Pskov (and Pskovians)

Kievan Prince Igor is making his way across

the Velikaya (Great) River in a boat.

Suddenly, after taking a closer look at his oarsman,

the prince exclaims: “You are a maiden!” With her

eyes lowered, the girl uncovers her blond braid and is

shortly seen treating Igor to Pskovian bread and salt.

– TV commercial for a Pskov bakery,

on the eve of the city’s 1100th anniversary.

While world leaders gathered in St. Petersburg this past June for that city’s tercentennial, a smaller city to the west, Pskov, was putting the final touches on its own anniversary celebrations. In fact, every Pskovian shop window, kiosk, billboard and fence seemed to advertise the city’s 1100th birthday celebrations, which, though they have been taking place all year long, will be focused around “City Day,” celebrated on July 21, in commemoration of the city’s 1944 liberation during World War II.

The bread commercial recounted above takes off on the (to Russians) well-known and legendary love story of Igor and Olga. Olga was a native of Pskov and went on to rule Kievan Rus’ after her husband Igor’s death. She was also the mother of Prince Vladimir, who brought Christianity to ancient Russia in 988 (and for this and other achievements she was sainted by the Russian Orthodox Church). The commercial also exploits the popular myth that Olga, who came from a poor family, had to earn her living as a ferryman, wearing men’s clothing.

More importantly for this story, Olga is often associated with the founding of Pskov. In actuality, no one knows exactly and under what circumstances Pskov was founded. All we know is that the city was first mentioned in the Chronicle in 903. Nonetheless, Pskovians have always sought to ascribe to their “countrywoman” tremendous significance in local and national history.

According to documents in the archives of the Pskov Museum Reserve, many of the fairy tales of Olga and Igor gained popular renown at the end of the 19th century, as a subject for “tableaux vivant.” But historical fact points away from stories of love at first sight and toward a marriage of convenience. Igor aspired to gather in the lands of the Slavic krivichi, and Olga was a daughter of a local chieftain.

Yet romanticism holds on tightly, no matter the facts. Through the generations, the story of a Russian (ahem, Pskovian) Cinderella, whose beauty and wise discourse conquered the Kievan prince’s heart, is supplemented by yet another myth: that of social equality in ancient Pskov. The latter is rolled out as proof of Pskovians’ moral superiority vis-a-vis the citizens of Novgorod or, later, Moscow. Pskovians have always felt themselves to be special and independent.

One could argue that history has given Pskovians sufficient grounds for this self-assurance. Pskov’s military victories have always been a source of special pride: the city’s unassailable walls shamed many would-be conquerers. For instance, it was here in 1615 that the Swedish King Gustav Adolf suffered his only military defeat. And yet, this glorious episode also holds another significance ... When he retreated from Pskov, Gustav Adolf took up residence in Tartu (present day Estonia), where he founded Tartu University, one of the world’s oldest and most respected academic institutions. But Pskov, for its part, did not have a university until the early 20th century. Only God knows whether we won or lost that battle, Pskovians joke.

Pskov had to have such impregnable city walls because it stands at the crossroads of several great cultures (which were often at war with one another) – Russians, Poles, Lithuanians, Swedes, Ukrainians, Finns. And today, with EU borders moving closer and closer to Russia, Pskov region may once again become an important commercial and cultural center, like it was in the 16th and 17th centuries.

With the right public relations, many Pskovians say, Pskov could develop as a living city, and not simply be quaint pages in a Russian history album. The anniversary year could have been a wonderful way to attract international attention to the city, whose geopolitical location is incongruent with its status as a provincial backwater, bequeathed from Soviet times. “As sad as it is, one can only conclude that the approaching city holiday will be only a local event,” said Lev Shlosberg, a publisher and a founder of the Volny Institute. “It will, of course, give rise to bragging about our famous past and to sabre-rattling, but it will not result in turning the city’s face to the future, that is, to our western neighbors. The motto of Pskov region’s international policy is still those words attributed to Alexander Nevsky: ‘If you come with a sword – you will die by the sword.’ For some reason, the ingrained opinion is that the West can only come with the sword.”

The city

Like many other ancient Russian cities, Pskov started with its kremlin. It is here, in the Trinity Cathedral, that, according to the guidebooks, the heart of ancient Pskov once beat. If this is true, Pskovians kept their money in their breast pockets: the kremlin yard held the city treasury, the grainery and storage for furs, so that the stone walls of the kremlin could protect all of them from fire, a frequent visitor to any wooden city.

