“The stones will cry out”

This article concerns an interesting episode in the history of the Ukrainian national renaissance of the early 20th century. In 1913 a member of the 4th State Duma, Archbishop Nikon (the ethnic Russian Nikolai Bezsonov) of Krasnoyarsk, submitted a bill on the introduction of Ukrainian as the language of instruction in elementary schools.

In the first years of 20th century, Bishop Parfeniy (P. Levytsky), a representative of the Podilian clergy, became well known for his efforts to launch the teaching of Ukrainian in two-grade parish schools. His work was supported by the Holy Synod, which issued an ukase dated Oct. 12, 1907. On the local level the initiative received concrete support from the Prosvita Society, a Ukrainian cultural-educational civic organization, and from the pro-Ukrainian clergy. However, the project reached a dead end and became another black spot in the history of the Ukrainian renaissance.

Among those who supported the Holy Synod’s ukase was Bishop Nikon, who was a member of the monarchist Union of the Russian People and was then based at the Pochayivska Lavra Monastery.

When he was still bishop of Kremianets, he upheld the idea that it was necessary to expand the functioning of the Ukrainian language, which was then officially branded as a local dialect. At a convention of teachers of God’s Law and parish schools in Kremianets county in Pochayiv, held on Sept. 9-10 (Old Style) under his chairmanship, he made clear his unambiguously favorable attitude to the main issue of education, the problem of textbooks and the language of instruction. An article entitled “In the Aftermath of a Convention,” published by the Podilian newspaper Rada (no. 261, 1910) and signed by a “Former Schoolteacher,” reads that Archbishop Nikon agreed with those delegates who were campaigning for the survival of their mother tongue in parish schools and the publication of a new primer adapted to the local language.

Archbishop Nikon believed that new textbooks for such schools should be prepared by the Theological Academy of Kyiv, as commissioned by the Holy Synod. He stressed the low level of elementary education in Ukraine, particularly in Volyn, where “the population’s illiteracy is incredible, where people retain every hallmark of the caveman.” Nikon made several interesting proposals to improve teaching in these schools: classes should begin on September 1, not before Christmas; students should be admitted on two clearly defined dates, rather than throughout the winter. The teachers’ convention also resolved to include Ukrainian (“Little Russian”) songs in the curriculum, using Mykola Lysenko’s textbook Anthology of Songs for School-Aged Children. But an official, a “county school supervisor,” protested against this idea.

Nikon, who was known as a “rebellious bishop” in Ukrainian progressive circles, was eventually transferred to Siberia, where he was ordained bishop of Yenisei and Krasnoyarsk. A note in Rada entitled “The Krasnoyarsk Black Hundreds and Bishop Nikon” (Rada, no. 69, 1913), in the column “Across Russia,” recounts Bishop Nikon’s first steps in his new base. During a meeting with representatives of the Union of the Russian People, headed by Rev. V. Zakharov, Nikon criticized the union’s newspaper Susanin for its “unjust and offensive attacks” against various individuals and institutions, and expressed the hope that the newspaper would become “calm and truthful.” In his recommendation to the union, the bishop wrote, “You cannot break down walls by beating your head against them. Today, monarchist organizations must not ruin things but carry on cultural construction and work hard.” His train of thought was objectionable to Bishop Zakharov, the de facto editor of Susanin, who “stuffed” his newspaper with “foul language and libel and slander against local figures and foreigners [i.e., non-Russians].”

Nikon took an independent stand with regard to important contemporary sociocultural and church issues. Aware of this, the Holy Synod created a special status for him; as bishop of Krasnoyarsk, he was not allowed to leave the eparchy. Their efforts were in vain, however, as there is no way to stop freedom of spirit. While he was still bishop of Balta and Kremianets, Nikon, the vicar of Volyn, was elected to the 4th State Duma. In 1913 he sent a bill to the Duma from Krasnoyarsk, called “A Legislative Proposal concerning Ukrainian Schools and Societies,” which proposed the introduction of Ukrainian as the language of instruction in primary schools. Rada published the text in 1913 (no. 203, p. 2)

