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05 December 2008 Decemberists (The revolt) It is not odd that I find myself a Decemberist this morning, You and I share that by the inexorable turning of the globe and the progress of the planet around the sun. The chill darkness cloaks us, and our social adaptation is to conduct a series of parties and festivities to take our minds off the shortness of the day, and the layers of clothes we must wear. In the seasonal spirit, I am preparing for the day, and place my dress sword with my suit and briefcase. I am taking a bit of a narrow definition in the term Decemberist. I am not, of course, referring to the modern rock band of that name, though I am sure they are a fine bunch of young people who curl their lips in hearty contempt for the ancien regime. That is the birthright of the young, before they are absorbed into the banality of jobs and kids. Goodness knows they have their reasons to be contemptuous of what is. I am referring to the other Decemberists, the ones who would not dance, even though they young. Now they are antique, and a curiosity just like me. As a little background, you well recall that the Decembrist revolt took place in Imperial Russia on 14 December, 1825. It was the day after Christmas, old style, and a splendid day for an insurrection. But what with the calendar having lurched around, we are stuck where it is now. You can move the event in time, though not place. The uprising took place on a crisp and chilly morning in the Senate Square in Great Peter’s new city on the Baltic, Saint Petersburg. Army officers led about 3,000 soldiers in a protest against Czar Nicholas I's assumption of the throne. They were not proto-revolutionaries, regardless of what the Bolsheviks claimed later, as they re-wrote Russian history to fit the myth of the new worker’s paradise. To mark the centenary of the event, and to link their new revolution with old, they renamed the place of the revolt as Decembrist Square It should go without saying that the revolt was violently suppressed by the Czar’s men, with all manner of the unspeakable to follow. The whole thing started with some good ideas, as do most horrors. The political aims of the rebel officers were informed by their experience in the war against Napoleon. A desire for a more just society seemed reasonable, now that the plucky despot of Europe had been ejected from the Motherland, and the invincible Grand Armee had been defeated at last. Anything seemed possible. In 1816, several officers of the Imperial Russian Guard founded a society known as the Union of Salvation, or of the Faithful. With the natural arrogance of youth, they also called themselves the True Sons of the Fatherland. As the beacon of change in a monolithic monarchy, the True Sons were a magnet for radical opinion. A hot-head from Ukraine named Pavel Pestel joined the group and began to spread all sorts of progressive ideas. They may have contributed to a mutiny in the regiment at Semyenov in 1820, which caused the cooler heads to suspend political activity. It being Russia, though, two active cells continued to operate in secrecy. One was located in the capital, St. Petersburg, and another, more radical one with roots in the spurned former capital of Moscow and Ukraine headed by Pestel. The Northerners wanted to impose a British style constitutional monarchy with a limited franchise, the abolition of serfdom and equality before the law. The Southerners wanted to go the whole hog and were in favor of seizing power, abolishing the monarchy and embarking on an aggressive campaign to take half the land of the nobility for a new Republic, and redistribute the remainder to the peasants. Whichever stripe, Decembrist officers wore their combat experience as a badge of honor and displayed contempt for the ancien régime which had not fought. The soft life of the imperial court was rejected out of hand, and the officers were known to wear their swords at the fancy dress balls, demonstrating their refusal to participate in the dancing. You can imagine the consequences of all those swords flying around in the Quadrille. You might ask why I find myself a Decemberist at this late date. I will have to get to that in a minute, but as it happens there are at least two lovely Ukrainians in the mix, and two funerals, one with swords and one without. ’ll get to that in the morning, but in the meantime, bear with me. And watch the Czar’s men, would you? They are the ones with the black cloa ks and the unforgiving gaze. Do not trip over your sword. Copyright 2008 Vic Socotra |