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Abstract

Focusing primarily on official sources, this essay examines perceptions of Catholicism and Catholics from the 1860s. Throughout this period, the Russian government almost instinctively understood “Catholic” and “Polish” as synonyms, even when it explicitly denied doing so. This conflation of religious and ethnic categories colored official policies toward other Catholics such as Belarusians and Lithuanians who ostensibly were potential allies against the Poles. Even measures such as the attempt to introduce Russian into Belarusian Catholic churches foundered in part on officialdom's profound distrust for Catholicism. This essay is a contribution to our understanding of religious and national categories in late Imperial Russia and also to the study of russification in this period.

Late Imperial Russia, to paraphrase Marx, was haunted by a specter – the specter of Catholicism. If the “Catholic question” does not generally figure high in the list of social, ethnic, and religious ills plaguing the Russian Empire, this is mainly because the “Catholic question” is subsumed into another category: “the Polish question.” The perceived – and often very real – connection between “Polish” and “Catholicism” will be a central theme of this paper. For Russian officialdom (the main source and focus here), “militant” and “fanatical” Catholicism (there was apparently no other kind) was the most important weapon of “warring Polonism.” And certainly the close tie between Polish and Catholic identity cannot be denied. After all, the Virgin Mary often figures as the “Queen of Poland.” Still, of the over eleven million Catholics counted by the 1897 census, not even eight million were Poles by ethnicity. Aside from the Poles, Lithuanians, Belarusians, Latvians, Ukrainians, and Germans were Catholic in significant numbers.¹

1
For the total number of Catholics in the Empire according to the census of 1897 (11,420,927) see Tablitsa, 1904. For a breakdown of religious groups by mother tongue, see Bauer, Kappeler, & Roth, 1991, Table 006, volume B, p. 77.

Russian officialdom, however, nearly always regarded the tsar's Catholic subjects as either Poles, Polonized, or under Polish influence – and in any case highly suspect in their loyalty to the Russian state.

This article will examine official Russia's perceptions of Catholicism from the 1860s to the outbreak of World War I. I will start with the 1863 uprising and its suppression – an event of almost apocalyptic importance for Russian attitudes toward the Poles. A second topic will be the failed attempts to introduce the Russian language into Catholic churches in the Northwest provinces (roughly, present-day Lithuania and Belarus) in the 1860s and 1870s. This policy has hitherto generally been interpreted as part of a general program of “russification,” an interpretation (and concept) which I find problematic. I will then examine the two largest groups of non-Polish Catholics: Lithuanians and Belarusians. While both of these ethnicities made up over a million Catholics in 1897, official attitudes noticed them – when at all – only exclusively in the context of Polish vs. Russian influences.

1 The insurrection of 1863 and its aftermath

One unintended consequence of Alexander II's attempt to loosen political constraints in the Russian Empire was the Polish Insurrection of 1863. The trauma of 1863 on both Polish and Russian politics for at least two generations cannot, I think, be overestimated. For the Poles, the crushing of the uprising and the reprisals that followed it discredited activist “romantic nationalism.” For Russian conservatives, the uprising was a clear warning that attempts to reform Russia's antiquated social and political structure could only lead to chaos and revolution. Furthermore, Russian distrust of Poles was corroborated by their “treasonous” behavior in the early 1860s. After the experiences of these years, Russian officialdom would be extremely wary of any suggestion that a political compromise with the Polish nobility could be reached. Instead, government policy after 1863 rested on a combination of repression and wishful thinking that the Polish peasantry (unlike the landlords) remained fundamentally loyal to the tsar and his government.²

2
It is definitely time for a new historical synthesis on the 1863 uprising. Meanwhile, see Leslie, 1963; and the classic tome, Kieniewicz, 1972.

Even before the actual outbreak of the insurrection, both Russians and Poles agreed that the Catholic Church and clergy played a central role in the Polish patriotic movement. Patriotic hymns were sung in churches, clergy took part in patriotic funeral processions, and individual priests even led “mutinous bands”. Time and again one encounters the figure of the militant Catholic priest leading hapless peasants against the Russian authorities. Or, in another familiar trope, we have Catholic fanaticism itself fueling peasants’ wrong-headed actions against the “legal authority,” that is, the Russians. Remarkably, Russian officials seemed to go out of their way to explain away the peasantry's actions by blaming it not on Catholic agitators or simply the pernicious effect of intolerant Catholicism itself.

The uprising was preceded by several years of unrest, patriotic demonstrations, and clashes between (Russian) troops and (Polish) demonstrators. Both the symbols of Catholicism and actual Catholic clergy played an important role in these disturbances. A Russian official, Ivan Nikotin, noted in his memoirs that already in the late 1850s in Vil'na “secret preparations for mutiny” were being organized behind the front of the local St. Vincent de Paul organization.³

Nikotin, 1905. The original of this interesting memoirs is in: Lietuvos centrinis valstybinis istorijos archyvas (LVIA, Vilnius), f. 439, op. 1, b. 136.

Nikotin's remarks on the role of Catholicism are typical for Russian officialdom. He recalled, for example, that a campaign of patriotic hymn-singing in Catholic churches began when in the presence of bishop Krasiński in early May 1861 the hymn “Boże coś Polskę” was sung. Even when priests were not seen at the front of demonstrations, Nikotin claimed, they were the force behind the scenes manipulating the women and children who took more visible roles.⁴

Lietuvos centrinis valstybinis istorijos archyvas (LVIA, Vilnius), 72–73, 92.

