The Gates of Europe

by Serhii Plokhy

  The Kyivan chronicler credited Yaroslav with promoting learning and scholarship in addition to building churches and supporting the Christian religion. “He applied himself to books and read them continually, day and night,” states the Primary Chronicle. “He assembled many scribes and translated from Greek into Slavic. He wrote and collected many books through which true believers are instructed and enjoy religious education.” Yaroslav’s rule marked the beginning of literacy in Kyivan Rus’, which adopted Church Slavonic, written in the alphabet specifically created by Saints Cyril and Methodius for the Slavs in order to translate texts written in Greek. Teachers, texts, and the language itself came to Rus’ from Bulgaria, whose rulers had accepted Christianity earlier than the Kyivan princes.

  Under Yaroslav’s rule, as the chronicler points out, texts were not only read but also translated in Kyiv. Original writings were soon being produced as well. The “Sermon on Law and Grace,” written sometime between 1037 and 1054 by Metropolitan Ilarion, whom Yaroslav appointed, is one of the first examples of such original work. The sermon helped bring the recently Christianized Rus’ into the family of Christian nations, comparing Prince Volodymyr to Emperor Constantine, as noted earlier. Another important development was the beginning of historical writing in Kyiv. Most scholars believe that the first Kyivan chronicle was produced in the 1030s, during Yaroslav’s reign, probably in St. Sophia Cathedral. Only later did the work of chronicle writing move to the Kyivan Cave Monastery, which, modeled on Byzantine monasteries, traces its origins to the end of Yaroslav’s rule.

  If Kyiv emulated Constantinople, other cities of the realm emulated Kyiv. That is how the construction of a new Church of St. Sophia began in Polatsk and in Novgorod (where a wooden church of that name had stood before). That is also how the town of Vladimir in northeastern Rus’ later acquired its own Golden Gate. More important was the spread of literacy and learning to the regional centers, breaking early Kyiv’s monopoly on the study of texts and historical writing. Novgorod literati soon began to write history as well, using the chronicle originally compiled in Kyiv as a basis. It is from a Novgorod chronicler that we learn about Yaroslav the Wise being not only a lover of books and a builder of castles and churches but also a lawgiver.

  After coming to power in Kyiv, Yaroslav rewarded Novgorod, where he had served as prince on behalf of his father, Volodymyr, by giving the city freedoms it had not previously enjoyed. This was a token of appreciation for assistance in Yaroslav’s struggle for the Kyivan throne. The Novgorod chronicler associated that grant of special rights and privileges with Yaroslav’s compilation of a law code known as the Rus’ Justice, a codification of common law that had enormous impact on the legal system of Kyivan Rus’ and its successor states. We do not know whether the Rus’ Justice was indeed compiled under Yaroslav, and chances are that the task was accomplished later, under his successors. But it certainly could not have been done before Yaroslav—there were simply no educated people capable of such an undertaking prior to his rule.

  Following in the footsteps of Constantinople and emulating Byzantine emperors meant achieving a degree of not only legitimacy but also independence that was bound to vex the Greeks of Constantinople. We know of at least two occasions on which Yaroslav did not shy away from showing his independence vis-à-vis the empire. The first was his elevation of a Rus’ native, Ilarion, author of the acclaimed “Sermon on Law and Grace,” instead of a Greek prelate sent from Constantinople, to the office of Rus’ metropolitan. In this case, Yaroslav was emulating the role played by Byzantine emperors in their church, but his decision was also a challenge to the patriarch of Constantinople, who reserved for himself the right to appoint Rus’ metropolitans. The elevation of Ilarion was controversial within the Rus’ church itself, and Kyiv reverted to the old practice after Yaroslav’s death in 1054. Constantinople sent Ilarion’s successor to the Rus’ capital.

  Yaroslav presented his second direct challenge to Constantinople in 1043, when a Rus’ flotilla headed by one of his sons appeared near Constantinople and demanded money, threatening to attack the city otherwise. The reason for this return to Viking ways of doing business with Byzantium is not clear. Were Yaroslav’s efforts to build Constantinople in Kyiv too costly, and was he running out of funds? We can only speculate. It may have been a sign of dissatisfaction with something that the Byzantines had done earlier or a reminder that Rus’ was not a power to take lightly. Whatever the reason, the Greeks refused to pay and preferred to fight. The Rus’ flotilla defeated the Byzantine fleet but was almost destroyed by a storm and came back to Kyiv empty-handed. Viking practices no longer paid off.

