defector who wrote the main book about Russia in the 17th century

The story of the clerk of the Ambassadorial Prikaz, Grigory Karpovich Kotoshikhin, is a model in its own way: a successful career, a penny (literally) theft, expulsion from inhabited Moscow to dangerous and wild places, betrayal, flight and death of a traitor. True, there is still an essay left from him about Russia in the second half of the 17th century, which is still an important source for historians. And in general – an interesting read.

Text: Ivan Davydov

Would it be interesting for you to know “about kings, and queens, and princes, and princesses, and about royal marriages, what custom is there for fun”? The Swedish Chancellor and head of the royal government, Magnus Gabriel Delagardie, was interested in this at one time. And the joy, by the way, happens like this: “And on the morning of the day in which the wife was married, the king comes to the first cathedral church and prays; and after prayer, the patriarch blesses the king with the cross and sprinkles him with holy water, and the king venerates the image and the relics of the saints; and then he blesses the patriarch about his marriage, and the patriarch blesses him with a word. And the king will go from the church to another cathedral church, where the former kings are buried, and at that time he will send singing to the dead, and, offering forgiveness at the graves, he will go to himself.”

This is such fun. No parties for you, as they say.

The author of this informative description and our hero today is the clerk of the Ambassadorial Prikaz, Grigory Karpovich Kotoshikhin. Born around 1630 in the family of a monastery treasurer. He began his career in the Prikaz of the Grand Palace (this is something like the ministry of the court in the empire – royal income, royal expenses, royal property). Later he was transferred to the Ambassadorial Prikaz.

“This is something like the Ministry of Foreign Affairs,” I would like to say, and this would be true, but everything is more complicated: the command system of management was distinguished by a special logic, which to us would perhaps seem like chaos. The Ambassadorial Prikaz had its own icon painters, including outstanding ones – Karp Zolotarev, for example, from there (his iconostases can still be seen in the famous Church of the Intercession in Fili, in the Great Cathedral of the Donskoy Monastery, in the Church of the Intercession in Medvedkovo). And masters of various other arts also worked. And a special atmosphere reigned. The clerks of the Ambassadorial Prikaz, by virtue of their occupations, succumbed, as they would say now, to foreign influences. They translated chivalric novels in their spare time, and wrote ponderous poetic messages in the fashion borrowed from Poland. A gathering of intellectuals, in general, is a nutrient broth for potential betrayals.

Yes, here’s another vignette: it was the clerks of the Ambassadorial Prikaz who translated “Artaxerxes’ Action” into Russian, the first play staged in Russia, in the Comedy Hall of Tsar Alexei Mikhailovich, and written by the Germans who served in Moscow. The story of how Esther and Mordechai defeated the wicked Haman. All this, however, happened after the escape and death of our hero, but now you know that the Russian theater began with the Purimshpil. Flaunt your erudition on occasion.

Kotoshikhin’s career was taking shape. In addition to other talents, he was distinguished by his unusually beautiful and legible handwriting, which was appreciated then. Grigory Karpovich took part in important negotiations, visited abroad several times, and saw enough of other people’s lives. And he committed his first state crime – he made a mistake in recording the royal title in one of the documents, for which he was beaten by the batogs.

It is difficult to say whether Kotoshikhin was offended by his homeland for this – corporal punishment was not considered a particularly offensive thing in Muscovy; they treated him, according to the concepts of that time, quite humanely. They didn’t even kick me out of the service. He continued to participate in diplomatic missions and willingly accepted from his Swedish colleagues (Russia was just about to sign a peace treaty with the Kingdom of Sweden), first gifts and then bribes – but in exchange for secret information.

This all, however, became known later: the traitor was not exposed. Otherwise, they would have simply executed – or not simply, but cruelly and intricately – and we would have neither a book about the Muscovite kingdom, nor a reason for this story. However, Kotoshikhin was haunted by various troubles. First, his father was accused of embezzlement and his house was confiscated. An investigation was carried out, the embezzlement turned out to be ridiculous – 15 kopecks, but the house was not returned. And then, in 1663, our clerk himself was sent from Moscow to Smolensk, to join the active army (Russia was at war with Poland). Apparently, he was already in bad standing with his superiors.