And of course there was the figure of “ksiądz Mackiewicz” who led “mutinous bands” in Kovno province.⁵

Lietuvos centrinis valstybinis istorijos archyvas (LVIA, Vilnius), 131.

Other priests, less activist or more timid, contented themselves with leading secret schools where, in cooperation with Polish peace mediators (mirovye posredniki) they instilled children with the Polish nationality.⁶

Lietuvos centrinis valstybinis istorijos archyvas (LVIA, Vilnius), 161.

For Nikotin, rather like his mentor M. N. Murav'ev, the Catholic clergy was solidly opposed to Russian rule (in particular in the Northwest – Lithuanian and Belarusian – provinces) and firm in their Polish patriotism. “In general one may say with certainty that the Roman Catholic clergy, from their arch-pastors [i.e., Bishops and Archbishops] on down, were devoted body and soul to the Polish cause (predano… pol'skoi sprave).”⁷

Lietuvos centrinis valstybinis istorijos archyvas (LVIA, Vilnius), 92.

In large part, Nikotin argued, the Russian government itself was to blame for the present situation. Because the Russian authorities since the 1850s had reduced observation and restrictions on the Catholic clergy, the latter had naturally taken advantage of this “softness” to pursue their own anti-Russian aims. Once the ministry of internal affairs ceased its “surveillance of Popish militancy (nadzor nad papskim voinstvom), the priests and monks, taking note of this and enjoying unlimited freedom, began to propagandize Latinism and Polishness (latinstvo i pol'shchina) in this ancient Russian land [i.e., the Northwest provinces].”⁸

Lietuvos centrinis valstybinis istorijos archyvas (LVIA, Vilnius) 215.

In other words, the congruency between Polish and Catholic identities was, at least in the 1863 rebellion, complete. For an official like Nikotin, to fight Polish disloyalty and to prevent further disturbances and challenges to “legal authority” (i.e., the Russians), the Catholic Church had to be subjected to strict surveillance and restrictive measures.

It is difficult to ascertain absolutely just what role Catholic priests played in the Polish patriotic demonstrations and ensuing uprising of 1863, but it would have been amazing if they had abstained entirely. After all, in the nineteenth century the only “national” institution the Poles retained – in particular in the Russian Empire – was the Catholic Church.⁹

In Austria, of course, the majority of the population was Catholic; in Prussia Catholicism was more linked with Polish-ness, but German Catholics were far from rare. A “Russian Catholic,” on the other hand, was nearly a contradiction in terms.

In the absence of fully Polish educational institutions, it is only natural that priests – the most literate members of village communities – would teach children prayers, hymns, and the rudiments of literacy. With these “unofficial” lessons also came perhaps inevitably a certain dollop of anti-Russian and anti-Orthodox sentiments. Churches were often the only structures suitable for large gatherings and meetings, and also one main public site for the use of the Polish language. While the liturgy in Catholic churches was of course in Latin, hymns, the homily, and various prayers would be said in the local language – usually Polish (though sometimes, apparently, in Lithuanian even in the 1860s). When individuals died or were killed by government repressions – as happened in early 1861 – it was inevitable that Catholic clergy would accompany the bodies to their final resting places. These funeral processions, in particular in Warsaw, then became flash points for further clashes.

The Russian authorities, in any case, were firmly convinced that the Catholic clergy not only supported the anti-government revolt, but also was its main instigator. Quickly after arriving in Vil'na, Governor General M. N. Murav'ev dashed off a letter to the Catholic bishop of Wilno, Adam Stanisław Krasiński. Murav'ev reminded Krasiñski of a personal conversation in which he had pointed out the involvement of Catholic clergymen in the uprising. At that time, Krasiński had promised to curtail these activities, however since then, “the local Catholic clergy has taken out the most lively and active part in inciting the people toward the mutiny (bozbuzhdenii naroda k miatezhu).” This continuing incitement, Murav'ev continued, had caused the “regrettable necessity” of having two priests executed. In an effort to prevent such unfortunate incidents, Murav'ev asked the bishop to urge priests to calm, not agitate, the population and demanded along these lines a copy of instructions that the bishop had sent to his subordinates.¹⁰

LVIA, f. 378, op. 154, p/o 1863, d. 1801, ll. 2-3 (the letter is dated 26 May 1863).

The Catholic response was a model of evasion, merely stating that “the clergy remains true to its occupation” (Dukhovenstvo prebyvaet vernym svoemu delu), and was not even signed by the bishop himself.¹¹

LVIA, f. 378, op. 154, p/o 1863, d. 1801, ll. 20-22, “Iz Vilenskoi Rimsko-Katolicheskhoi Dukhovnoi Konsistorii” to Murav'ev, 4 June 1863. Krasiński was deported to Viatka later that month “for patriotic engagement and the refusal to condemn the January Uprising” (Nitecki, 1987). For more on Catholic clergy in the uprising, see LVIA, f. 378, op. 154, p/o 1863, d. 13 (“O neblagonamerennykh deistviiakh Katolicheskogo dukhovenstva v Vilenskoi gubernii”).

Later in June Krasiński was deported to Viatka.

