It is the morning of May 12‚ 1892‚ and the Lithuanian-born landscape painter Isaac Ilyich Levitan has just left his home and studio on Moscow’s leafy Bolshoy Trekhsvyatitelsky Lane to spend the summer sketching and painting amid the endless expanse of the Russian countryside‚ as is his custom each and every year. Accompanied by Sofia Petrovna Kuvshinnikova‚ his mistress‚ muse‚ and fellow artist‚ Levitan will be staying in Gorodok‚ a village located by the banks of the Peshka river in Vladimir Oblast. Free from the expenses‚ distractions‚ feuds‚ heat‚ and rank odors of daily Moscow life in high summer‚ he can finally put the finishing touches on Deep Waters‚ an atmospheric study that his wealthy patron‚ Pavel Tretyakov‚ plans to purchase for the enormous sum of 3‚000 rubles. There is much to be done during this working vacation in the Russian hinterland‚ but Levitan is also a passionate hunter‚ and it is not long after he arrives that he sets down his brushes‚ picks up his rifle‚ and ventures into the woods together with Kuvshinnikova and Vesta‚ his beloved hunting dog. READ MORE from Matthew Omolesky: The Stable Path: Two Years of Ukraine’s Fight for Survival Later that summer‚ the two painters are returning from yet another hunting excursion when they find themselves astride a dirt path stretching far off to the east. Kuvshinnikova will later recall the sight: “[A]long a stretch of road like a whitish strip ran through a stand of trees into the bluish distance. And in the distance on the road you could see the figures of two pilgrims‚ and an old rickety icon on a post worn by rains that spoke of long forgotten ancient times. Everything looked so tender and cosy.” Levitan immediately grasps the morbid significance of this place. “It’s the Vladimirka Road‚” he informs his companion‚ “the Vladimirka along which convoys of countless unhappy souls with chained feet formerly made their way towards the prisons of Siberia.” The artists rest there for a while‚ discussing “what painful pictures unfolded on this road‚ how many sorrowful thoughts were pondered here.” Levitan makes a few quick sketches‚ and the pair reluctantly returns to the Gorodok estate‚ only to rush back to the old highway the following day‚ dragging with them an easel‚ a canvas about four feet in length‚ a palette‚ oils‚ and brushes. After a few days of plein-air painting‚ Levitan has produced a masterpiece‚ indeed one of the finest works ever to emerge from the realist Peredvizhniki School‚ the simple title of which he scribbles in the corner of his canvas: Volodymyrka.  The painting — better known as Vladimirka‚ using Russian orthography — is unusually political for a Levitan landscape‚ depicting as it does the aforementioned Vladimirka trakt‚ or Vladimir Highway‚ the westernmost portion of the notorious Siberian Road that carried czarist political prisoners eastward into exile. Levitan’s theme was bound to be controversial‚ and his patron proved rather less enamored with it than he had been with the comparatively mundane Deep Waters. Confident in his artistic achievement‚ Levitan nevertheless sent Vladimirka to the Tretyakov Gallery for display in the spring of 1893. The poet and critic Korney Ivanovich Chukovsky‚ who attended the Levitan exhibition‚ would marvel not so much at the message as at the sheer immensity of the landscape: “What a greedy distance‚ what a frenzy of scope! Inspired‚ intoxicating‚ alluringly wide … Alluring‚ but to where? It is clear where Vladimirka can lure — and can this Vladimirka symbolize all the work of a glorious artist‚ with his calm and exemplary consciousness of the despair of all Faustian impulses of the human spirit?” Other critics were less smitten‚ perturbed as they were by the social critique contained within Vladimirka’s frame; a review in the Peterburgskaya Gazeta complained of how “the most unsightly‚ grey motifs were chosen.” Some were severely discomfited by the picture’s unmistakable meaning. Levitan gave one of his preparatory sketches to Mikhail Pavlovich Chekhov‚ a law student and the younger brother of Anton‚ along with the inscription: “To the future prosecutor‚” only to find that the generous present was taken as a provocation‚ with Mikhail presupposing that the painter was archly accusing him of future complicity in the czarist exile system. The drawing was promptly given away. For my own part‚ it has been some two decades