  If one treats Byzantine efforts to convert Rus’ to Christianity, which began immediately after the first Rus’ attack on Constantinople in 860, as a way of ending such attacks and ensuring peaceful relations with the barbaric Rus’, then such efforts clearly attained their purpose during the rule of Yaroslav. In general, unlike his predecessors, Yaroslav maintained peaceful and even friendly relations with Byzantium. But religion was hardly the main reason for the Kyivan prince’s largely peaceful relations with the empire. Under Yaroslav, expansion was no longer the main goal of the Rus’ princes. Keeping and governing what they had was their priority, and Byzantium as an ally and source of knowledge and prestige could offer much more than Byzantium an enemy.

  Under Yaroslav’s rule, Rus’ became a full-fledged member of the Christian community of nations. Later historians would call him the “father-in-law of Europe” because he married his sisters and daughters to European heads of state. His father’s acceptance of Christianity from Byzantium and the subsequent importation of cultural influences from Constantinople to Rus’ soil were important preconditions for that development. Unlike his father, Yaroslav was not wed to a Byzantine princess, but his son Vsevolod was—to a daughter of the Byzantine emperor Constantine IX Monomachus. Yaroslav himself married a daughter of Olaf Eriksson, the king of Sweden—a reflection of the Viking origins of the dynasty. His daughter Yelyzaveta (Elizabeth) was the consort of Harald Hardrada, the king of Norway. His son Iziaslav married a sister of the Polish king Casimir, who was already married to one of Yaroslav’s sisters. Yaroslav’s daughter Anastasia became the spouse of Andrew the White of Hungary, and another daughter, Anna, married Henry I of France.

  Whatever the political reasons behind these marriages, in purely cultural terms they benefited the European rulers more than they did the princes of Kyiv. Anna’s case shows this best. Unlike her husband, Anna knew how to read and sign her name, an indication that the Kyivan chronicler’s praise of Yaroslav for his love of books and promotion of learning was hardly excessive. Anna wrote to her father that she found her new land “a barbarous country where the houses are gloomy, the churches ugly, and the customs revolting.” Paris under Henry I was clearly not Constantinople, but more importantly, in Anna’s eyes, it did not rank even with Kyiv.

  Chapter 5

  The Keys to Kyiv

  The term “Kyivan Rus’,” like “Byzantium,” is of later origin—contemporaries of those realms did not use these names. Nineteenth-century scholars came up with the name “Kyivan Rus’.” Today the term denotes the polity with its center in Kyiv that existed between the tenth and mid-thirteenth centuries, when it disintegrated under the onslaught of the Mongols.

  Who is the legitimate heir to the legacy of Kyivan Rus’, and who holds the proverbial keys to Kyiv? These questions have preoccupied much of the historical writing about Rus’ for the last 250 years. Initially, the debate focused on the origins of the Rus’ princes—were they Scandinavians or Slavs?—and then, from the mid-nineteenth century, it broadened to include the Russo-Ukrainian contest for the legacy of Kyivan Rus’. The twentieth-century battle over the earthly remains of Yaroslav the Wise, whose rule the previous chapter discussed at length, highlights the intensity of that contest.

  Yaroslav died on February 28, 1054, and was buried in the Cathedral of St. Sophi
a, which he had built. His earthly remains were placed in a white marble sarcophagus decorated with carvings of the Christian cross and Mediterranean plants, including palms, which were by no means native to Kyivan Rus’. According to one theory, the sarcophagus—a stone embodiment of Byzantine cultural imperialism—had once been the final resting place of a Byzantine notable but was brought to Kyiv either by marauding Vikings or by enterprising Greeks. The sarcophagus is still preserved in the cathedral, but the remains of Yaroslav the Wise disappeared from Kyiv in 1944, during the German occupation of the city. By some accounts, they ended up in the hands of Ukrainian Orthodox hierarchs in the United States and were spotted in Manhattan after the war. Some suspect that they may now be in the Church of the Holy Trinity in Brooklyn.