In Warsaw, too, the Catholic clergy played a significant role in the patriotic movement. As in Wilno, churches became gathering places for the singing of patriotic hymns, and funeral processions took on a patriotic and anti-Russian character. When the popular Archbishop of Warsaw Antoni Fija3kowski died in early October 1861, funeral services for him were transformed into patriotic demonstrations. The Russian authorities feared worse nationalist disorders with the upcoming anniversary of Tadeusz Kościuszko's death, on 15 October. Despite the declaration of martial law, Poles continued to gather in churches and monasteries to sing hymns and patriotic songs (the Russian authorities, to be sure, did not clearly differentiate between the two genres). Matters came to a head when Russian troops surrounded three churches with orders to arrest all those inside. Many succeeded in fleeing, but 1678 men were arrested and taken to the citadel, a notorious military prison. (Kieniewicz, 1972)

In response to this outrage – Russian troops had violated the sanctity of Catholic Churches – the administrator of the Warsaw diocese took the fateful step of closing all churches in protest.¹²

Leslie, 1963. Remarkably, the chief rabbi of Warsaw, Ber Meisels, also closed Jewish places of worship in solidarity with his Catholic colleagues: Kupfe, 1953.

The Russian authorities could hardly ignore such a blatant challenge to their authority. Charles Lambert resigned as the head of the Russian administration in Warsaw and was replaced by the far less conciliatory General A. N. Lüders. The highest Catholic administrator, Antoni Białobrzeski, was arrested and exiled to the Russian interior.

The Insurrection itself broke out in early 1863 and, despite initial panic in St. Petersburg, had next to no chance of success. By the end of the year, few towns remained in the insurgents’ hands, and the Russian authorities were seeking out and destroying “rebel bands” in the countryside. Official reports written in the wake of the uprising once again blamed it, and Polish antipathy to Russian rule, in large part to Catholicism. In his 1863 report, the government of Vil'na province noted that one reason for the continued anti-Russian spirit among the local middle and upper classes was the fact that all local education was in the Catholic clergy. The following year, the same governor was even more explicit: “The most malevolent and danger enemy of Russia during the recent disturbances was the Roman Catholic clergy. Forgetting the sacredness of their calling, they placed themselves at the head of the mutiny.”¹³

Rossiiskoi gosudarstvennyi istoricheskii arkhiv (RGIA, St. Petersburg), f. 1267, op. 1, 1864, d. 4, l. 66 (Vil'na governor's report, 1863); Rossiiskoi gosudarstvennyi istoricheskii arkhiv (RGIA, St. Petersburg), f. 1281, op. 7, 1865, d. 34, l. 68 (Vil'na governor's report, 1864).

Along similar lines, the governor of Minsk province reported that the Catholic clergy and especially monks had actively supported the uprising, hence Catholic monasteries in the area should be closed.¹⁴

RGIA, f. 1267, op. 1. 1864, d. 7, l. 42.

His colleague in Kovno province reiterated the claim that the main source of “revolutionary propaganda,” especially in the countryside, was the Catholic clergy. He did admit, however, that the uprising found broad sympathy: “for a short time the entire population of the province with few exceptions was agitated (vzvolnovano).”¹⁵

RGIA, f. 1281, op. 6–1864, d. 44, l. 82.

A few years later, the governor general of Vil'na, A. L. Potapov wrote, “The Roman Catholic population in general is devoted to its religion, and in Kovno province… this devotion comes close to fanaticism.” In the past the local Catholic clergy has done its best to polonize the region and on the whole “even to the present, in the great majority of cases, remains true to its previous convictions. The past mutiny found in them almost the only strong support (pochti edinstvennaia tverdaia opora).” At present the Catholic clergy did not dare manifest its anti-Russian and anti-Orthodox sentiments openly, but it continued to do so in private. Only a very few Catholic clergymen recognized that government measures after 1863 do not constitute “interference in the dogmas of the [Catholic] religion.”¹⁶

RGIA, f. 1263, op. 4, d. 46, ll. 20-22v (Vil'na governor general report for 1868–1870).

Indeed, many harsh measures against the Catholic Church were carried out after 1863. Many monasteries – in particular in the Western provinces, but also in ethnic Polish territory – were shut down. Clergy and bishops were removed from their parishes and exiled into the Russian interior, though seldom to Siberia.¹⁷

RGIA, f. 821, op. 150, d. 223. This compendium of Catholic priests exiled from the Western Provinces gives a total of 292 priests exiled to central Russia from the entire Empire, including the Kingdom of Poland, in the decade or so after 1863.

While St. Petersburg insisted that its only aim was to root out politically dangerous elements and not to crush the Catholic Church, Catholics outside the empire remained skeptical. In Paris, Father Louis Lescoeur published a series of books and pamphlets portraying the martyrdom of the Catholic clergy at the hands of the Russians. For Lescoeur, the aim of the Russian government was nothing less than the total russification and conversion to Orthodoxy of the population of these lands (the Northwest Provinces): “Faire du peuple polonais et ne particulier des provinces limitrophes de la Russie, un peuple russe et des provinces russes, ce fut de tout temps l'ambition des conquérants russes.”¹⁸

Lescoeur, 1903. See also his Lescoeur, 1873.

True to the national calculus of the day, Lescoeur ignores the fact that the majority of local Catholics were not Poles by ethnicity or language. For him, just as for Russian officialdom, the power of the Catholic = Polish equation blotted out other ethnic groups of Catholic faith.