But the city soon stretched beyond the kremlin walls. The space between the first and the second ancient city walls is today called “Dovmont Gorod,” after the prince during whose rule the second wall was built. In all, Pskov, by the middle of the 15th century, was protected by five fortification walls, not to mention its rivers and moats.

Pskov’s architectural monuments are considered unique throughout Russia. The city’s location helped save it from falling under the Tatar yoke and allowed for at least partial preservation of its ancient church architecture. But the Soviet years left their marks, not least of which is the obnoxious October Cinema pressed up against the walls of Dovmont Gorod, a rich hunting ground for archaeologists, who have given up calling for the theater’s removal so that more of history’s secrets might be revealed. Meanwhile, a much-heralded monument to Princess Olga is being installed not far from the imposing Lenin monument, which towers over the main city square.

Pskov is advantageously situated at the confluence of the shallow and quick Pskova and the wider Velikaya (Great) river (the two rivers were once called the Small Pskova and the Great Pskova). This protected the fortress of the city from three sides and thus, for strategic reasons, the city did not expand to the other (left) side of the Velikaya until very late in its history. The steep opposite bank of the Velikaya was, however, crowned with a few churches and monasteries, which inevitably fell into the hands of enemies during the frequent periods of warfare.

On the now safe left bank of the Velikaya is one of the oldest preserved churches in Pskov – The Transfiguration of the Savior Cathedral of Mirozhsky Monastery. Its frescoes date to the 12th century, but the cathedral is not open to the public because of ongoing (and very complicated) restoration. Access is possible, but it depends entirely on the whims of the curator.

I visited the cathedral for the first time last summer, with a group of art history students, and on the invitation Pskov native Vsevolod Rozhnyatovsky, the monastery’s frescoes curator and a doctoral student in St. Petersburg. I thought I had gotten to know Seva (short for Vsevolod) well at university, but found he was completely different once inside the monastery walls. Before he let us enter the cathedral, he led us around the monastery yard, describing the special taste of the apples growing in the yard and reminiscing about his long years spent here.

At last, as we were about to enter the building, a young woman approached us, asking in poor Russian if she could see the frescoes. Seva stared at her blankly and mumbled something about the late hour and the peculiar rules of the monastery. Then, as soon as the disappointed girl was out of sight, Seva took out his keys, unlocked the heavy door and invited us inside. “Why didn’t you let her in?” one of us asked. Seva gave a truly Pskovian reply: “There’s plenty of sightseeing about the city, quite enough for a tourist.”

The cathedral’s premises are cluttered with scaffolding, but this does not limit the imagination. The frescoes here are truly astonishing and any other Orthodox fresco loses its lustre after you have been here. The wealth of blue and gold is impressive, all the more so when compared to the discreet tints of local paints. One is transported back to a time when the world was not yet covered with a thick net of frontiers, when a newly-christened Pskov could afford to invite masters to bring their pigments directly from Byzantium. No wonder that The Transfiguration of the Savior Cathedral is one of just 13 UNESCO Heritage Sites in Russia. Here, authentic Byzantine frescoes are alive thousands of miles to the north of Istanbul (nee Constantinople, nee Byzantium).

During the Soviet era, Mirozhsky Monastery was simply a museum. A few years ago, it regained its religious status and soon the first monks came here to live and work. But the restoration work and keeping the cathedral’s temperature low (to preserve that work) would be impossible if the church held regular services, so the monks use another church for that purpose. Museum associates and clergymen are having to get used to each other. Said Seva the curator, “It used to be so quiet here that you could hear the snow falling. Then the monks arrived and vanity came with them.”

Pskovians’ disdain for vanity is another aspect of their character.

Unlike its “elder brother,” Novgorod, which is comparable in size, population and objects for sightseeing, Pskov has never been (and is not about to become) a busy tourist center. This quietude, however, makes the city a tourists’ paradise. A first-time visitor to Pskov will be astonished to enter its empty kremlin courtyard, where one can walk absolutely undisturbed among the ancient stones of the fortress, climb the wooden blocks of the walls or loll about on the vast green lawn.

Indeed, the provincial intelligentsia fears an invasion of noisy, camera-carrying tourists, bringing with them the horrors of globalization. Even those who argue for attracting more tourists cannot but admit that it might be difficult to preserve Pskov’s unique, intimate atmosphere, which originally derived from the traditional layout of simple, human-scale churches, designed to make every believer feel alone with God here.