And it seems that the Moscow clerk did not like this at all, and besides, his relationship with the army authorities did not work out. Kotoshikhin fled. First, naturally, to the Poles. He even received a salary from the king: he was a knowledgeable and useful man. But he learned that secret negotiations were underway about his extradition, and did not wait to see how the negotiations would end. Silesia, Prussia, Lubeck, and finally Stockholm.

The fear is not groundless: the Muscovite kingdom believed that the sovereign’s subjects were the sovereign’s property, and always tried to achieve the return of fugitives. There is, for example, the story of Nikefor Alferi (aka Nikifor Grigoriev). Grigoriev is the first Russian to graduate from Cambridge. Boris Godunov – yes, yes, he was the first here, and not Peter the Great – sent several Russian teenagers to study abroad. Then the Troubles happened, they forgot about the students, and when they remembered, not all of them could be found. Grigoriev was found, but by that time he had changed his name, faith, got married and became an Anglican priest. The Russian ambassador in London nevertheless demanded his extradition and embarrassed the English government – trade with Muscovy was an important matter, they did not want to quarrel. However, they still decided that they did not have the right to forcefully expel a citizen from the country. But those are the British; the Poles, who already understood the inevitability of peace, might have turned out to be less scrupulous, and it is clear what would have awaited Kotoshikhin at home. The dungeon, the rack, the whip, the block.

There were connections in Sweden, a service was found in Sweden. Kotoshikhin – or rather, Johann Seletsky, he also changed his name – received a salary and a job in the state archive. Then, at the instigation of the state chancellor, he took up work, which ultimately ensured the fugitive, albeit modest, but still immortality. “A description of the Moscow state, the different classes of people in it, their customs, both in times of joy and in times of sorrow, as well as a description of their military affairs and home life.” About everything at once, without any logic that we understand. And about court ritual, and about the organization of troops, and about how orders work, about cities, about riots and unrest, about boyars, about merchants, about peasants… Kotoshikhin knew a lot about Russian life, and his work was eagerly read at the Swedish court . The book came out detailed and angry – the clerk was obviously offended by his homeland.

But then Polish history repeated itself – the defector learned that the Muscovites were demanding his extradition, and there were no guarantees that the Swedes, within the framework of complex diplomatic games, would not satisfy this request. Just in case, he escaped from Stockholm and settled on the estate of a colleague, translator from the state archive Daniil Anastasius.

He thanked him for his friendship and shelter in a unique way: either he tried to rob the hospitable host, or he seduced his wife, it is not clear. In general – a quarrel, a drunken fight, four knife attacks. Anastasius died, and Kotoshikhin was arrested and tried. The sentence is death. In the fall of 1667, a Russian defector was beheaded.

But this was not the end of his adventures: since Kotoshikhin had no relatives in Sweden and there was no one to bury him, the corpse was handed over to Professor of Medicine Rudbeck from Uppsala University. The professor cleaned the bones of flesh and turned the skeleton into a teaching aid. Kotoshikhin’s skeleton was seen at the university back in the 20th century, but then it got lost somewhere.

The book could also get lost. Catherine II knew about its existence and was going to read and rewrite it, but she didn’t get around to it. The historian Alexander Turgenev, the brother of the Decembrist, who collected works about Russia in foreign archives, also learned that there was such an interesting document. After this, Russian scientists searched for Kotoshikhin’s work purposefully and found it from afar. Now this is the most important, albeit rather biased, source of our knowledge about the era of Tsar Alexei Mikhailovich.

Such is life, short, but stormy, a real romance. But if they hadn’t expelled the touchy clerk from Moscow, if they hadn’t driven him from his warm place in the order to go to war, none of this would have happened. And it wouldn’t be a very exciting book either.

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