2 Language in Catholic churches after 1863

As is well known, the liturgy in Catholic churches was held – until quite recently – in Latin throughout the world. But the so-called “supplementary service,” that is, songs, prayers, sermons, and the like, were to be held in the “local tongue.” In Warsaw, that language would certainly be Polish. But in Grodno, Kaunas, or Vil'na the matter was somewhat more complicated. In the late 1860s, when the memory of the uprising and the Catholic clergy's role in it was still fresh in the minds of tsarist officials, it was noted that the “local language” for many Catholics in the Northwest provinces was not, in fact, Polish. So why were church prayers, hymns, etc., so often uttered in that language? Particularly irksome for Russian officials was the idea that their ethnic brethren of the Catholic faith, the Belarusians, might be undergoing polonization even now through the use of Polish in Catholic services. Thus was born the project to introduce Russian in certain Catholic churches of the Northwest provinces.¹⁹

19
Some of what follows is taken from Weeks, 2001a. For another view on the same subject, see Staliûnas, 1999.

After 1863, the Russian authorities created in Vil'na the “Revision Commission on the Affairs of the Roman Catholic Clergy in the Northwest Provinces.” In 1867 this committee discussed which language should be used in Catholic sermons. One recommendation read: “… in the five Western provinces of Russia, priests should preach only in the Russian language; in Kovno province in Lithuanian or Russian; the use of Polish by priests is forbidden.” This prohibition was justified by the “experience over many years” of Catholic priests’ hostility to the government and “all things Russian.”²⁰

LVIA, l. 378, BS 1867, b. 2526, ll. 37v, 39v.

In the end, however, the commission did not adopt such draconian measures. Noting that the language of Catholic sermons was but one part of the larger “question of removing the Polish language from the Roman Catholic confession in Russia, a question under consideration by the Commission and still not resolved in principle [po sushchestvu],” banning Polish would be “at the very least, untimely and inappropriate.”²¹

LVIA, l. 40. The term “untimely” – prezhdevremenno – used to describe any measure thought to be too radical is a very common one in the deliberations of Russian bureaucrats of this epoch.

The Commission's reluctance notwithstanding, the new governor general of Vil'na, A. L. Potapov, reopened the debate: “The necessity of introducing the Russian language into Catholic religious services is indicated by past experience… since for the masses religion and language are the only assimilating principles. Hence we must now use these very principles as much as possible in our efforts to russify the Western territory.”²²

RGIA, f. 821, op. 125, d. 277, l. 39. This letter is dated 6 June 1869.

The Department of Foreign Confessions (Departament dukhovnykh del inostrannykh ispovedanii) was not so sure. Its report of November 1869 cautiously noted that hitherto use of the Russian language in religious services had been “the exclusive right of the ruling [gospodstvuiushchaia] Orthodox church.” It also agreed that it would be advisable to bring in non-Polish Catholic clergy, in particular as bishops.²³

RGIA, f. 821, op. 125, d. 277, ll. 55-64, quotation from l. 56v. Emphasis in original. The report is dated 21 November 1869.

As was so often the case in the Russian Empire, a “special committee” was formed to discuss the issue.

The conclusions of this special committee were enshrined in the law of 25 December 1869 which allowed the use of Russian in non-Orthodox religious establishments. However, this decision was not unanimous. The Ober-prokuror of the Holy Synod himself was quoted in the committee's report as having said that “allowing the use of Russian in foreign churches [v inovercheskikh tserkvakh] is a double-edged sword.” Still, he concluded that the government would accrue more benefits than harm from a “separation of religious and national questions.”²⁴

RGIA, f. 821, op. 125, d. 277, l. 68v.

In order to avoid “the appearance of a violation of [religious] toleration,” the measure was made entirely voluntary. Local officials were then informed of the decision early in 1870.²⁵

RGIA, f. 821, op. 125, d. 277, ll. 137-170.

Some local officials welcomed this measure as just and timely. The governor of Grodno province waxed enthusiastic in his annual report for 1869 (written in mid-1870):

The religious question, touched upon by Your Imperial Highness's recent decision allowing the introduction of Russian into religious services of foreign confessions in my opinion will [by means of this measure] be solved correctly and without any disturbances [bez vsiakikh potriasenii]. Gradually, bit by bit the Russian language will assume its proper place in Catholic churches where Russians worship and will destroy the Polish trappings in which local Catholicism clothes itself, thereby rendering it politically harmless. Of course this is a task not of the immediate future but a task that in Grodno province can certainly be carried out.²⁶

RGIA, f. 1281, op. 7, 1870, d. 56, ll. 42v-43.

The governor noted that the local clergy was generally sympathetic to this measure and had not attempted any “openly hostile measures.” It should be noted that the only churches that would come in question for this reform, according to the governor, are those “where Russians [Belarusians, of course] worship.” The governor emphasized that the successful introduction of Russian would not be implemented quickly; this would be a matter of years, if not a generation or more.²⁷

RGIA, f. 821, op. 125, d. 277, l. 43. The following year the same governor complained about the activities of certain over-zealous individuals in 1864–1865 who had applied pressure on peasants to convert to Orthodoxy. Such activities, the governor emphasized, could only discredit the government, Orthodoxy, and the “Russian cause” in the Western borderlands. RGIA, f. 1284, op. 67, 1872, d. 167, ll. 20v-22.

