Krukowski M.
Four districts of the Smolensk province: Smolensk, Krasninsky, Yelninsky, and Roslavl are exclusively populated by Belarusians. These districts are located in the southwestern and western parts of the province and border: to the west with Mogilev, and to the south with the Chernigov province. They form a natural continuation of the Belarusian land, which ends with them, as the northern districts: Porechsky, Dukhovshchinsky, Dorogobuzhsky, and the northern districts of the Kaluga province are already purely Great Russian. However, despite such close proximity, and despite the fact that this entire corner is bisected by a railway, the population has not lost its ethnographic characteristics, and it is enough to delve 20 to 30 versts from the Great Russian border to reach completely untouched places with patriarchal customs. Externally, they are also Belarusians. The same beautiful height slightly above average, the same slenderness, the same small blue eyes and light hair. Around the mouth lies a soft fold, sharply contrasting with the coarse fox-like fold of the Great Russian and the sly fold of the Little Russian. If the commonly held opinion here is correct, that the Smolensk Belarusian is “a Polish bone strengthened by Russian meat,” then one must admit that this combination has given a very sympathetic appearance here. The Smolensk Belarusian is very good-natured, gentle, and hospitable. If a Great Russian from some bear corner, in relation to an unfamiliar newcomer teaching him life, says that “he must be hit with a log,” and a Ukrainian without further ado drags him to the lock-up, where they will sort it out, then Belarusians are incomparably more trusting and cultured. This is explained by the closer influence of the West, the comparative [abundance] of communication routes, and the fact that the Smolensk province is a zemstvo province. Due to these two real circumstances, the Smolensk Belarusians significantly differ in their culture from the Belarusians of the Vitebsk, Mogilev, and Minsk provinces, where communication routes are very poor and they did not know zemstvo organization.
Thus, even Smolensk itself is more of a Belarusian city: in the crowd of townspeople, one can always distinguish a Great Russian, although the general physiognomy of the city and its inhabitants is more European than in any other of our provincial cities. This is the only Belarusian city where cultural levels are relatively high, where social and educational [strands] are strongly developed, and alongside this, ethnographic features are so firmly established.
The city is very beautiful, located on hills on both sides of the Dnieper. The streets sometimes rise high up, so that one has to travel by pair: some rides are unthinkable; sometimes the houses are located deep in a ravine, and from there a staircase rises high up leading to the street. Especially beautiful and original is the left side of the city, where the ancient Kremlin is located, surrounded by a grand stone wall with embrasures. In this part of the city are located all administrative and public institutions, the editorial office of the local newspaper, a public library, and a city garden. Here is also the monument to the battle near Smolensk in 1812. The inscription on it states the number of the killed. This is a rather clumsy, little architectural, three-story structure surrounded by a chain. There are three such monuments in Russia: in Smolensk, near Krasnoye, and on the Borodino field. They are all identical, only the inscription indicates a greater or lesser number of killed.
From Smolensk itself, as soon as you pass the gate under the wall where Engelhardt was shot, and after crossing a wide square, the great tract begins – the Kiev tract. To the right goes another similar tract – the Krasninsky, to Krasnoye and Orsha. These are two enormous tracts, one heading south, the other west. They are called “bolshaki.” They are lined with birches on both sides and stretch in a long wide ribbon, sometimes climbing up hills, sometimes descending. The weeping birches, with their thin branches hanging down like lace garlands almost to the ground, and their often half-naked trunks stretching one or two branches onto the road, as if praying or cursing hands, evoke sadness and gloom. Around is a flat area, only occasionally are there thickets. The further you go, the less [traffic], only occasionally do you meet rumbling carts, a peasant takes off his hat and greets. At night, the bolshak changes significantly. Although the trees evoke eeriness, it comes alive. From somewhere, convoys, carts, wagons, and individual pedestrians crawl along the bolshak. During the day, it is too hot, the gadfly bites, and the convoys sometimes come from afar. Often, huge Jewish carts called “balagols” pass by, with a covered top: sometimes there sit 10-12 Jews. Before Friday, when Jews return home from 70-100 versts, these “balagols” are very frequent; from them comes a noisy chatter, often competing with the rumble of wheels.
