The Manifesto promises freedom to people of all faiths and estates – in effect, the abolition of serfdom. Landless peasants are to get three morgens of land if they agree to fight the Russian tsar's rule.
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| S.Žiūros nuotr./Vilma Žaltauskaitė |
The promise of land was an attempt by the noblemen and military officers from the Kingdom of Poland and the defunct Grand Duchy of Lithuania to secure the support of local peasantry for their insurrection in winter 1863. “It [the abolition of serfdom] was hardly news, but never before had it been stated so clearly. The insurgents' Manifesto almost shows one estate addressing another as equal subjects. In the 19-century context, against the background of serfdom, it was significant indeed,” says historian Vilma Žaltauskaitė of the Lithuanian History Institute.
Žaltauskaitė speaks to 15min about the uprising against the tsarist rule that broke out in the territories of the Polish-Lithuanian Commonwealth in 1863-1864. This year marks the 150th anniversary of one of the key events in Lithuania's 19-century history, yet one that still stands in a somewhat ambiguous relation with the national narrative.
– A seemingly basic question, but still somewhat ambiguous in this case: who rose against whom and what for?
– I must start off by saying that this insurrection is not a direct object of my research. On the other hand, when you look at the 19-century history of Lithuania, you should always keep in mind events like that. Those who rose in 1863 were part of the society of the former Polish-Lithuanian Commonwealth, people from different social groups or estates. This society held diverging views on what it wanted to achieve and how to do it, but the main goal of the uprising was clear – to resurrect the Polish-Lithuanian Commonwealth that was destroyed after the three partitions in 1772, 1793, and 1795 (when its territories were divided among Russia, Austria, and Prussia).
So it was political action.
The 19th century was the age of modernization, so the traditionally active part of the society was looking for new groups that could support the idea of statehood. Both the Manifesto and various decrees made promises of equal rights to all estates (including both townspeople and peasants), and land to peasants.
The attempt to involve peasantry into the uprising was one of the key moments. Especially in light of the abolition of serfdom that was proclaimed in the Russian Empire in 1861.
At first, the tsarist authorities tried to make peasantry side with them, by abolishing serfdom and giving land (or allowing to buy it). Polish and Lithuanian political elites, too, attempted to make peasants into political subjects on their side, promising land, but their aim was to reconstitute an independent state.
– Do you mean to say that it was a completely new phenomenon in the Polish-Lithuanian history – attempts to engage peasantry into political action?
– We must keep the entire 19-century history in mind. It was the time when old social structures were disintegrating and new ones emerging. There were far more radical attempts than that. Napoleon tried to have peasants on his side, he granted them personal freedoms in his code. Some aristocrats thought of doing the same even before the uprising. In general, there was much talk about serfdom at the time, but little action. After all, there wasn't much they could do, without effective instruments. It is also a matter of political power – which was in the hands of the imperial administration.
So it was hardly news, but never before had it been stated so clearly. The insurgents' Manifesto almost shows one estate addressing another as equal subjects. In the 19-century context, against the background of serfdom, it was significant indeed.
For instance, insurgents had to give an oath. Accepting an oath from a peasant – that was a significant step. In the Russian Empire, only noblemen who were joining the public service would give an oath. And here – from a peasant. Sure, it is hard to tell how important the pledge was to the peasant himself. On the other hand, though, it meant that a noblemen would look at a peasant as his equal.
– But the uprising started only after the abolition of serfdom in the Russian Empire.
– Serfdom was still in place in the Kingdom of Poland, where the imperial administration was pursuing different policies. And the impetus for the uprising came from Poland. By 1863, political projects of an autonomous Kingdom of Poland – and its reunion with the Grand Duchy of Lithuania – had failed, triggering various manifestations. Political action was gaining ground in Warsaw and elsewhere, so the idea of an insurrection spread across the former lands of the Polish-Lithuanian Commonwealth. The levy, called by the imperial authorities, was just a pretext.
The uprising was directly connected to the past and the memory of the Kingdom of Poland and the Polish-Lithuanian Commonwealth.
On the other hand, what it meant to be a Pole in the 19-century Kingdom of Poland and the Grand Duchy of Lithuania were quite different, even if we don't see the difference today.
A Pole of the Grand Duchy – he could have been calling himself Lithuanian – was clearly marked as different, he identified himself with historic Lithuania and not with the Polish Crown. He thought himself dissimilar to the Poles of the Kingdom, even though both shared the goal of rebuilding the Polish-Lithuanian Commonwealth.
– Can you elaborate on this difference between the Poles of Poland and of the Grand Duchy?
– In the 19th century, the Polishness of the Grand Duchy Poles had a distinctive flavour to it and was linked to the tradition and historic heritage of the Grand Duchy of Lithuania. They identified themselves with the state of the 13-16 centuries, while the Union of Lublin, for them, was not the end of that state. So the identity of the nobility of the Grand Duchy, its political and social elites, was distinct from the one of the so-called Crown Poles – one should not conflate the two.
