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Authors: Linda Himelstein
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socialized with local clergy, maintaining close ties to them even after leaving his village. And he dressed and acted the part of a conservative, pious Christian. Arseniy always embraced traditional Russian thinking and adhered to the churchâs interpretations of societal norms, while maintaining patriarchal communities. He, like many others, shunned theblasphemous influences blowing in from Western and Central Europe to modernize.
In the cool spring of 1858, Arseniy most likely headed to the parish his sons and brother Ivan attended on Varvarka Street to obtain a letter from the resident priest that would demonstrate his devotion. Perhaps he brought with him a succinct letter from his own village clergy, attesting to his allegiances. Among other things, it made clear that Arseniy would have no trouble swearing, in writing, that he was neither Jew nor eunuch nor a member of a variety of other âinsidiousâ religious sects, as the law required. 1
Arseniy had not expected the church to be a stumbling block, but it was an entrenched institution and a notorious bureaucracy. Whether it would be weeks or months to process his request, nobody knows. But any delay must have weighed heavily on Arseniy. He was no longer a young man. True, he was in good health and had easily surpassed his countryâs life expectancy for men of forty-four years, but he still had so much to do.
Arseniy was worried about Pyotr. His other children were well down the road toward comfortable, pleasant lives. Yakov was entrenched in Uncle Ivanâs business, happily married, already the father of three daughters. Arseniyâs daughter Glafira had married well and presented no concerns. Although little is known about Aleksandra, his other daughter, it appears that she was also married and focused on her own family. But Pyotr was another matter. He had always adapted to his environment. Silently, however, he was never altogether comfortable. He kept waiting for something to happen, like a runner at the starting line listening for the one unmistakable pop that would thrust him into the race. Pyotr seemed to be simply biding his time, listening. Arseniy fervently hoped he could hasten the quest.
By late April, the days had grown longer and warmer, typical for that time of year. Neither too hot nor too cold, the air was dry, the sky clear. It was during one of those tranquil days thathe finally collected the churchâs recommendation. Now came the most challenging tasks.
Becoming a merchant was arduous, almost Byzantine: The procedure itself dated back to the reign of Catherine the Great. Three guilds had been set up in 1775 and they were structured, like everything else in Russia, by class. Merchants were ranked from the wealthiest and most influential to the poorest and least consequential. Members of the prestigious, tightly knit first guild received special privileges and titles while those in the second and third guilds were restricted in which businesses they could enter and in the number of employees they could hire. Only first-guild merchants, for instance, could work in banking, export to foreign countries, and trade without limit with the Russian government. By contrast, third-guild merchants could not enter finance or heavy industry and had to limit the size of their companies to no more than thirty-two workers. 2
The strict three-guild hierarchy also allowed the state treasury to tax merchants according to their incomes and resources. When applying to one of the guilds, merchants were required to disclose their capital. Applicants routinely underreported what they had in order to pay the minimum tax. In addition, merchants were strongly encouraged to contribute to a fund purportedly dedicated to helping the poor. The idea was to absolve decent merchants of the guilt they harbored for being so rich, and, hopefully, improve their standing throughout society.
It did not work. Merchants were Russiaâs pariahs, a largely
In the cool spring of 1858, Arseniy most likely headed to the parish his sons and brother Ivan attended on Varvarka Street to obtain a letter from the resident priest that would demonstrate his devotion. Perhaps he brought with him a succinct letter from his own village clergy, attesting to his allegiances. Among other things, it made clear that Arseniy would have no trouble swearing, in writing, that he was neither Jew nor eunuch nor a member of a variety of other âinsidiousâ religious sects, as the law required. 1
Arseniy had not expected the church to be a stumbling block, but it was an entrenched institution and a notorious bureaucracy. Whether it would be weeks or months to process his request, nobody knows. But any delay must have weighed heavily on Arseniy. He was no longer a young man. True, he was in good health and had easily surpassed his countryâs life expectancy for men of forty-four years, but he still had so much to do.
Arseniy was worried about Pyotr. His other children were well down the road toward comfortable, pleasant lives. Yakov was entrenched in Uncle Ivanâs business, happily married, already the father of three daughters. Arseniyâs daughter Glafira had married well and presented no concerns. Although little is known about Aleksandra, his other daughter, it appears that she was also married and focused on her own family. But Pyotr was another matter. He had always adapted to his environment. Silently, however, he was never altogether comfortable. He kept waiting for something to happen, like a runner at the starting line listening for the one unmistakable pop that would thrust him into the race. Pyotr seemed to be simply biding his time, listening. Arseniy fervently hoped he could hasten the quest.
By late April, the days had grown longer and warmer, typical for that time of year. Neither too hot nor too cold, the air was dry, the sky clear. It was during one of those tranquil days thathe finally collected the churchâs recommendation. Now came the most challenging tasks.
Becoming a merchant was arduous, almost Byzantine: The procedure itself dated back to the reign of Catherine the Great. Three guilds had been set up in 1775 and they were structured, like everything else in Russia, by class. Merchants were ranked from the wealthiest and most influential to the poorest and least consequential. Members of the prestigious, tightly knit first guild received special privileges and titles while those in the second and third guilds were restricted in which businesses they could enter and in the number of employees they could hire. Only first-guild merchants, for instance, could work in banking, export to foreign countries, and trade without limit with the Russian government. By contrast, third-guild merchants could not enter finance or heavy industry and had to limit the size of their companies to no more than thirty-two workers. 2
The strict three-guild hierarchy also allowed the state treasury to tax merchants according to their incomes and resources. When applying to one of the guilds, merchants were required to disclose their capital. Applicants routinely underreported what they had in order to pay the minimum tax. In addition, merchants were strongly encouraged to contribute to a fund purportedly dedicated to helping the poor. The idea was to absolve decent merchants of the guilt they harbored for being so rich, and, hopefully, improve their standing throughout society.
It did not work. Merchants were Russiaâs pariahs, a largely
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