  What could account for the transfer of Prince Yaroslav’s remains all the way to the Western Hemisphere? The answer has nothing to do with American cultural imperialism but is closely associated with the Ukrainian claim to the legacy of Kyivan Rus’. Ukrainian clergymen leaving their homeland removed the relics so as to prevent them from falling into the hands of the advancing Soviet army. Concern that if returned to Kyiv, they might end up in Russia explains enough the continuing refusal of the custodians of the Brooklyn church to discuss the issue of Yaroslav’s remains with representatives of the Ukrainian government.

  Both Ukrainians and Russians claim Yaroslav the Wise as one of their eminent medieval rulers, and his image appears on the banknotes of both countries. The Ukrainian bill depicts Yaroslav with a Ukrainian-style moustache in the tradition of Prince Sviatoslav and the Ukrainian Cossacks. On the Russian note, we see a monument to him as the legendary founder of the Russian city of Yaroslavl, first mentioned in a chronicle seventeen years after his death. The Russian bill shows Yaroslav with a beard in the tradition of Ivan the Terrible and the Muscovite tsars of his era.

  Was Yaroslav a Russian or a Ukrainian ruler, or, if neither, then what could his “true” identity and that of his subjects possibly be? It is best to begin the discussion of these questions by focusing on the decades following his death. Yaroslav’s demise closed one era in the history of the Kyivan Rus’—that of the consolidation of the realm—and opened another in which it followed in the footsteps of the Carolingian Empire. Less than a century after the death of its founder, Charlemagne (814), that empire disintegrated into a number of smaller states. The reasons for the decline and fall of the two empires were not very different. They included persistent problems of succession to the throne, struggles within the ruling dynasty, the rise of local political and economic centers, and inability to deal effectively with external threats and interventions. The long-term consequence of their collapse was the rise of polities often regarded as precursors of modern nations: France and Germany in the Carolingian case; Ukraine and Russia in that of Kyivan Rus’.

  Prince Yaroslav, wise man that he was, foresaw the troubles that would besiege his family after his demise. He probably remembered how long and bloody his own ascent to ultimate power had been. It began in 1015 with the death of his father, Volodymyr, and ended more than twenty years later, in 1036, when his brother Mstyslav, with whom he was forced to divide the realm, met his end. Between those two deaths there were many battles and conflicts, punctuated by the deaths of Yaroslav’s numerous brothers. Two of them, Borys and Hlib, were deprived of the Kyivan throne but attained sainthood instead and are celebrated today as martyred princes. Some historians suspect Yaroslav of arranging their murders. One way or another, closer to the end of his life, he apparently wanted to avoid fratricidal struggle among his sons.

  According to the Primary Chronicle, Yaroslav left a will in which he divided his realm among his sons, giving each a principality of his own. The throne of Kyiv, which would come not only with Kyivan and Novgorodian lands but also with supreme power over the other princes, was to go to the eldest brother. The others would rule under his patronage and supervision in their separate realms. It was assumed that the Kyivan throne would pass from elder brothers to younger ones until one generation of princes died out. The new generation would start the cycle again, beginning with the eldest son of the eldest brother. Most scholars question the authenticity of Yaroslav’s will, but whether it existed or not, the text alleged to constitute such a will reflects the practice prevailing after Yaroslav’s death.

  Yaroslav had five surviving sons, four of whom are mentioned in the “will.” Only three would taste supreme power after their father’s demise. The Kyivan throne went to the eldest surviving son, Iziaslav, but he shared power with two of his brothers, who ruled in Chernihiv and Pereiaslav, two cities in close proximity to Kyiv. Together, they made up an informal triumvirate whose decisions were all but binding for the rest of the Rurikid princes—the Kyivan ruling dynasty that traced its roots to the legendary Rurik. The triumvirs dealt with challenges to their power by arresting one of their brothers who ruled over Polatsk (now in Belarus) and imprisoning him in Kyiv. Their capitals became the centers of what the Rus’ chronicles call the Rus’ Land.

  The term was not entirely new. It had appeared in Metropolitan Ilarion’s “Sermon on Law and Grace” and can thus be attributed to the times of Yaroslav the Wise. It attained its peak of popularity in the late eleventh and early twelfth centuries, when the triumvirs had already left the scene and their sons and nephews were trying to settle accounts between different branches of the family while fending off aggression from the south. Volodymyr Monomakh, a grandson of Yaroslav the Wise and the Byzantine emperor Constantine IX Monomachus, made a career of professing and manifesting loyalty to the Rus’ Land. A son of one of the triumvirs, he became the prince of Pereiaslav, a huge territory extending from the steppe borderlands in the south to the northeastern forests around Moscow settled by the rebellious tribe of Viatichians.