It was an ethnopolitical identity, one that was not based on language. Language acquired significance with the emergence of modern nationalism, ethnolinguistic identity, but not before.
In general, without going too much into detail about the insurgents' expectations and motives, we could still say that they were not fighting for a Lithuania as it emerged after 1918.
Conversely, the modern Lithuanian who lived within the boundaries of ethnic Lithuania and spoke Lithuanian, the one in who's image the Republic of Lithuania was founded in 1918, felt little sympathy for the 1863-1864 uprising. Lithuanian-ness was then defined in contradistinction with Polishness. Granted, though, there were other positions, too.
I think this is an important point to note. Social, political, and cultural realities in 1863 where very different from those in 1918 and from what they are now. We shouldn't be reserved, let alone suspicious, about these differences – we should simply accept them and acknowledge different attitudes that were prevalent back then.
Those people were not worse than us, they weren't any more Polish and less Lithuanian. This is simply the way the society at the time was. Subsequent developments turned some of those people into modern Lithuanians, others into modern Poles. There were other options, too.
– The goal of the insurgents was clear enough – to reconstitute the Polish-Lithuanian Commonwealth. But you mentioned different views about the particulars. What differences were these?
– To put it very generally, there were “white” insurgents and “red” insurgents. The whites were mostly aristocrats, open to compromises with the imperial administration. They hoped to achieve their goals without resorting to arms. Let me remind you that the Kingdom of Poland was one administrative unit within the Russian Empire, while the Grand Duchy of Lithuania was another. So the goal was to have the two in one administrative unit again.
Meanwhile the “reds” were ready to take up arms in pursuit of their goals. These goals, however, were not to reconstitute Lithuania, as people sometimes claim today. At least judging by modern research, their aim, too, was the Polish-Lithuanian Commonwealth – only through different means.
– The fact that the landed nobility tried to secure peasants' support by promising land suggests that the uprising, at least from the peasants' point of view, had a clear social basis. Is there any space left for national consciousness at all?
– We still have to do a lot of research in order to be able to say anything about the self-awareness of the peasants of the time – let alone those who joined the uprising. The set of data that could provide insights is very limited. It is particularly difficult to guess what motivated peasants of the 19th century – why they took up scythes and went to fight.
It is clear, though, that religion played a crucial role in the self-awareness of 19-century society and peasantry. The press of the uprising indicates a clear religious motif. The tsar's policies were clearly seen as anti-catholic – and this argument was effectively used to mobilise peasant support for the uprising.
The Church was one of the strongest sources of authority. It is not impossible to count – and it is being done – how many clergymen took part in the uprising. No less eloquent is the fact that some of them were reading manifestoes to the people on their own accord, while others were being forced to do it.
Research shows that motives where different. One cannot make sweeping generalizations about the motives of entire social groups. After all, identity is not a fixed and unchanging state either.
– How did this uprising look in the context of the rest of Europe? Provincial perhaps – peasants here were fighting for land, while elsewhere, they were led by loftier ideas?
– By no means was the uprising motivated by land – the aim was the reconstitution of the state. In that sense, it was a perfectly modern 19-century European event.
The society lost all opportunities to build a modern state with the three partitions in the end of the 18th century – they interrupted the reforms that had been started and undercut the 3 May 1791 Constitution. But if we accepted the historiographical position that we had corrupted our state from within and the partitions naturally and inevitably followed from that, then of course, we could say that there was no point in trying to resurrect that state.
But if we assume that the partitions arrested and discontinued the otherwise progressive development of the Commonwealth, then the uprising must be seen as a significant and important political action and a declaration by the society to the effect that this society – or parts of it – had not accepted the loss of the state, that there were people who envisaged things differently and were ready to act on it.
I've always been intrigued by manifestations of social activism. And its content is very heterogeneous. Today's society, too, should consider it in an attempt to define its relation to the 1863 uprising.
We are celebrating the 150th anniversary of the event – that's merely five generations. So the link to developments back then – the abolition of serfdom and the uprising – is still strong and the society should feel it, reflect on it. Even though today, we are living in a modern Lithuania, one defined by ethnolinguistic categories.
1863-1834 Uprising
The uprising in Poland broke out on 22 Janaury 1863 and is referred to as the January Uprising. In Lithuania, it started on 1 February 1863. It was led by military officers, noblemen, and a few priests. The best-known leaders where Konstantinas Kalinauskas (Konstanty Kalinowski), Zigmantas Sierakauskas (Zygmunt Sierakowski), Antanas Mackevičius.
Insurgents were more numerous (up to 30,000 men at the peak of uprising) and a little better armed, but there were 135,000 Russian troops and 6,000 Cossacks in Lithuania and another 45,000 Russian troops in Volhynia. In every major military engagement of the uprising insurgents were outnumbered at least 10 to 1. Russian troops completely crushed the armed insurrection in autumn 1864. The imperial administration sentenced 21,712 people to death, prison, or exile.
The effort to crush the uprising was led by Mikhail Muravyov, the General Governor of Vilnius, who was dubbed “the hangman” for his ferocity.