Other governors agreed that the most effective measure would be the removal of Polish from local Catholic churches. The governor of Kovno (Kaunas) province put it this way: “The government's task can consist only in the effort to reestablish peace with the Catholic church by cutting off Catholicism from Polonism…” It was vital, he continued, to assure the local “Samogitian” [zhmudskii] masses that their Catholic faith would be respected by the government while at the same time moving cautiously but consistently to remove Polish from local churches and seminaries. Instead of Polish, the “local Samogitian dialect” (i.e., Lithuanian) should be introduced for the supplemental services. In seminaries Latin and Russian should be used. The governor concluded that true peace between the Russian authorities and the local Catholic church could be reached only by the removal of Bishop “Volonchevskii” (Valančius), “whose perfidious stubbornness and criminal activity exceed all bounds.”²⁸

RGIA, f. 1284, op. 69, 1871, d. 133, ll. 23v, 24v. For a rather different (Soviet) portrayal of Bishop Valančius, stressing his conservatism, see Vëbra, 1968. A new and thorough scholarly biography is Merkys & Valanèius, 1999.

In the less Catholic provinces of Minsk, Mogilev, and Vitebsk the annual reports for 1869 and 1870 make no mention of this issue at all.

The Russian authorities immediately undertook the translation into Russian and publication of several Catholic works, including a “Short History of the Church,” a catechism, and a missal.²⁹

For a list of these works see Olszamowska-Skowroñska, 1865–1903; and Sipovič, 1973.

Getting these works into the local Catholic churches was not easy. The Catholic Dziekan of the city of Wilno, Stanisław Piotrowicz, denounced in circulars and a sermon in Vilna the attempts to use Russian in Catholic churches, condemned the new prayer books, and labelled as traitors to the church those clergymen who had endorsed the new measures, most especially Piotr Żyliński, Antoni Niemeksza, and Edward Tupalski.³⁰

Przybyszewski, 1987. Edward Tupalski, Antoni Niemeksza, and Piotr ̄yliñski, prelates who supported – indeed pushed for – the use of Russian in Catholic churches in this region, are clearly the villains of the piece. See, for example, Przybyszewski, 1987, pp. 9–16; Kubicki, 1936; Lescoeur, 1903.

As one would expect, Piotrowicz was immediately arrested and sent into exile (to Arkhangelsk). Following less overt but probably more effective tactics, the Lithuanian Bishop M. Valanèius (Wołonczewski) declined to accept the new Russian-language missals on the pretext that any changes in such books required the express permission of the Vatican.³¹

RGIA, f. 821, op. 125, 1877, d. 288, l. 24. The incident occurred in “Polonechskii kostel, Novogrudskii uezd” on 24 July 1877.

Perhaps the best indication of the Catholic clergy's success in preventing the distribution and use of the new Russian-language catechisms, missals, and histories is the fact that almost no copies of these translations have survived to the present day.

Getting local Catholics to accept the use of Russian in services was also no easy matter. As was reported from Minsk province to the Ministry of Internal Affairs in 1877, when in the summer of that year the Belarusian Catholic priest Vashkevich used Russian in his church, “the parishioners left the church and later a crowd of fanaticized women closed up the church with their own locks, threatened and insulted the priest Vashkevich, declaring that they would never allow [Russian again].” In light of the hostility toward the priest, the Russian authorities in Minsk province found it necessary to acquiesce in the transfer of the priest. (Kubicki). The secret police (Third Section) in the province suspected – and claimed to have evidence proving this suspicion – that Polish landlords encouraged the Catholic peasantry in their opposition to allowing the use of Russian in Catholic churches.³²

RGIA, f. 821, op. 125, 1877, d. 288, ll. 110-111.

When the Russian authorities confronted the head of the Vilna Catholic bishopric (because of the break in relations with the Vatican, he did not bear the title “bishop”), the “administrator” replied very politely, denying the existence of “intrigues” against the use of Russian and claiming that Catholic priests were reluctant to introduce Russian into churches very simply because of the “contempt, hatred, and – as has happened on more than one occasion – physical abuse [on the part of] the local folk [narod] for the use of Russian.”³³

RGIA, f. 821, op. 125, 1877, d. 288, ll. 159-160. This letter is dated 19 September 1878.

It is interesting in this context that the head of the Catholic hierarchy in the Vilna diocese did not bother to refer to the Vatican's explicit prohibition of using Russian in Catholic churches and limited himself to practical arguments.

Thus in 1884 when once again an energetically anti-Polish figure, I. S. Kakhanov, became governor general of Vilna, he found much to be desired in local Catholic churches. In a long (over 100 pp.) report sent to St. Petersburg in 1885, Kakhanov complained that in fact very little had changed since before 1863: “The Roman Catholic clergy, merging Polish political ideas with the Catholic religion, has created, so to speak, a new Polish-Catholic religion and attempts to fanaticize the peasant masses [narodnye massy] and then to subject them to [the clergy's] influence.” In fact, practically the only positive effect of the post-1863 restrictions on the clergy had been to force them to exercise “superficially… greater caution.”³⁴

RGIA, f. 821, op. 125, 1884, d. 312, ll. 9v, 10.