since last I stood in the presence of Vladimirka‚ not in the Tretyakov Gallery but in the Sainsbury Wing of the National Gallery in London‚ where it was included in the spectacular 2004 exhibition “Russian Landscape in the Age of Tolstoy.” My memory of the encounter remains vivid. As I was transported into Levitan’s landscape‚ I knew for certain that there was nothing unsightly about it‚ nothing boring‚ nothing offensive. Divorced from its historical context‚ it is the consummate peyzazh-nastroyeniye‚ or mood landscape‚ made all the more momentous by its haunting subject matter. Without any clumsy commentary‚ it straightforwardly presents the facts of the Vladimir Highway — the dusty road‚ the loneliness of the steppe‚ the tree line obscuring an impossibly distant horizon‚ the ominous gray sky‚ the billowing cumulonimbus clouds that seem to float toward the viewer while the straight path recedes‚ all of which creates an effect simultaneously static and disorienting. Whereas the Ukrainian-born Ilya Yefimovich Repin’s famous Barge Haulers on the Volga (1870–73) makes abundantly clear the inherent cruelty and physical and moral exhaustion of the czarist system‚ Vladimirka represents a far subtler‚ though equally effective‚ form of protest. (READ MORE on Ukraine: An ‘October Surprise’ From ‘New’ Ukraine Is Possible) A sense of dread pervades Levitan’s painting‚ in which evening and heavy rain seem to be fast approaching. The sensitive viewer imagines being one of those unhappy souls making his way along the Vladimir Highway toward the mines of Nerchinsk‚ a journey that could take convicts as long as 20 months‚ passing through some of the most inhospitable regions in the world. As imposing and oppressive as is the terrain around Gorodok‚ the spectator suspects that far worse is to come further down the road. Architectural critic Jonathan Meades concluded his 1994 documentary Jerry Building with the observation that “it was of course not by its architecture‚ not by [Albert] Speer’s bloated temples‚ not by its creepy thatched cottages that the 12-year Reich ensured that it would indeed last in human memory for the other 988 years. A German railway track entering a wood will forever mean mass death.’’ In much the same way‚ a Russian dirt road extending toward the eastern horizon will forever mean exile‚ penal camps‚ Gulags‚ and mass graves. It is for this reason that the very image of the Vladimir Highway weighs heavily on the Russian imagination. When the Bolsheviks took power in Russia‚ the name of the Vladimirka trakt was quickly changed to the Shosse Entuziastov‚ or the Enthusiasts’ Highway‚ and then came the Soviet-era Volga Motorway‚ now Russian Route M7‚ which generally followed the easterly path of its dusty imperial predecessor. The landscape that Levitan‚ Kuvshinnikova‚ and Vesta encountered that summer day in 1892 is largely gone‚ but the painting Vladimirka survives‚ an eternal testament to the horrors of Russian absolutism and the human toll it has taken over the years‚ in its czarist‚ Soviet‚ and Putinist-fascist incarnations.          ***** Levitan’s contemporaries had radically different reactions to Vladimirka. Some exulted in the captivating landscape. Others thought it unsightly and disgusting. Still others preferred to look away. Modern-day Russians maintain a similar relationship with their country’s past. Some revel in its glories‚ perceived and real. Others wish to move on from its myriad horrors. Still others retreat into a metaphorical vnutrennaya emigratsia‚ or internal exile. The fatal burden of history presses down all the same. Some 20 years before Levitan’s painting was exhibited in the Tretyakov Gallery‚ the poet Nikolay Alexeyevich Nekrasov was already wrestling with the moral sequelae of the Siberian exile system. In his deeply affecting two-poem cycle Russkiye zhenshchiny‚ or Russian Women‚ Nekrasov described the tragic heroism of Princess Ekaterina Trubetskаya and Princess Maria Volkonskaya‚ who followed their husbands into exile following the failed Decembrist Revolt of 1825. As the women follow the Vladimir Highway and the Siberian Road‚ in the poet’s telling‚ they console themselves that they are on “the road of God’s chosen ones‚” where: Найдем мы униженных‚ скорбных мужей‚ Но будем мы им утешеньем‚ Мы кротостью нашей смягчим палачей‚ Страданье осилим терпеньем. Опорою гибнущим‚ слабым‚ больным Мы будем