Before we analyze this extremely interesting document, I should mention what happened in 1906-07, particularly the movement to create Ukrainian academic chairs in universities on the territory of Ukraine (e.g., in Kyiv, Kharkiv, Odesa, etc.). This movement was launched by the students of St. Volodymyr Kyiv University in 1906. In issue no. 26 (1906) Rada announced that on Oct. 16 the students held a meeting and resolved to demand the creation of academic chairs specializing in Ukrainian history, language, and literature (in the Faculty of History and Philology), and Ukrainian law (at the Law Faculty). The Kyivan students were probably following the example of their counterparts at the universities of St. Petersburg and Odesa. In the fall of 1905 they held meetings to demand the introduction of faculties of Ukrainian studies in their institutions. On Nov. 27 a delegation of Kyiv University students submitted its demands in writing to the rector, who was supposed to transmit it to the Council of Professors. Signatures to the appeal for Ukrainian studies chairs started being collected at the university and throughout Ukraine. The students’ efforts caused considerable reverberations throughout society. Rada received comments and articles from across the Russian empire. Their authors, people from various social classes and intellectual levels, were eager to share their views on this question.

The distinguished historian Dmytro Doroshenko, who was an active participant in these events, later recalled that “it was a true plebiscite (i.e., referendum) which did a great deal to popularize the cause of Ukrainian chairs and gave a strong impetus to our student community.” Kyiv University’s Senate had to make concessions, e.g., including Ukrainian history and literature in the curriculum (Russian- language classes would be taught by Prof. Andriy Loboda). In the academic year 1906-07, classes in Ukrainian studies were taught at the universities of Kharkiv and Odesa by Oleksander Hrushevsky and Mykola Sumtsov. But this process was suspended with the onslaught of tsarist reaction (1907), which led to the closure of national societies (e.g., the Prosvita Society in Kamianets-Podilsky in 1907).

Nevertheless, this upsurge of national consolidation to nationalize education left significant traces. In the 3rd Duma, Ukrainian deputies drafted a bill on Ukrainian as the language of instruction in national schools, better known as the “Draft Law of the 33” (i.e., signatories). The draft contains clauses stressing the need to introduce Ukrainian as the language of instruction in elementary schools, as well as textbooks geared to help “understand the living conditions of the populace.”

In the opinion of Ukrainian educators, this document was rather limited. It did not deal with the Ukrainian language but “Little Russian;” it lacked provisos for the immediate introduction of the Ukrainian language in schools, teaching Ukrainian to schoolteachers working in Ukraine, and teaching Ukrainian subjects at least in the Russian language. Despite the compromise shown by the Ukrainian parliamentarians, chauvinistic circles in the Duma opposed the bill, among them Ulyanov, the deputy minister of education (familiar name?) who argued that Ukrainian is very close to Russian, so there was no need to adopt it as the language of instruction in schools. This notorious thesis was sharply criticized by Hryhoriy Kovalenko (Poltava) in his anthology “Ukrainian Language and School” (Rada, no. 121, 1908). After stating that these Slavic languages have much in common, he comments ironically, “So perhaps we should suggest that the Bohemians, Serbs, Bulgarians, and others renounce their mother tongues [author’s emphasis here and below — Ed.] and introduce Russian as the language of instruction in their schools?”

The unfavorable situation of the draft is evident from the fact that the Duma passed laws introducing Russian and Lithuanian as languages of instruction in seven seminaries. The author of an editorial in Rada (most likely written by Sergei Yefremov) vented his wrath: “The Poles are not denied their right to use their mother tongue the way we are denied it. It is erroneous and damaging to assume that Ukrainian is not a language but “jargon” derived from the serious Russian and Polish languages; this assumption is firmly imbedded in the minds of ill-educated people, so much so that the Ukrainian language has to struggle for its right to exist.” These statements throw into relief the power of imperialist stereotypes in regard to the Ukrainian identity, statements that were still being proclaimed at the beginning of the 20th century, when progressive communities of Russia and Ukraine were preparing to celebrate the centennial of Taras Shevchenko’s birth and a project to erect a monument to Shevchenko was launched on an all-Russian and all-Ukrainian scale. The participants of the All-Russian Women’s Congress, held in St. Petersburg in 1908, discussed the problem of the Ukrainian language and textbooks in that language in schools in Ukraine. During the congress this issue was raised by Sofia Rusova, who would become a noted figure in education. “It is only the mother tongue and books in the native language that can allow Ukrainian mothers in the countryside to teach their daughters to read and become interested in their history,” she wrote in her report on the congress for Rada. Similar efforts were made by Ukrainian deputies of the Duma, particularly Prof. Ivan Luchytsky of Kyiv. These efforts were rebuffed by “true Russian” adherents of what Yefremov described as “sinister Russification.” Even the Constitutional Democrats, via their spokesman Pavel Miliukov, supported the idea of allowing Ukrainians to use their mother tongue in elementary schools. In contrast, Yegorov and Kuznetsov, deputies from the Social Democratic Party, were silent. Rada’s editorial entitled “Under the Flag” summed up angrily: “All of them remained unanimously silent, as though the subject at hand concerned the Chukchis, Cheremis, Mordvinians, Gypsies, Yakuts or Ostyaks, rather than an ethnic group that is numerically the largest in Russia.” The editorial also identifies a deputy, a priest from Podilia named Senderko who, as a “non- party progressivist,” addressed sincere words to the Duma in defense of the Ukrainian language, thereby “earning” a reprimand from the Podilian clergy at the last congress. Senderko was criticized for his involvement with the progressivists and for his “refusal to join the Duma’s ‘black circle’.”

