty between Russia and Persia of 1813?


In St Petersburg, Ouseley received the Grand Cordon of the Russian Order of St Alexander Nevsky. This medal, and that of the Order of the Lion and Sun may be the medals draped over what appears to be Ouseley’s coat-of-arms, but the date of the diploma seems problematical: nonetheless, the red-ribboned medal shown does look like the St Alexander Nevsky medal.


This somewhat primitive “miniature” may not be recognised by the College of Arms, but is rich in symbolism, not least the red-gloved hand, and is worthy of further analysis.

“According to a tradition preserved in ancient pedigrees, during many generations, in the family of Ouseley, a gallant warrior of that name had married a most beautiful young lady, named Agnes, about the period of King Edward the First, after his return from the Holy Land, marched through Shropshire to attack the Prince of Wales (sic). Ouseley being a man of some rank in that county, considered it his duty to go a day's journey to meet the King and invite him to his house, although he left his bride, even for a short time, with reluctance. Agnes, on the following day, proceeded a short distance to meet the King and her husband; but just as, accompanied by her maidens, she approached the royal party, a huge black wolf rushed out of a holly thicket and bit off her hand. So intent was the ferocious beast upon his prey, that the enraged husband was able to seize him, to strangle him in the presence of the King, and to tear his head from his body. Before this adventure, the arms of the family of Ouseley were “Or, a chevron in chief, sable;” but upon this occasion the King granted the augmentation of “three holly leaves, vert,” and added the crest of “a black wolf's head, erased, with a right hand in its mouth, couped at the wrist, gules, on a ducal coronet, with the motto. ʻMors lupi, Agnis vita;’” and it is said that there existed in a church in Shropshire a monument, containing the figures of this warrior and his lady, in which the latter was represented without the right hand.”

From “Memoir of Sir Gore Ouseley” in Biographical Notices of Persian Poets; with Critical and Explanatory Remarks by The Late Right Honourable Sir Gore Ouseley, Bart., London & Paris 1846.

Details of the Lion and Sun diploma bear some similarity to a firman in Shikasta Nastaliq script of about that period.

One of several signatures and seals from the reverse:

__________________________

Of the second document, in Armenian, nothing is known, and help would be welcome. Its association with the Persian diploma may not be accidental, the dates being the same. Being 200 years old, the style may be formal and courtly. If anyone is willing to attempt a translation of either document, please contact me via Studiolum.

“So long as you don’t speak, no-one will bother you, but when you do speak, be ready to back up what you say.”
The Gulistan of Saʿdi, trans. Thackston (2008)

Propaganda revolucionaria

«¡Ei! He dejado mi sotana, a pesar de todos mis parientes. Que Dios me condene si alguna vez
la recojo. ¡Ei! Que se haga cura quien así lo quiera.

Las revoluciones y las contrarrevoluciones han usado por igual la propaganda. Vale para sus fines todo tipo de textos e imágenes, y cada grupo social o ideológico, como hemos visto en otras ocasiones, los recicla de la manera que considera más eficaz.

Veamos aquí cinco grabados nacidos alrededor de la Revolución Francesa, de 1789 a 1795.


Marco Beasley, Accordone – Marcia delle truppe Sanfediste. Del CD Fra Diavolo: La musica nelle strade del Regno di Napoli (2010)
Versión contrarrevolucionaria de La Carmagnole, cantada en 1799 por los Sanfedisti, movimiento popular contrario a la República de Nápoles, que movilizó a los campesinos y los bandidos con el apoyo de la Iglesia. El movimiento se levantó en Calabria, bajo el mando del cardenal Ruffo y dio lugar a disturbios contra los franceses.

Los revolucionarios organizaron asambleas donde eran libres de decir lo que querían. Este
enigmático grabado (1790) muestra un club como escenario teatral. Los actores
representan un simulacro burlesco del régimen, sobre todo de la duplicidad
del rey (de ahí la referencia a Hechos 23 y al hipócrita sanedrín), con el
baile del rey en la cuerda floja asistido por un sacerdote (la Iglesia)
que sostiene la Constitución al revés. Los personajes que bailan en la
escena podrían ser ciertos aristócratas disfrazados. La mujer bien
vestida, tal vez Theroigne de Méricourt, dirige la orquesta con
ayuda de dos asistentes. El público, cautivado,
aguarda el desenlace.