Kakhanov complained that the renewed relations with Rome encouraged the “fanatic priests” and their bishop Karol Hryniewiecki, in their anti-government and anti-Russian activities.³⁵

Russia renewed relations with the Vatican – briefly – in 1882. On the complicated diplomacy between Rome and St. Petersburg during this period, see Winter, 1961 and especially Chapter 6: “Der russisch-vatikanische Vertrag von 1881,” pp. 370–381.

The governor general did not clearly advocate the introduction of Russian into local Catholic churches (though his discussion of the topic shows that, in fact, no widespread use of Russian there had yet occurred), but he energetically pleaded for the elimination of Polish: “The Polish language… cannot be tolerated in the [local Catholic] church [kostel] as symbol of a hostile nationality [narodnost’].” In a region where Poles made up only 15.58% of the Catholic population, Kakhanov argued, the use of Polish in churches was unacceptable.³⁶

Winter, 1961, ll. 11v-15, 40-42, quotation from l. 41v.

The Committee of Ministers did not accept Kakhanov's arguments. First of all, if Polish were to be removed from supplementary religious services in Catholic churches of the Northwest provinces, it would have to be replaced by some other language and, with the exception of the Latvian Catholics of Vitebsk province or Lithuanians of Kovno province (who were barely mentioned here), that language would have to be Russian. Attempting to introduce the Russian language in Catholic churches could only have bad effects, both in Russia's relations with the Vatican and at the locally. Given the lack of Papally-sanctioned religious books or even a Russian-language Bible translation, any attempt to push for russification of the Catholic churches would necessarily meet with stiff opposition from Rome. Furthermore, even if the Pope could be persuaded to agree, the Catholic clergy might very well simply use Russian for their own anti-government agitation.³⁷

Winter, 1961 ll. 198-206. ("Vypiska iz zhurnalov Komiteta Ministrov 28 aprelia i 12 maia 1887 g").

This is not to say that Russian was not used in any Catholic churches in the Northwest Provinces. While it is notoriously difficult to ascertain exactly what transpired at the local level, a report from the Roman Catholic authorities regarding Minsk province listed thirty-four parishes in which Russian had been introduced by 1884.³⁸

RGIA, f. 821, op. 138, 1897, d. 24, l. 172.

Yet, nearly twenty years later, the quite liberal governor general of Vilna, Prince P. D. Sviatopolk-Mirskii, could write in his report for 1902–1903 that Belarusian Catholics should be allowed the opportunity of using their “native language” (rodnoi iazyk) in church – in other words, Polish continued to be the norm.³⁹

RGIA, f. 1284, op. 190, 1899, d. 84b, ll. 12v-13. When Sviatopolk-Mirskii wrote “native language,” he meant Russian which included the dialect of Belarusian.

Mirskii's successor in Vilna, K. F. Krshivitskii, remarked in a similar vein that the government should not only encourage the use of Belarusian in churches, but should also print books in Belarusian (using the Cyrillic script) and allow the use of Belarusian as the language of instruction in local elementary schools.⁴⁰

LVIA, ll. 4-5 (this letter, addressed to Minister of Internal Affairs P. Stolypin, is dated 20 August 1906).

Even after the ukaz of religious toleration of 17 April 1905, debates on the proper place of Russian in the Catholic churches of the Northwest provinces continued unabated.⁴¹

See, for example, the newspaper clippings and Correspondence in RGIA, f. 821, op. 128, 1911, d. 30; and the report by A. V. Petrov on “anti-government activity” of Catholic clergymen, dated 26 April 1911: RGIA, f. 821, op. 150, 1911, d. 152. For information on the nationality of Catholics in Vil'na, Vitebsk, Grodno, Minsk, Kiev, Volyn, and Podolia provinces in 1910 (and on the languages used in Catholic churches there), see RGIA, f. 821, op. 150, 190, d. 144.

What do these debates, projects, and polemics tell us about Catholicism in Russia? For one thing, it is clear that St. Petersburg was quite reluctant to interfere in the religious sphere, and accusations such as Father Lescoeur's of concerted efforts toward mass conversations are quite misleading, to say the least. On the other hand, it was a rare Russian official indeed who did not take for granted the inherent hostility of Catholic clergy – though Catholic peasants were often portrayed as victims of fanaticism whose loyalty to the government and “Russian things” could possibly be achieved. The fact that these peasants were for the most part not of Polish ethnicity but either “Russians” (Belarusians) or Lithuanians conveniently dovetailed with official policy attempting to divide “Polonism” from Catholicism. Logically, then, official Russian policy should have encouraged the development of Belarusian and Lithuanian national identity to counter Polish influences. As we will see, however, St. Petersburg was just as reluctant to foment national movements as it was to interfere directly in the internal workings of the Catholic church in Russia.

3 Belarusians and Lithuanians: Ours or theirs?

Lithuanians rivaled Poles as the most Catholic nationality in the Russian Empire – in both cases, over 98% of native speakers were of the Catholic faith.⁴²

Bauer et al. (1991) Both “Polish” and “Lithuanian” native speakers were 98.25% Catholic, while “Samogitian” (now considered Lithuanian) native speakers were 98.52% Catholic.

And yet, as I have attempted to show elsewhere, the Russian government rarely considered Lithuanians a threat to state interests or the effort to reclaim the Northwest provinces – including Kovno/Kaunas province, where Lithuanians and “Samogitians” made up nearly two-thirds of the total population (in 1897).⁴³

The exact figures are: 998,896 Lithuanians and “Zhmud’” of a total population of 1,544,564 or 64.67%. Catholics made up 76.52% of Kovno province's population. Figured from Table XIV: Raspredelenie naseleniia po veroispovedaniiam i rodnomu iazyku, 1904.