Title page of M. Krukowski’s manuscript
In the Smolensk province, there are many landlord lands, so there are few villages along the tract. And if they do appear somewhere, they have a state roadside appearance. Away from the tract, the villages have a more patriarchal look. They are small, with 20-30 households, and are always located quite cozy and more beautiful. They resemble Lithuanian and Polish villages more, although Little Russia is closer. On both sides of the street stretches a row of low huts, with small windows and straw roofs. In comparison, the northern and northwestern buildings appear contrasting, tall, tasteless, cold, devoid of any poetry. There stand huge, heavy gates, each house resembling a fortress; here, a wealthier owner makes himself a gate, but even that is always light, more for cattle, if not wealthy – then it is limited to a simple fence made of poles. There in the north is seclusion, concealment; here – trust. In other Belarusian provinces, and especially in Lithuania, there are often no gates at all, the entrance goes directly into the yard from the street; this is undoubtedly a sign that theft is rarer in these places. The hut is almost always five-sided, made of 10-12 logs. One half is for living, the other for covered porches, which also serve as storage for various utensils. An attic is attached to the hut, with a wide awning above it, and a platform below, so that in front of the attic there is a covered space for various treasures and tools. Here are stored: scythes, rakes hang, flails, birch bark bags in which food is carried to the field and on the road, wooden mortars for barley, spinning wheels, bast shoes, often barrels. Above the awning, on a rope hangs a large pot with [scent], sometimes with medicine from fly agarics. Here, plows, harrows, children’s carts on wooden wheels-rollers are always leaned against, and here bedding is often dried. Behind the attic follows a stable, barn, or cattle yard, depending on the wealth of the owner. Often all these buildings occupy a large square, as if a whole little world, for those who are poorer, all these buildings are often huddled together, and on top of the hut and yard, in the most chaotic disorder, a straw roof is thrown. Of course, such a pile of buildings is not very hygienic, because even in the hottest summer, it does not dry out and is poorly ventilated.
In addition to a small awning in front of the attic, there is always a large awning in the yard, where carts, sleds, raw bricks, and sometimes firewood are stored. In front of the hut, which sometimes barely peeks out onto the street with two windows, trees are planted – sometimes a palisade; next to the hut is a small garden and vegetable patch, fenced with a fence made of brushwood; in the garden, there are often several beehives. The garden is clean and beautiful, although there are no signs of cultivation, such as paths, cleanings, etc. The garden is all bathed in sunlight, several apple trees bend under the weight of their fallen apples, several currant bushes redden against the green background, tall grass, in which there are many honey plants, stands as if in a dream. Obviously, this is the owner’s favorite corner, his sacred place. Here he soothes his soul, forgetting the prose of life, here he satisfies his aesthetic taste, performs sacred acts. Bees diligently buzz around the hives.
– And what, they won’t sting? – I asked, having decided to take just a few steps.
– You don’t need to chatter (talk), nor think about it, then they will never touch you, said the owner and bravely walked through the entire garden from one hive to another.
Thus, they really love greenery here, and this immediately catches the eye. The whole street is green, and this gives it a charming appearance. True, right in front of the houses on the street, sometimes whole loads of brushwood, firewood, logs are piled up, hay is often drying on which children are lying; nevertheless, all this disorder increases the impression of diligence and coziness. Next to the huts on the street, there are often small barns and awnings, where sleds, straw, etc. are placed; often these extensions are made of brushwood. Fences are also woven from brushwood, not high, but [woven], with the brushwood laid flat between the poles or set upright. However, fences are also made of poles. Only the Lithuanian fence – fewer stakes driven into the ground and connected by a pole – found in the neighboring Vitebsk province is almost not found here.