It was at this very time that Duma member Bishop Nikon came up with his draft law, a copy of which was sent to Rada’s editorial office, with the original filed with the Duma. The document needed 30 signatures and Rada published the text in 1913 (no. 203, p. 2).

The text was preceded by introductory comments by the editorial board of Rada, meaning Yefremov, judging by their passionate tone. The editorial discussed the thoroughly hostile atmosphere around the ideals and the entirely natural program to foster the cultural development of Ukraine, which was emanating from the Russian government, the majority of Duma members, and influential Ukrainian circles. The author goes on to say that proof of this hostility was the stubborn and decisive abolition and restriction of the activities of various Ukrainian associations (e.g., Prosvita). The situation was aggravated by the fact that the problem was becoming excessively ideologized. An atmosphere of suspicion, inherent in imperialistic chauvinism, also surrounded the issue. All the normal requirements of the Ukrainian people were examined from the “Mazepist” standpoint, i.e, an anti-governmental position allegedly aimed at undermining the Russian political system, thus dooming the question to self-destruction or the absence of any future. Bishop Nikon’s draft bill, which targeted this very attitude to Ukraine’s cultural needs, was submitted by a man who “as is evident from his conflict with the Synod, is independent and whose ideas and words are sincere.”

The editorial comments end on an optimistic, life-asserting note (a hallmark of Yefremov’s articles in Rada): “... without a doubt, when a draft law on freedom of the Ukrainian word and the Ukrainian language in elementary schools originates from individuals like Bishop Nikon, the time will soon come when these pressing needs of the Ukrainian people will be satisfied, if only on the strength of educational and logical arguments alone.”

Bishop Nikon’s main proposals were published at the end of the document. The first part was written in the traditional romantic style typical of the early 20th century. He wanted to create an emotional background, seeking to build up empathy for the persecuted Ukrainian brothers: “Ukrainians are not foreigners, they are just like us, our brothers, so they must not suffer any restrictions in terms of language and national cultural progress; on the contrary, we will make them our brothers, equal to Jews, Poles, Georgians, and other real foreigners.” Bishop Nikon was genuinely fond of Ukrainian poetry and songs (he described them as “sad” and “wonderful”). It is hard to refrain from quoting this clergyman whose statements were clearly at variance with official policy and were far too bold for the times: “It is difficult to realize that even now, for the benefit of the bureaucracy and the totally moribund ideals of Russification, Ukraine, a rich, talented, blossoming, and poetic country is condemned to deracination, gradual stupefaction, and slow death.”

In all fairness it should be noted that some of Bishop Nikon’s statements sound rather naХve and even controversial today. At the time, however, they were like a kind of protective immunity, helping to expand the circle of sympathizers of the Ukrainian cause. This is connected to the legal protection of Ukrainians: Ukrainians are not separatists; if there are any, they are few in number. The leitmotif of the motivational part of the document is the thesis that “the Ukrainian people are striving only for their own language and their own history in their own Ukrainian schools and life.”