в тюрьме ненавистной‚ И рук не положим‚ пока не свершим Обета любви бескорыстной!.. Чиста наша жертва‚ — мы всё отдаем Избранникам нашим и богу. We will find humiliated and mournful husbands‚ But we will be their consolation‚ We will soften the executioners with our gentleness‚ We will suffer with patience. We will lend support to the dying‚ the weak‚ the sick‚ We will be hated in prison‚ But we won’t give up until we’re done — A vow of selfless love! Our sacrifice is pure‚ we give everything To our chosen ones‚ and to God. The princes and princesses were martyrs‚ Nekrasov firmly believed‚ but to what cause‚ exactly? Nekrasov never quite brought himself to say — his writings were‚ of course‚ subject to czarist censorship — yet he had faith that posterity would know what to make of their legacy. Addressing his heroines‚ he assures them that: не долго вам горе терпеть‚ Гнев царский не будет же вечным… Но если придется в степи умереть‚ Помянут вас словом сердечным: Пленителен образ отважной жены‚ Явившей душевную силу И в снежных пустынях суровой страны Сокрывшейся рано в могилу! Умрете‚ но ваших страданий рассказ Поймется живыми сердцами‚ И заполночь правнуки ваши о вас Беседы не кончат с друзьями. Они им покажут‚ вздохнув от души‚ Черты незабвенные ваши‚ И в память прабабки‚ погибшей в глуши‚ Осушатся полные чаши!.. Пускай долговечнее мрамор могил‚ Чем крест деревянный в пустыне… You won’t have to endure grief for long‚ The royal wrath cannot last forever… But if you have to die in the steppe‚ They will remember you with heartfelt words: The captivating image of a brave wife‚ Showing her spiritual strength And in the snowy deserts of a harsh country‚ Concealed in the grave too soon! You will die‚ but your suffering is a story That will be understood by living hearts‚ And at midnight your great-grandchildren will still be talking about you In endless conversations with friends. They will show them‚ sighing from the heart‚ All your unforgettable features‚ And in memory of the great-grandmother who died in the wilderness‚ Full cups will be drained! May the marble of graves last longer‚ Like a wooden cross in the desert… Nikolay Nekrasov was confident that Russians would always remember the sacrifices of their freedom-loving forebears. Anton Chekhov‚ on the other hand‚ was not so sure. “We rotted millions of people in prisons‚ rotted in vain‚ without reasoning‚ barbarously‚” Chekhov lamented‚ “we chased people through the cold in shackles for tens of thousands of miles‚ infected them with syphilis‚ propagated criminals‚ and blamed the red-nosed prison wardens…. The wardens were not to blame‚ but all of us‚ but we do not care about this‚ it is not interesting.” In this quintessentially Russian conflict between memory and forgetting‚ the latter would seem to carry the day‚ while a few “living hearts” endeavored to keep the faith.  ***** As the Bolsheviks consolidated their stranglehold over the former Russian Empire‚ they first made political hay out of the legacy of the Siberian exile system‚ permitting the formation of a Society of Former Political Penal Laborers and the publication of the journal Penal Labor and Exile‚ while aging former Siberian exiles were even generously housed in Leningrad’s House of the Political Penal Laborers. Eventually‚ as Daniel Beer observed in his comprehensive study of the Siberian penal colonies‚ The House of the Dead (2016)‚ the Society of Former Political Penal Laborers‚ “which represented a more inclusive and pluralist vision of the revolutionary past‚ fell foul of the increasingly shrill intolerance of ideological differences” that prevailed under Stalin; “[o]ne hundred and thirty members of the society were executed during the Great Terror‚ and a further ninety were sent to the forced labour camps of a revolutionary regime many had struggled to bring to power.” Iwan Teodorowicz‚ an ethnic Pole and czarist-era revolutionary who himself languished in Siberian exile and went on to help found the society‚ was accused of membership in the non-existent “Moscow Center” and met his end at the hands of a firing squad on Sept. 20‚ 1937.  