Belarusians were an even more ambiguous group – according to 1897 statistics, 18% of Belarusians were Catholic; this was the main “target group” for the unsuccessful efforts to bring Russian into use in Catholic churches. Some local officials urged a more activist stance to “save” Belarusian Catholics from polonization, while in other cases the strength of the Polish = Catholic equation blotted out the “Russian” ethnicity of this peasant folk.

Lithuanians, unlike Belarusians, were at least linguistically easily distinguishable from their Slavic neighbors. While contemporary ethnographers – and the census of 1897 – divided the ethnicity into “Lithuanians” (litovtsy) and “Samogitians (zhmud’), the cultural and linguistic differences between these two groups are relatively minor. One factor that united all Lithuanians – and linked them with Poles – was their fervent Catholicism. As we have seen, Russian officials repeatedly emphasized the near “fanatical” devotion of the Lithuanians to the Catholic Church. At the same time, these same officials rarely portrayed the Lithuanian peasantry as particularly hostile or dangerous for Russia. Rather, the Lithuanian Catholics were generally seen as hard-working, sober, and honest agriculturalists who had little interest in political intrigue.⁴⁴

For more on official Russia and the Lithuanians, see Weeks, 2001b. See also the many excellent works by Staliûnas, 2004a; and Staliūnas, 2007.

One can thus argue that at least in this case, Catholicism itself was seen as less of a problem than Polonism. From this follows the logic of the Russian prohibition of printing Lithuanian in Latin letters. When St. Petersburg enacted these policies after 1863, it was hoped that printing Lithuanian in Cyrillic would reduce Polish influence on them and facilitate their learning of Russian. This prohibition was, of course, a huge miscalculation. As should have been realized even in the 1860s, the association of Cyrillic letters with the Russian Orthodox faith caused patriotic Lithuanians (many of them, of course, priests) to reject the reform and the new books (of which few, in any event, were actually published) published in Cyrillic letters.⁴⁵

On this period, see Ochmañski, 1965; Rodzkiewicz, 1998; Merkys, 1978; and Staliûnas, 2004b.

In the last decades of the nineteenth century, clashes between Lithuanians and Poles in Catholic churches became increasingly frequent. While Russian officials welcomed the weakening of Polish domination over Lithuanian Catholics, they also expressed misgivings at the threat to public order presented by these clashes. An exchange of letters between the acting minister of internal affairs D. S. Sipiagin and Warsaw Governor General Prince A. K. Imeretinskii reflects these concerns. The correspondence was occasioned by complaints of physical violence and intimidation by Lithuanians of their Polish-speaking neighbors in Suwałki (Suvalkiai) province. The provincial head of the gendarmes in Suwa3ki blamed these disturbances on the local bishop Antoni Baranovskii (Baranauskas), whom he characterized as a “fervent Lithuanian patriot” (iaryi litvoman).⁴⁶

RGIA, f. 821, op. 2, 1897, d. 73 (“Litovskoe dvizhenie v prikhodakh s pol'sko-litovskim naseleniem”), ll. 15-17.

In reaction to this report, Sipiagin wrote Imeretinskii: “The present movement aimed at separating Lithuanians from Poles in of itself can not be considered a phenomenon dangerous to our state interests and, to a certain extent, if held within limits, would be useful.” Nonetheless, the present disturbances were an indication that some of Baranovskii's “most zealous comrades-in-arms [spodvizhniki]” were pushing things too quickly. Sipiagin concluded that the bishop should warn to select his “co-workers” more carefully in order to avoid further disturbances.⁴⁷

RGIA, f. 821, op. 2, 1897, d. 73 (“Litovskoe dvizhenie v prikhodakh s pol'sko-litovskim naseleniem”), ll. 22-23. Sipiagin's letter is dated December 12, 1899.

Governor general Imeretinskii's appraisal of the situation differed little from Sipiagin's. Writing in a letter to the minister he stated his opinion that this recent “rise in national and cultural consciousness [among Lithuanians in Suvalkai province] and the striving to liberate the Lithuanian folk [plemia] from polonization does not contradict state interests. The tasks of local governmental policy must be limited, in my opinion, to vigilant observation and timely prevention in this ethnic [plemennoi] and cultural struggle of any extreme [rezkie] manifestations of the national idea which could negatively affect [otrazitsia] public order and tranquility.” Along these lines Imeretinskii sent a letter to Bishop Baranovskii asking him to work to prevent further disturbances and outbreaks of “national hostility” in his diocese.⁴⁸

RGIA, f. 821, op. 2, 1897, d. 73 (“Litovskoe dvizhenie v prikhodakh s pol'sko-litovskim naseleniem”), ll. 24-28.

In the following decade, and particularly after 1905, such disturbances – or at least their discussion in the press and in official documents – became ever more frequent, but the position of Russian officialdom changed little.⁴⁹

On the Polish-Lithuanian conflict see, for example: RGIA, f. 821, op. 128, 1911, d. 36; RGIA, f. 821, op. 128, 1912, d. 701; RGIA, f. 821, op. 150, “posle 1911,” d. 154; and Lietuvos centrinis valsybinis istorijos archyvas, Vilnius (LVIA), f. 378, BS 1910, b. 78.