Somewhere away from the residential buildings stands a grain barn on the ground, and in the middle of the village, often at the intersection, under a small awning is stored the so-called “fire cart” in official language. However, it is not found everywhere, and if it is found somewhere, it is in a deeply humorous form. This “fire cart” consists of the front of a cart with shafts. The shafts, so they do not lie on the ground, rest on a special crossbar. The wheels are wooden, without tires, cracked in 2-3 places, sometimes only spokes are sticking out: good wheels are too precious for such an infrequently used matter. On top, on the shafts lies a dried barrel, which, according to the local authorities’ instructions and their report, must always be filled with water and ready for action. Such is the entire “fire cart,” serving as an inexhaustible subject for the peasants’ jokes.
The village, if it stands on a dirt road, almost always ends with [widely opened] gates. [Then] parallel to the village street stretches a row of thrashing floors, to the right – baths. The thrashing floor from afar has a beautiful and original appearance, thanks to the fact that it is built in a peculiar way, not at all like in other places. The huge structure always forms a pentagon; the front side consists, in fact, of two walls, between which there are gates; these two walls do not go straight towards each other, but rather diagonally, to the side, i.e., not at a right angle, but at an obtuse angle from the side wall. The gap between them forms the gates, always raised high, above the walls. Thus, the entire thrashing floor consists of five outer walls and a sixth wall in the form of gates. This typical feature is almost not found in other places. On top of this huge building is thrown a four-sided roof. An extensive, squat, grain structure. Inside, a separate log structure houses a beam, forming a building within a building, adjoining the corner between the two walls.
From the thrashing floor to the very hut stretches a strip of hemp. Hemp is sown here in large quantities; it is the only, but reliable article for paying taxes. Every owner sows hemp; it grows at every hut, in every garden. In the evenings, an impenetrable smell of hemp stands along the road, this is “the smell of money.” But hemp is sown only as much as needed for taxes – the rest is grain; thanks to this, there is no large money in hand, no ruin and acute need, as in other provinces where almost all the land is sown with flax.
On the other side of the village, as we have already said, are the baths. They are often scattered haphazardly along the riverbank or stream, closer to the water. The bath is also an ethnographic feature. There is no anteroom in it, but there is a shed under the same roof. Here, people undress and dress. Here lie whole piles of hemp straw, which is laid between the posts in winter, like a wall, supporting the shed, and thus a covered anteroom is formed.
Often the bath is nestled somewhere behind a hill, which protects it from the wind. There are many such hills here, but their origins are more recent, at least most of them. The names of these hills, for example: “the hill of nine generals,” directly indicate the year 1812. Some of the hills are turned into cemeteries. Usually, they are planted with weeping birches and stand somewhere in the field, not far from the village. The unprecedented sight of this cemetery can astonish an unaccustomed viewer. This is not the little world that draws a peasant who wants to remember the lost, to pay tribute to poetry in a sad moment; this is not that green corner, strewn with mounds, over which against the backdrop of green bushes a cross stands sadly, no, this is the city of the dead. Above each grave stands a wooden log cabin, nearby – a low cross. Often, two boards descend from the top of the cross onto its shoulders – this is for protection from the weather; but what practical significance does the log cabin have? None. Its significance is symbolic. The appearance of this log cabin, i.e., the house itself speaks of habitability, otherwise – for its own and the house, if not to live in them: thus, these log cabins express the idea of habitability, the idea of the deceased’s life. A custom that has deep antiquity.