Some 800‚000 men and women were exiled to Siberia over the course of the 19th century. Twenty million would become Gulag prisoners under the Soviets. When the USSR collapsed‚ Russians could finally pay respect to those who lost their lives‚ or years of their lives‚ at the hands of a Red Terror far crueler than anything perpetrated during the czarist era. So it was that on Oct. 30‚ 1990‚ a minimalist monument dedicated to victims of political repression was erected not far from the infamous Lubyanka Building in central Moscow. Known as the Solovetsky kamen‚ or Solovetsky Stone‚ it is composed of a massive boulder‚ brought to the capital from the brutal Solovki prison camp in Russia’s Far North‚ placed atop a granite plinth. Another such stone was unveiled in Saint Petersburg in 2002‚ this time resting upon a slab in Troitskaya Square and bearing the inscriptions “To the inmates of the Gulag‚” “To the victims of Communist Terror‚” “To those who fought for freedom‚” and the immortal lines of Anna Akhmatova: Хотелось бы всех поименно назвать… I would like to recall them all by name… More recently‚ in 2015‚ plaques began appearing all over Moscow‚ and other cities in the Russian Federation‚ as part of the “Last Address” memorial project. Human rights activists installed commemorative metal plates at the last-known addresses of various political prisoners‚ featuring their names‚ dates of birth‚ occupations‚ dates of death‚ and dates of posthumous legal rehabilitation — poignant reminders of the human cost of Soviet dictatorship‚ and of the many ghosts from that era who still haunt the streets of present-day Russia. Two years later‚ one of those activists‚ Dmitry Kozlov‚ was detained by the police in Arkhangelsk after placing such a plaque at the former residence of Ivan Bessonov‚ who had fallen prey to Stalin’s purges in 1938‚ and in 2023 the plaques in Moscow started coming down one by one. “Last Address” project coordinator Oksana Matiyevskaya responded to the thefts by making it known that “we understand perfectly well why this is happening. There is a new reality here compared to ten years ago when the project started.… Everyone understands what is going on and why this is happening at this moment.” The unconscionable arrest‚ trial‚ and conviction of Oleg Petrovich Orlov‚ the 70-year-old founder of the human rights organization Memorial‚ is likewise indicative of this grim moment and this “new reality‚” as those who fight for freedom once more find themselves heading down the Vladimir Highway. ***** The name “FKU IK-3 of the Russian Federal Penitentiary Service for the Yamalo-Nenets Autonomous Okrug” is something of a mouthful‚ so that particular Western Siberian maximum-security facility is typically referred to‚ rather forbiddingly‚ as Polyarnyy volk‚ or “Polar Wolf.” It was here that the Russian opposition leader Alexei Anatolyevich Navalny met his mysterious end on Feb. 16‚ 2024‚ becoming the most famous‚ certainly‚ though far from the first political prisoner to meet his end in this sinister place‚ which was constructed by Gulag prisoners back in the bloody days of Stalin. (RELATED: Russian Dissident Alexei Navalny Dies in Brutal Arctic Gulag) When news of Navalny’s death spread‚ dissidents made the Solovetsky stones in Moscow and Saint Petersburg the focus of their posthumous tributes‚ leading to widespread arrests followed not infrequently by the presentation of conscription papers. Now even the smallest protests can provoke the regime’s ire. Just in the last few days we have seen‚ to take only a few examples‚ the 18-year-old student Daria Kozyreva arrested after affixing the lines from Taras Shevchenko’s “Testament” to a statue of the poet in Saint Petersburg: Поховайте та вставайте‚ Кайдани порвіте І вражою злою кров’ÑŽ Волю окропіте. Bury me‚ then rise up‚ Break your shackles And water with the tyrant’s blood The freedom you have gained. Svetlana Marina‚ an activist in Kirov‚ has been sentenced to a year and a half of forced labor in a penal colony. Her crime? She referred to the deceased military blogger‚ Russian propagandist‚ and career criminal Vladlen Tatarsky (real name Maxim Yuryevich Fomin) as a “murderer and a robber.” The undeniable truth no longer provides a complete defense when it comes to the vague offense of “discrediting the army.” And then there is the case of the 72-year-old pensioner Evgenia Mayboroda‚ who was given a five-and-a-half-year jail term for Vkontakte posts she made in the heat of the moment‚ in the aftermath of a Russian rocket attack against the Ukrainian city of Dnipro that injured one of her relatives. At her hearing‚ she was convinced that she would escape jail time‚ reportedly saying of her judge‚ “I think he’s a good person.” He isn’t. After her guilt was pronounced‚ Mayboroda was asked what she would do when she was free‚ should that day ever come‚ which is by no means a certainty from a purely actuarial perspective. “I’ll return home and first of all‚ I’ll have a good cry‚” she responded. “Then I’ll surf the internet again‚ and wait for this whole nightmare to end.”  