“Pskov will not see many more visitors this year than it usually does,” said Dima, a Pskovian icon painter who lived in St. Petersburg as a student. “After all, Pskov’s festivities practically coincide with St. Petersburg’s grandiose tercentenary celebrations. Petersburg will outshine Pskov, like it has ever since its birth. Thanks be to God, we are not expecting too many tourists. This is primarily our holiday, after all.”

“How do you usually celebrate the City-Day?” I ask.

“A festival is arranged, and also a demonstration of a forced crossing of the Velikaya River by Soviet armored troops, like it really happened in 1944. We attend every year with our children.”

Strange as it may seem, according to official data, there are plenty of tourists already visiting Pskov. The head of the Regional Tourism Administration never misses an opportunity to optimistically pronounce that “the number of tourists is growing 10-20% every year.” Facts, however, speak louder than words. The kremlin, despite all of its points of interest, still does not have a single restroom. The nearest one is located outside Dovmont Gorod, by a beerhouse. “If all the passengers on a Mercedes bus wanted to visit [the WC],” a local reporter wrote, “the city tour would last at least an hour longer.”

One can’t help wondering if this problem is not caused by the traditional Russian disarray, but by a hidden agenda: to ensure that the number of Mercedes buses parked near the kremlin walls does not increase uncontrollably.

Meanwhile, some small settlements in Pskov region are popular tourist destinations: Picturesque and peaceful Izborsk, an ancient fortress, was bigger than Pskov in the 10th century. Pechory Monastery is a sacred site and features amazing crypts cut from sandstone under the main church. Pushkinskiye Gory (Pushkin Hills), where the grave of the great Russian poet is to be seen, is also in Pskov region. These Pskovian “suburbs” attract many tourists, perhaps even more than the city itself.

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Official sources forecast 30,000 visitors to Pskov’s City Day this summer. Yet there are only accommodations for 1000. The city’s poor tourist infrastructure counts just three more or less suitable hotels; the long-awaited Intourist Hotel has stopped construction and is a modern ruin, its open windows gaping across the Velikaya River at the kremlin.

But yawning needs have a way of attracting entrepreneurs. Vitaly Tkachenko, a newcomer to Pskov, is trying to build a hotel complex. He is enthusiastic about his project and he is doing it with almost no help from the city or regional administration. “We realize the urgent need for a decent hotel in the city,” he said. “Right now, there is no place to hold a business conference or receive a foreign delegation. The best Pskov hotel – the Rizhskaya – does not even offer free breakfast to its lodgers. Our hotel will open in April 2004 and will function under the auspices of Radisson SAS. We hope that the hotel will reflect favorably on this area of the city, which a decade ago was neglected and infamous for its drug mafia. The complex will include a restored architectural monument from the time of Peter – one of the first stone houses in Pskov.” Yet Tkachenko complained that local authorities were not being very responsive: “What I cannot understand is why the municipality is treating us with complete disregard. Our request for paving the street with asphalt is being ignored.”

“No political measures can help our ‘depressed region’ these days, only economic development projects,” said Lev Schlosberg. “But businesses that can conscientiously use the region’s main resources – timber and fish – are held back by the regional administration, which practices totalitarian control in the economic sphere and in regional politics.”

Yet the region’s governor – Yevgeny Mikhailov – who was first elected in 1996 and then reelected in 2000, is certain about the business that has a future in Pskov region: large-scale alcohol production. Pskov vodka is now distributed far beyond the borders of Pskov region, as far away as the Urals and Western Siberia. Some brands have quite exotic names, like “Pushkin,” “Mussorgsky,” “Bely Doctor” (White Doctor), or “Scobar” (a colloquial term for “Pskovians”).

“Pskov has always been known throughout Russia as the city of artists,” says Lena, a Pskovian who studies at St. Petersburg University. “Pskov porcelains are easily recognizable on the counter of, say, a Petersburg souvenir shop. I wish that Pskovian vodka were not what becomes associated with my native city.”

When Mikhailov, then a member of Vladimir Zhirinovsky’s nationalistic LDPR party, won the gubernatorial election in 1996, defeating a communist candidate, observers were astonished. But the results are logical: Pskov region is one of the “oldest” in Russia: 41% of its population is retired. The nationalistic regional administration therefore frowns upon business projects that employ western investment. Several years ago, Cadbury’s proposal to rebuild a local confectionery plant was rejected.