Después de 1792, las guerras —tanto civil como externa— que siguieron
a la Revolución crearon un nuevo tipo de francés, al menos en la
propaganda revolucionaria: «La muerte a las ratas» — 
Distintos decretos revolucionarios adornan su pica.

En 1793 el diablo enfermó de un empacho de sans-culottes. Parece simbolizar una facción
moderada que había tratado de suprimir a la más radical, pero el intento fue demasiado
pesado de digerir, y más fuerte que el mismo diablo. Se da por vencido y huye a la
«Société des Frères et Amis» –Sociedad de Hermanos y Amigos–, una de las
sociedades de izquierda radical durante el reinado del terror. Al fondo,
un carro está esperando para llevar a la guillotina a los convictos
que el diablo ha devuelto en su vómito.

Tras el Terror, este grabado muestra a un jacobino, un partidario de Robespierre,
fraternizando con la Discordia ante los despojos de una aldea en llamas.

Y la última palabra la tiene esta auténtica «Guillotina Ordinaria»:
«¡Una buena ayuda para la libertad!», ciertamente.

Revolutionary propaganda

“Hey, I’ve put down the soutane, in spite of all my relatives; let him be a priest who wants it!”

Old revolutions and counter-revolutions also used propaganda. They employed all sorts of texts and images for it, and every part of society, each group of revolutionaries distributed their messages this way.

These five etchings date back to the French Revolution, from 1789 to 1795.


Marco Beasley, Accordone – Marcia delle truppe Sanfediste. From the CD Fra Diavolo: La musica nelle strade del Regno di Napoli (2010)
A counter-revolutionary version of La Carmagnole, sung in 1799 by the Sanfedians, a folk movement against the Republic of Naples, which mobilized peasants and brigands with the support of the Church. The movement rose up in Calabria under the command of the cardinal Ruffo and resulted in anti-French riots.

Revolutionaries opened assemblies, where they were free to speak. This enigmatic
etching (1790) represents the club as a stage. The actors are performing a mock
pageant of the regime, especially of the king’s duplicity (hence the reference
to Acts 23 and the hypocritical Sanhedrin), with the king dancing on a rope,
assisted by a priest (the Church) who keeps the Constitution topsy-turvy.
The personages dancing on the scene might be masqued aristocrats.
A well-dressed woman, perhaps Théroigne de Méricourt, directs
the orchestra, assisted by two clerks. The public, enthralled,
awaits the resolution.

After 1792, the wars – both civil and foreign – following the revolution created
a new Frenchman, at least in revolutionary propaganda:
“mort aux rats” – rat poison – from top to toe.

In 1793, the devil got sick from eating too many “sans-culottes”. He seems to
symbolize a moderate faction which had tried to suppress the radical one,
but the result was too heavy to digest, and stronger than the devil himself.
He gives up, and they flee to the “Société des Frères et Amis” –
Society of Brothers and Friends –, one of the radical far-left
clubs during the Reign of Terror. In the background, a
cart is waiting to bring convicts to the guillotine
which the devil has overturned in vomiting.

After the Terror, this etching shows a Jacobin, a partisan of Robespierre,
fraternizing with Discordia on the ruins of a burning village.

And the last words belong to this True Ordinary Guillotine:
“A good support for freedom, indeed!”

Maslenitsa

Boris Kustodiev: Maslenitsa, 1919

In only a few hours, with the burning of a straw effigy, the symbol of winter, ends Maslenitsa, the last week before the Orthodox Lent, which begins tomorrow. This week, you are already not allowed to eat meat, but milk and eggs are still permitted. Therefore, the festive meal for the week features pancakes, блины, from which the week takes its other name: Блинница, Pancake-week. This is the week of carnival amusements, traditionally with fairs, sledge races, and fire-jumping. And on Sunday – like all day today on the Russian internet – everyone begs for forgiveness and everyone forgives everyone.

The scene of Maslenitsa in Nikita Mihalkov’s The Barber of Siberia (1998).
Reconstruction by the Moscow Historical-Ethnographic Theatre.

Pocket guide

With the escalation of the Katsap-Khokhol conflict, it is very timely to keep expanding our vocabulary with the informal naming (национальные прозвища) of a few other peoples. The links in the pop-up windows lead over to the Russian meme encyclopedia Lurkomor to the deepening of the respective national stereotypes.


And how are called the dear neighbors and friendly peoples in your language?