As I write this‚ a large crowd is gathering at the Navalny funeral. Navalny‚ who joined Anna Politkovskaya‚ Alexander Litvinenko‚ Sergei Magnitsky‚ Boris Nemtsov‚ and other critics of Putin who were concealed in their graves far too soon‚ understood that the nightmare will not simply end on its own. There will have to be an immense effort‚ and there will be sacrifices. Navalny may have been an imperfect vessel — as are we all — though for now we should abide by the mortuary formula nil nisi bonum. His political origins were rooted in Russian nationalism‚ leading to missteps like casually referring to Georgians as “rodents” (with a play on words involving Gruziny and gryzuny) and cheering on the Russian invasion of Georgia in 2008‚ and then seeming to rule out a future return of the Crimean Peninsula to Ukraine‚ on the grounds that the region is not a “sausage sandwich to be passed back and forth.” In later years he made a course correction‚ concentrating his efforts against the Kremlin and criticizing Russia’s “unjust war of aggression” while demanding that the Kremlin recognize Ukraine’s 1991 borders (“there is nothing to discuss here”). He rightly labeled Russia’s ruling junta a “party of crooks and thieves.” Like his fellow prisoner of conscience‚ Vladimir Vladimirovich Kara-Murza‚ he was harassed‚ threatened‚ and poisoned as a consequence‚ but he returned to his homeland‚ for a Russian politician’s place will always be in Russia. Navalny courted martyrdom‚ and received it‚ ensuring that he would forever be remembered as one of “those who fought for freedom‚” as the inscription on the Solovetsky stone has it‚ and there is a great deal to be said for that. Navalny deserves credit for what might be termed his moral character arc. Whereas someone like the poet Alexander Pushkin could produce the stirring “Ode to Liberty” in his youth‚ only to be exiled and‚ in response‚ transform himself into an imperial lickspittle‚ churning out genocidal rubbish like the 1831 “To the Slanderers of Russia‚” Navalny grew wiser with age. While imprisoned‚ Navalny exchanged letters with the Soviet dissident and refusenik Natan Sharansky‚ assuring his predecessor that “the ‘virus of freedom’ is far from being eradicated. It is no longer tens or hundreds as before‚ but tens and hundreds of thousands who are not scared to speak out for freedom and against the war‚ despite the threats. Hundreds of them are in prisons‚ but I am confident that they will not be broken and they will not give up.” The pro-democracy opposition has never produced a truly popular movement in Russia — recall that the 1968 protests against the Soviet invasion of Czechoslovakia‚ held in Red Square‚ attracted precisely eight (8) people. Time will tell if Navalny’s coalition represents the beginning‚ or the apogee‚ of a genuine democratic movement. Still‚ as Sharansky admiringly told Navalny‚ “in prison I discovered that in addition to the law of universal gravitation of particles there is also a law of universal gravitation of souls. By remaining a free person in prison‚ you‚ Aleksei‚ influence the souls of millions of people worldwide.” And in response‚ Navalny acknowledged that “everything [goes] according to Ecclesiastes: what was‚ will be. But I continue to believe that we will correct it and one day in Russia there will be what was not. And will not be what was.”  