Pskov region is huge: it borders on Leningrad region in the North, Estonia in the West and Belarus in the South. In all, it covers 55,300 square kilometers, about the size of Costa Rica. The region’s population was 832,300 in 1996. Over 60% of the region is urban, including Pskov’s 207,000 residents.

In Soviet times, Pskov had four important munitions factories. They were mostly abandoned with the collapse of the Soviet system, such that now Pskov’s only prominent industry is the Pskov GRES (State Regional Power Station), which is close to bankruptcy because its users are not paying their bills.

The upside to industrial collapse is opportunity for environmental rebirth. Pskov’s rivers are now teeming with fish; in recent years, crawfish have even returned. The region’s vast forest is also being seen in a different light. “We see our main goal as teaching the lumber industry to care for wood resources, said Lena Yablochkina, public relations manager of the World Wildlife Foundation’s ecology projects in the region. “It is not an easy task though, because of the Soviet stereotype that the woods will never disappear.” As part of an ecotourism development program, Sebezh National Park, Polistovsky Reserve and Remdovsky Zoological Preserve, all located in Pskov region, will soon host the first contingents of Swedish and British bird watching clubs. “For many Pskovians, WWF local employees included, bird watching seemed like a complete waste of time,” Yablochkina said with a laugh. “I also thought so, I should confess, until I tried it myself. It can become a real passion, like fishing is for many people.”

Only Germany surpasses Sweden in terms of its economic and educational impact on Pskov region. It is simply one of those bizarre outcomes of history: historic adversaries often become close commercial and cultural allies. Russian-German relations have always been extremely intense, starting with Alexander Nevsky’s 1242 victory against the Teutonic Knights in the “Battle on the Ice” of Lake Peipus (Chudskoye Lake to Russians). And despite many fluctuations in relations, by the 17th century, Pskovians were allowing German traders (as well as other foreigners), to live inside the city walls and to trade in the city market. Eight hundred years before Peter the Great managed to “hack through” a window to Europe, this window existed in Pskov.

Even during the Soviet era of isolation, Pskov managed to keep in touch with the outside world, partly thanks to its geographical position, but mostly because of the popular system of “sister-cities,” which Pskov exploited to the hilt. Pskov has twelve sister-cities around the world and Pskovians of all ages have had the opportunity to “see the world” through membership in student or factory delegations. The sister-cities are mainly European, but the list also includes a city of Mianyang in China and Roanoke in Virginia.

Deep roots

Visiting Pskov this April, I arrived on the eve of the Easter holidays. I decided to attend the midnight service at Trinity Cathedral. The church was full of people. Some of them flocked closer to the altar to witness the ceremony; others socialized in the distant corners. My friends pointed at a young man and whispered that he lived in the belfry. This turned out to be not far from the truth. Roma, 31, is an icon painter who presently works for Trinity Cathedral. His “studio” is located on the second floor of a tall belfry inside the kremlin. Though it was only dawn, Roma eagerly let us in and showed us around his workspace. “I am not a Pskovian by birth,” he said, “but I feel as if I was. Pskov is a paradise for an icon painter who seeks to approach the old icon masters’ mood and state of mind.”

It is the special atmosphere of Pskov that makes people feel connected to the city during their first visit and it is something that Pskovians are acutely aware of. “I often go to Petersburg, for work or for pleasure, but I won’t ever move there to live,” said 34-year-old blacksmith and former rock musician Zhenya.

“Petersburg is too hectic; people are in a hurry and even speak too quickly. Pskovians speak melodically,” said Alexei, 28, an artist.

“Petersburg is a concocted city, it has no natural roots,” explained Ksenia, a 21-year-old student who moved to Petersburg from Pskov.

The “concocted” city attracts the young, yet it also makes them appreciate their native town, with its roots deep in the past. It may seem a wonder that Pskov, which has always been a city on the border, has survived so many centuries. The 20th century’s wars alone could have eliminated the very notion of the city. Nine (!) concentration camps were located in the city during World War II. Those who managed to survive, had escaped to Leningrad, only to endure that city’s siege. On its day of liberation in the summer of 1944, Pskov had just 200 residents (versus 60,000 in 1939). The city was among those most heavily destroyed by the war. Only 6% of residential buildings were inhabitable.

Intensive migration continued after the war and today “native” Pskovians make up just 40% of all residents. But despite the catastrophes of the past century, young Pskovians keep talking about their roots. Perhaps, some of them can feel them touching the beginning of the 10th century.   RL