  Monomakh’s main concern was not the Viatichians, who resisted Christianization and occasionally killed Kyivan monks sent to enlighten them, but increased nomadic activity on the southern border of the principality. The moment the Rus’ princes were able to curtail the Pechenegs (Yaroslav defeated them in 1036), new, more aggressive tribes appeared on the borders of the Kyivan realm. These were the Polovtsians, or Cumans, and by the end of the eleventh century they controlled a good part of the Eurasian steppe, from the Irtysh River in the east to the Danube in the west. The Rus’ principalities could not deal with Polovtsian attacks on their own. They needed to join forces, and no one insisted on that more than the prince of Pereiaslav, Volodymyr Monomakh, whom a chronicler credited with organizing a number of successful expeditions against the Polovtsians.

  Monomakh, a great promoter of the unity of the Rus’ Land, initiated the reform of the system of princely succession. At a congress organized with Monomakh’s help in the town of Liubech in 1097, the princes decided to get rid of the cumbersome, conflict-prone lateral (horizontal) system of succession introduced by Yaroslav the Wise. Instead of the sons and grandsons of the triumvirs rotating princely seats, trying eventually to get to Kyiv, each would rule in his own domain. Only descendants of Yaroslav’s eldest son, Iziaslav, would succeed to the Kyivan throne. But the system failed to work in practice. Monomakh himself did not abide by it when he claimed the throne of Kyiv in 1113; nor did his successors. In less than forty years, between 1132 and 1169, eighteen rulers succeeded one another in the capital, four more than during the entire previous history of the Kyivan realm.

  Most of the new princes appeared in Kyiv as a result of coups or hostile takeovers. Everyone seemed to want Kyiv, and those who had a chance tried their luck. In 1169, however, the pattern was broken. That year, the army of one of the most powerful and ambitious Rus’ princes, Andrei Bogoliubsky of the Vladimir-Suzdal principality in what is now Russia, took Kyiv. He did not show up himself, sending his son to fight the battle instead. Once they had captured the city, the victors plundered it for three days in succession. The prince refused to move to Kyiv and establish his capital there.

 
Bogoliubsky’s preference for his own capital of Vladimir on the Kliazma River reflected changes taking place in twelfth-century Rus’ politics, economics, and society. The major principalities on the periphery of the Kyivan world were growing richer and stronger at a time when constant internal strife beset Kyiv and the middle Dnieper region. The Halych principality in the foothills of the Carpathian Mountains, in what is now western Ukraine, engaged in trade with the Balkans along the Danube, conducted with the blessing of Constantinople. The princes there did not need the Dnieper route to prosper. In the Vladimir-Suzdal principality, Bogoliubsky successfully challenged the Bulgars’ control of the Volga trade. Novgorod in the northwest was enriching itself through Baltic commerce. Kyiv and the Dnieper trade route were still there, and the volume of trade was actually growing despite the hostility of the Polovtsians, but the Dnieper route was no longer the only, or even the main, economic lifeline of the realm.

  As the local princes grew richer and more powerful, they sought to assert their autonomy or outright independence from Kyiv. They had every reason to treat the lands inherited from their fathers and grandfathers—not the mythical Rus’ Land around Kyiv, Chernihiv, and Pereiaslav—as the main objects of their loyalty. Andrei Bogoliubsky was among the first to do so. While his sack of Kyiv in 1169 left very deep scars in the memory of its inhabitants, he demonstrated other, no less obvious attempts to make himself an independent ruler. It all began with Andrei leaving Vyshhorod near Kyiv against the wishes of his father, Yurii Dolgoruky, and going to the northeast. Yurii, who had founded Moscow in 1147, represented an old way of thinking. A son of Monomakh, he carved the principality of Suzdal out of his patrimony and proceeded to expand and strengthen it. But his ultimate goal was the Kyivan throne, which he obtained by using his powers as prince of Suzdal. He died in office and was buried in a Kyivan church.