What is it that hath been? the same thing that shall be. What is it that hath been done? the same that shall be done. Nothing under the sun is new‚ neither is any man able to say: Behold this is new: for it hath already gone before in the ages that were before us. So Ecclesiastes tells us. It is true that there is nothing new under the Russian sun‚ as evidenced by the truly dispiriting fact that the Vladimir Highway‚ metaphorically at least‚ still conveys prisoners to lonely Siberian penal labor camps‚ just as it did when the Romanovs and the Reds ruled the land. “What painful pictures unfolded on this road‚ how many sorrowful thoughts were pondered here‚” the painter Levitan thought as he stood on the Vladimirka‚ gazing east. The same thoughts come to mind when we hear of Navalny’s lonely death in the wasteland of the Polar Wolf‚ and as we watch his coffin carried into the Church of the Icon of the Mother of God Soothe My Sorrows‚ accompanied by shouts of “Putin is a murderer!”; “End the war!”; and “Russia will be free!” ***** If what was will be‚ should this not include the inevitable collapse of Russia’s inhuman regimes‚ sooner or later? The Russian Empire‚ in the words of the author and Siberian exile Alexander Nikolayevich Radishchev‚ was governed by an autocratic system “most contrary to human nature.” It fell. Alexander Isaevich Solzhenitsyn‚ author of The Gulag Archipelago‚ grasped that “socialism of any type leads to a total destruction of the human spirit and to a leveling of mankind into death‚” and that the Soviet Union was “full of coercion‚ of bureaucratic greed and corruption and avarice.” It‚ too‚ fell. And now‚ once again‚ “Russia’s history is sinking deeper and deeper into the slop-bucket‚” as the dissident Alexander Glebovich Nevzorov characterizes the current state of affairs in the Russian Federation. History will repeat itself‚ of that we can be sure. Russians would‚ after the collapse of the Soviet Union‚ say that “it was forever until it was no more [Это было навсегда‚ пока не кончилось].” Much the same will be said of this corrupt fascist regime.   Nikolay Nekrasov‚ in his 1863 poem “Rytsar’ na chas‚” or “Knight for an Hour‚” memorably conjured up that uniquely Russian brand of pessimism:  Ð’Ñ‹ еще не в могиле‚ вы живы‚  Но для дела вы мертвы давно.  Суждены вам благие порывы‚  Но свершить ничего не дано. You’re not in the grave yet‚ you’re still alive‚ But you’ve been dead for a very long time. You were endowed with the best of intentions‚ But nothing is going to come of them. These lines subsequently became aphoristic‚ indicative of the sort of learned helplessness that bedevils so much of the Russian populace. Nekrasov was himself an optimist‚ however‚ and in Russian Women he placed his earnest hopes in those future Russians who‚ with their “living hearts” and “spiritual strength‚” would safeguard the legacy of those who fought for freedom against incredible odds.  On March 1‚ 2024‚ at the funeral of Alexei Navalny‚ we could see those same hearts beating‚ and that same strength on display‚ even as hundreds of funeral-goers were detained by the authorities. It is the sort of strength that was on display at the Dec. 9‚ 2022‚ sentencing of the opposition politician Ilya Valeryevich Yashin‚ who was convicted of the crime of “spreading false information” after criticizing Russian war crimes at Bucha and elsewhere in Ukraine‚ when he proclaimed that “lies are the religion of slaves and masters. Truth is the god of the free man‚” and that “it’s better to spend ten years behind bars as an honest man than quietly burn with shame over the blood spilled by your government.” We may sincerely hope that something‚ someday‚ will come of these sacrifices‚ but until that day comes‚ the fatal burden of history will continue to afflict Russia like a disease‚ and the awful specter of the Vladimir Highway will remain a thing of the present instead of the past‚ with ramifications well beyond Russia’s borders‚ on Europe’s eastern flank‚ and from Syria and Iran to China and North Korea. Remember the menacing Putinist slogan “Granitsy Rossii nigde ne zakanchivayutsya [Границы России нигде не заканчиваются]” — “Russia’s borders don’t end anywhere.” Putin may have his nationalistic or opportunistic supporters inside Russia‚ wretched slaves to their religion of lies‚ while abroad there somehow remain those who imagine that the Russian dictator is “not their problem‚” or‚ just as laughably‚ that he is some kind of ally in the culture war. We may await their collective return to some semblance of mental decency and moral sanity at a future date‚ but in the meantime‚ we have at least been given ample evidence in recent days and months that the “virus of freedom” discussed by Sharansky and Navalny is ineradicable‚ residing in living hearts everywhere‚ endemic even in the “snowy deserts of a harsh country.” The post ‘Virus of Freedom’ Spreading in Russia: Alexei Navalny and the Vladimir Highway appeared first on The American Spectator | USA News and Politics.