In essence, they were happy to see Lithuanians actively opposing polonization and worried only about possible public disorder caused by over-zealous individuals.

This opinion is also reflected in the massive report for 1902–1903 of governor general of Vilna, Prince P. D. Sviatopolk-Mirskii. Mirskii pointed out that Lithuanian Catholics generally-held sermons in their own language and were interested in national development. Echoing a common theme, the governor general emphasized the need to avoid equating “Catholic” with “Pole.” In particular now, as education was spreading among Lithuanians, it was necessary to recognize and welcome that movement.⁵⁰

RGIA, f. 1284, op. 190, d. 84B, ll. 13v-14.

In the end, however, Mirskii appeared to doubt that the Lithuanians could survive as a distinct nationality. Because of their small numbers and lack of historical traditions, Mirskii argued, ultimately the Lithuanians would “be absorbed into the general population of Russia” (voiti v obshchii sostav naseleniia Rossii).⁵¹

RGIA, f. 1284, op. 190, d. 84B, ll. 38v-39.

In the short run, that is, Lithuanians would liberate themselves from Polish influence but over time they would gradually become assimilated and grow more like Russians.

The Belarusian Catholics were an even trickier issue for Russian officialdom. Like the Uniates that had by 1875 been officially “re-absorbed” into the Orthodox Church, the Belarusian Catholics violated the generally-held belief that “Russian” and “Orthodox” were equivalent terms.⁵²

On the “re-uniting” (vozsoedinenie) of Uniates in 1839 and 1875, see Weeks, 2001; and Weeks, 1995.

While this issue deserves more attention than I can give it here, I will argue that even to 1914, even while arguing that “Catholic” and “Polish” should not be seen as equivalent, the Russian government (indeed, Russian society) continued to find disturbing the idea of a non-Orthodox Russian. Even when the theoretical possibility of “Russian Catholics” is admitted, it is clear that this is a conceptual concession to the dominant definition of Russian as pravoslavnyi.

Vil'na Governor General Petr Sviatopolk-Mirskii devoted considerable space to the Belarusians in his extensive report for 1902-1903. Whether Orthodox or Catholic, he claimed, “speaking their distinctive dialect of Russian even to the present time do not consider themselves as belonging to the Polish nationality.”⁵³

RGIA, f. 1284, op. 190, d. 84B, l. 11.

It is rather peculiar, that Sviatpolk-Mirskii felt the need to remark specific that these “Russians” did not consider themselves Poles. Government policy, he continued, needed to discard the still prevalent idea that “what is Catholic is at the same time Polish, and what is not Orthodox isn't Russian.” Rather, he stated, “I consider it necessary to give the Catholic church a certain amount of freedom (dat’ izvestnyi prostor) as long as this does not work to the detriment of the Orthodox church.” As for Belarusian Catholics specifically, they must be convinced that the government does not aim to convert them to Orthodoxy, but at the same time the language of worship in their churches should be “their native tongue rather than Polish, which is at present used.” All of these quite liberal sentiments, however, are called into question by a passing remark: “At the same time (pri etom), I cannot help expressing my confidence (uverennost’) that once the consciousness of being a Russian tribe (plemia) becomes instilled in the Belarusian folk (plemia), it will by itself (samo) return to the bosom of the Orthodox church (obratit'sia v lono prvoslavnoi tserkvi).”⁵⁴

RGIA, f. 1284, op. 190, d. 84B, ll. 12-13.

The internal contradiction within Sviatopolk-Mirskii's report points to the extreme tenaciousness of the Catholic = Pole equation and to the central place of Orthodoxy in Russian national identity. Even while explicitly arguing for a broader definition of “Russian” to include non-Orthodox, Sviatopolk-Mirskii's own passing comment reveals that he did not himself quite believe in this solution. To the end of the Russian Empire and perhaps longer, the religious element remained the single most important factor in categorizing an individual or group as ‘ours’ or ‘theirs.’ And for the vast majority of Russian officials (and Russian society?), Catholics remained if not a hostile force, then in any case a foreign body within the Russian Empire, deserving perhaps toleration but certainly not recognition as “our own.”

References

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“Religion,Nationality,or Politics: Catholicism in the Russian Empire,1863–1905”

Abstract

1 For the total number of Catholics in the Empire according to the census of 1897 (11,420,927) see Tablitsa, 1904. For a breakdown of religious groups by mother tongue, see Bauer, Kappeler, & Roth, 1991, Table 006, volume B, p. 77.

2 It is definitely time for a new historical synthesis on the 1863 uprising. Meanwhile, see Leslie, 1963; and the classic tome, Kieniewicz, 1972.

19 Some of what follows is taken from Weeks, 2001a. For another view on the same subject, see Staliûnas, 1999.

References

1
For the total number of Catholics in the Empire according to the census of 1897 (11,420,927) see Tablitsa, 1904. For a breakdown of religious groups by mother tongue, see Bauer, Kappeler, & Roth, 1991, Table 006, volume B, p. 77.

2
It is definitely time for a new historical synthesis on the 1863 uprising. Meanwhile, see Leslie, 1963; and the classic tome, Kieniewicz, 1972.

19
Some of what follows is taken from Weeks, 2001a. For another view on the same subject, see Staliûnas, 1999.