Mikhail Antonovich Krukowski (1865-1936)
Just as often in the field, not far from the road, one can find the so-called “chapels,” i.e., small churches. The very word “chapel” indicates that these chapels have been here since the times of Polish rule, and some undoubtedly date back at least 400-500 years. The chapel is built of brick or stone, painted white. At the top, there still stands a Catholic cross. Around it always grow several trees, mainly linden. The old door of the chapel sometimes is not locked, as no one cares. Often the chapel stands on peasant land, and then it is open to all; sometimes on landlord land, and then, if the landlord is Catholic, which, however, rarely happens, – then the chapel is closed. In the chapel, there are two little windows: on the right and left; in front, a rough iconostasis: a crucifix (of Catholic style) something like an altar, and on the sides and above various decorations and symbolic images, the meaning of which is very difficult to understand. On both sides of the iconostasis, by the window doors, there are two-story bunks, with the upper floor often on the same line as the upper floor of the stove. Along both walls, benches go from the bunks, in the front corner a blackened shrine. In the corner opposite the stove is all household stuff and dishes; but if the family is large, then part of this corner, i.e., immediately to the left of the entrance doors, stands a bed, and above the bed hangs a cradle. Such an arrangement is, of course, the most unhygienic, as it is unbearably hot from the stove and cold from the doors. Since the whole hut is not large, the bed and cradle are often located no more than one fathom from the stove and doors. Once the rain drove me into the hut. Quite a lot of people had crammed in here. A heavy rain completely flooded two small windows; through its streams, nothing was visible. Occasionally, lightning illuminated the entire interior of the hut, and in those moments, one could see all the dark corners of the hut, all its blackness. Through the ceiling, in many places, water dripped vigorously; along the walls of the stove, water flowed in streams, the hut became wet and uncomfortable. I went out to the porch and looked into the yard. In the corner of the yard stood horses, sadly lowering their heads. Under the eaves stood the owner himself, with a long and wide beard, with a somewhat stern, gloomy face; next to him stood a teenage boy with the same imprint of gloom on his face. Both of them, with their hands behind their backs and leaning against the hut, were sticking their dirty feet out into the rain, apparently wanting to make the most of the rain as productively as possible. Puddles of water stood all around.
Having traveled about seventy versts along the Krasninsky tract, you approach Krasnoye. This is the tract along which the French moved in 1812. A grand battle took place near Krasnoye. Not reaching two versts to Krasnoye, right by the tract stands a monument overgrown with small bushes. Around is a flat, almost deserted area. The city itself does not present anything special: it is a remote corner, far abandoned from the centers. The overall appearance of the city is non-existent. It stands on flat ground and due to its wide streets, built like in a military settlement, it very much resembles a military camp. The city has up to 3,000 inhabitants, up to one and a half dozen stone houses and not a single innkeeper. But nevertheless, Krasnoye is far from being the last of the cities in terms of its social activity, and the local intelligentsia has long been known for its caring attitude towards the cause of public education. In the wide city square stands a huge building; this is the “People’s Theater.” It was created thanks to the efforts of the local intelligentsia; such theaters are not only rare in district cities but also in provincial cities, there are only two or three at most. Inside the theater is a huge auditorium, which in size can compete with the halls of some private stages in St. Petersburg. In this same hall, public readings take place. Nearby is a library on one side, and on the other – a public tea house. Exiting from here, you feel some moral satisfaction; you are convinced that a handful of intelligentsia, if they sincerely believe in their cause and also sincerely wish to serve it, can, through united efforts, put this cause on solid ground and bring the people’s theater out of the toy, unstable state in which it is now found in many places.
It was a festive day, there was some local holiday, more people than usual were on the streets; but on ordinary days, the city is evidently quite empty. I went wandering through the streets. The costumes of the local townspeople simply amazed me with their originality. Especially curious are the long robes – mantillas made of calico, worn like coats: they are worn by women. But on the main street, I was struck by an extraordinary sight. Along the entire panel, if one can call the platform made of stones and something else, which is hard to distinguish, – along the entire row of shops sat rows of peasant women, who had come to the fair from neighboring villages and from the Mogilev province, waiting for the service. They sat decorously, not moving, like statues. All of them were dressed in red colors, in patterned calicos, and on their heads were wrapped enormous headscarves – chamly, also made of red calico and kumach. Tanned or dark-skinned, old, but straight and strong, they seemed to be waiting for some religious ceremony, procession, or celebration. This picture radiated the East, the charm was complete. And when the bell rang and all these old women, gathering their belongings, jumped up and hurriedly rushed into the church, when the square almost emptied, this charm continued, and the picture of the East lingered long before my eyes, in my imagination as if alive.
Materials provided by the Archive of the All-Russian Public Organization “Russian Geographical Society.” File 38, inventory 1, No. 20 “Belarusian Districts of the Smolensk Province: Ethnographic Sketch by M. Krukowski 1898.”
Transcription of the manuscript text – Sergey Lisitsa, RMGA “Student Ethnographic Society.”
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