Presenting these arguments about the normality of Ukrainians’ demands to have Ukrainian as the language of instruction in their schools and the viability and richness of the Ukrainian language, Bishop Nikon declares, “The Ukrainian language was, is, and shall be,” in an antithesis to Valuev’s notorious circular. The four main clauses of the draft bill are listed:

(1) Allow Ukrainian as the language of instruction in Ukrainian elementary schools in all departments (at least for the first two years of study);

(2) Appoint to these schools mostly Ukrainians and individuals who are fluent in the local, i.e, Ukrainian, language;

(3) Include Ukrainian language and the history of Ukraine in the school curriculum, on a par with Russian language and Russian history;

(4) Refrain from persecuting Prosvita societies by finding faults and shortcomings, for these institutions are exclusively educational; spread permitted knowledge, books, and booklets in Ukrainian; the closure of these societies can be effected only by a court decision, not by means of an administrative “decision”, which often means complete arbitrariness.

The bill ends with this loyal statement: “We are confident that a just attitude to this excellent tribe will guide the single Russia not to ruination and impotence but to strength and growth.” This last phrase was clearly at variance with the above points. Without going into the political and ideological intricacies of the time, one can discuss the obviously progressive nature of the document and its Ukrainophile tendency.

In another issue of Rada Yefremov commented on this document in an editorial entitled “A Manifestation of Impotence” (Rada, no. 204, 1913, p. 1). While praising Nikon’s sincerity and sympathetic stand toward the Ukrainian community, the author is clearly pessimistic about getting the issue of national education off the ground: “Through the lips of Bishop Nikon the stones cried out, this is symptomatic of the future, but his voice now will sound in vain, unless it elicits reactions from the ranks of the authors of the draft bill, who are trying to distance themselves from it.” Yefremov noted a certain degree of naivetО on the part of Bishop Nikon and his inability to understand the inner nature of the Ukrainian movement.

Unfortunately, Yefremov’s reflections were justified. The document failed to collect the required number of votes (30), and therefore not considered in the Duma. Yet Bishop Nikon’s efforts were not in vain. Later he sent a thank-you letter to the Rada (no. 260, 1913). He addresses it primarily to those Ukrainians who responded favorably to what he describes as “a small word put in for the Ukrainian cause.” Here we see a manifestly Ukrainian-minded individual, who is very familiar with the creative achievements of Shevchenko and other Ukrainian writers (he quotes from Kotsiubynsky’s well-known short story “Kho,” in which fear is condemned as the biggest obstacle on the road to Ukrainian advancement). Nikon ends his letter with these deeply emotional and sincere words: “I spent six years in Ukraine, I grew to love and respect the Ukrainian people, and I sincerely wished them the very best...I believe that ‘the sun of truth’ will reign in their little whitewashed homes and then...the villages ‘as beautiful as Easter eggs’ will smile happily, and the people will breathe freely, children will [be] on their native ground, native songs will be sung in the vast fields, and the native village will assert itself.”

Like the Rada newspaper, the Ukrainian public duly appreciated Bishop Nikon’s defense of the Ukrainian language and the Prosvita societies. The writer Spyrydon Cherkasenko, who was a frequent contributor to the Literaturno-naukovy visnyk [Literary-scientific Herald] and later a regular contributor to Ivan Ohienko’s Warsaw publications (Ridna mova and Nasha kultura) also praised Nikon’s efforts. A review entitled “Apropos of Life in Ukraine” (Rada carried similar reviews by Yefremov) stated, “... we are pleased to say that the Ukrainian sympathies of the draft bill’s author are evolving at a remarkably quick pace. So the rebellious bishop should not complain that Ukraine-haters are calling him names: traitor, Mazepa, Judas, etc. He will hear even worse things if he maintains his stand and does not regress to his original one. Only time will tell. We’ll see.”

Spyrydon Cherkasenko’s words were prophetic. During the period of the Ukrainian Central Rada, Nikolai Bezsonov was appointed head of the religious affairs department in the Ministry of the Interior of the Ukrainian National Republic.

Nikolai Bezsonov (Bishop Nikon) deserves to be remembered with respect. He was an activist who not only sympathized with the Ukrainian movement, but was also an active participant. Let us remember his words: “I love Ukraine with all my heart (not just words), and I came here [from Moscow after the Holy Synod stripped him of his religious post and monk’s status on Aug. 11-12, 1917 — Auth.] to dedicate all my energy and knowledge to serving the cause of Ukraine and her well-being.” One can only wish there were more such lofty-minded citizens.

Upon entering Jerusalem, Jesus Christ said, “...the stones would immediately cry out.” His words have become a symbol of God’s justice and intercession. They have saved Ukraine and its language.