A German zoologist was among the first to describe Belarus's 'onionization'. Fleeing Muscovite servitude, he discovered a different civilization here

In the autumn of 1841, thirty-year-old German zoologist Johann Heinrich Blasius, a professor at Collegium Carolinum in Braunschweig, along with his friend, geologist Count Alexander Keyserling, was completing a large scientific expedition. Their path lay through the most remote corners of the European part of the Russian Empire. In his fundamental two-volume work 'Journey through European Russia in 1840 and 1841,' Blasius meticulously recorded everything: from glacial boulders and bat species to the temperament of local police chiefs.

But before reaching Belarusian lands, the German scientist encountered natives of this region far to the north, amidst snows and frosts.

While studying the geology in the vicinity of Vologda, Totma, and Veliky Ustyug, Blasius observed that among the phlegmatic Muscovite peasants and corrupt provincial officials, people of a completely different type, education, and manners occasionally appeared. These were participants of the liberation uprising of 1830–1831, exiled here after its defeat.

The professor notes that in these remote towns, 'patriots from the last uprising' were assigned places for forced residence. The scientist describes with evident sympathy and compassion the elite of the former Polish-Lithuanian Commonwealth, who found themselves in an icy trap.

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According to his observations, the exiles lived very quietly and as isolated as possible, fearing that even an extra word or gesture might provoke even greater anger from the authorities or attract the attention of the local police, ready to seize upon any trifle.

This encounter caused a deep dissonance in the European's mind. He saw people of high European culture who were at the mercy of a system where everything was decided by the size of a bribe and brute force.

Blasius left the Russian north with a heavy heart. In his diaries, he repeatedly complained about the total monotony of Muscovite lands and the constant extortion by minor officials and police, who, according to him, had turned public service into a tool for overt robbery of travelers.

Moving south, towards Kyiv, the German researcher mentally prepared himself for the continuation of this endless boredom. Soon, he was compelled to take up his pencil to record a completely different world he saw where the Grand Duchy of Lithuania once stretched.

However, before he could begin to examine the faces of the local inhabitants and study their customs, the German professor literally had to fight for survival on the imperial routes.

Belarusian Impassable Roads

Crossing the borders of modern Eastern Belarus, Blasius keenly observed changes in the landscape: glacial boulders, the valleys of the Western Dvina and Dnieper, and the emergence of new tree species. Furthermore, the foreigner personally experienced what the famous Russian roads were like during autumn bad weather.

Imperial routes, laid out by top-down decree without considering the terrain, turned into solid swamps. Blasius mentions 'bottomless roads' and 'deep street mud' in which carriages sank up to their axles. When travelers had to cross rivers, a real survival challenge began.

The professor particularly vividly describes the crossing of the Kasplya River in Surazh (modern Vitebsk region). Here, a 'floating bridge' operated, built from vertically driven tree trunks and planks laid across them. According to Blasius, this structure 'floated more under the water than above it'.

'With every step we took, the crossbeams sank under the water, and we had to jump from plank to plank in the most awkward poses, so as not to wade deeper than our ankles in the swirling current on the bridge, which was just under the water,' writes the zoologist. 'Peasants and Jews, however, reasoned simply: the logs are there — and went straight across [through the water].'

Why are Belarusians — 'white'?

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Crossing the borders of Belarusian lands, Blasius immediately noticed how not only the landscape but also the people themselves changed. As a professional zoologist, he had an eye trained to record the smallest anatomical details, so his ethnographic observations on the appearance of local residents are of particular value.

He notes that the anthropological type differs fundamentally from that of their neighbors. In his notes, Blasius records that among the local population, entirely different features prevail: while Muscovites are characterized by rounder shapes, here the researcher sees elongated faces, high and curved noses ('hohe und gebogene Nasen'), and a more slender physique.

But more than anatomical features, the German professor was struck by the wardrobe. Even while on the border with Muscovy, he drew attention to a striking contrast: local men wore specific headwear that he had not encountered anywhere before.

'Men predominantly wear pointed or upward-tapering white-gray felt hats with slightly turned-up or close-fitting brims, which you won't see inside Russia,' writes Blasius in his book.

The scientist even draws an unexpected conclusion, trying to amateurishly explain the origin of the very name of the Belarusian people. He believed that it was this characteristic light headwear, which sharply distinguished the locals from their Great Russian neighbors with their 'black and four-cornered fur hats,' that gave the name to an entire ethnic group:

'...and which [white hats], perhaps, gave the inhabitants the name Belarusians (Weißrussen), which is otherwise not particularly substantiated by anything.'

Undoubtedly, from the perspective of modern etymology and the history of the name 'White Rus,' this assumption by the German professor seems naive. But the very fact that, for a visiting European, Belarusians were visually distinct from Great Russians is noteworthy.

'Onionization' of Baroque

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In Vitebsk, Orsha, and Mogilev, the German professor notes that the local architecture and the organization of urban space itself had nothing in common with what he had seen earlier in Muscovy. These were typical European settlements, where monumental brick temples dominated the residential buildings.

Blasius curiously examines Uniate and Catholic churches built in the Baroque style (which he primarily calls the result of 'Jesuit influence'), accurately noting their main visual distinction from Muscovite churches: the presence of two towers on either side of the main portal and the abundance of Baroque decorations on the pediments.

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Admiring the grandeur of this architecture, the researcher tries to explain its origin and the complex historical fate of the region itself to the German reader. Being a Protestant, Blasius views the religious conflicts of the past without excessive sympathy for any side. Reflecting on the times of the Polish-Lithuanian Commonwealth and the emergence of Catholic orders, he writes:

'But already from the mid-16th century, we see how Latin monks terrorize ancient Ruthenian Lithuania [altrussische Lithauen], considering it their rightful property, and throw icons out of homes and churches in Vitebsk...'

By 'ancient Ruthenian Lithuania,' the author naturally refers to the Grand Duchy of Lithuania, which united a significant part of the ancient Ruthenian lands. For the German, even eastern Belarus still remained that ancient Lithuania, and its border markers were those very Baroque monuments.

However, in 1840, Blasius witnessed how the new authorities were attempting to assimilate this region. The scientist observed how elements of Muscovite architecture were artificially grafted onto old Catholic and Uniate basilicas.

Blasius openly mocks how 'onion-shaped domes' (Zwiebelkuppeln) were attached to Western Baroque towers, so that the churches would thus be 'Russified' (russifizirt). This architectural eclecticism, where a Muscovite dome was forcibly placed on a refined European foundation, seemed tasteless and incongruous to him.

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Shklov Babylon

If in the Muscovite governorates the German professor was oppressed by the total apathy of local residents, who usually showed no initiative without orders from above or police intervention, then in Belarusian lands he found himself at the epicenter of a commercial fever.

The main drivers of this economy were Jews. The scientist was astonished at how they literally monopolized all spheres of service and logistics. Unlike Russian peasants, who feared leaving their land, local Jews ran inns, managed postal stations, worked as coachmen, and undertook any work that could bring at least some profit.

Blasius was greatly impressed by this paradox: amidst extreme poverty, torn clothing, and the impassable mud of unpaved streets, an incredible, almost European, vital energy and entrepreneurship flourished.

The quintessence of this was Shklov, which the German traveler simply calls a 'Jewish town' (Judenstadt). When Blasius's carriage arrived late in the evening at the Shklov inn, the scientists, weary from the cold and bad roads, hoped for a quiet rest. However, their room instantly transformed into what the professor likened to a dovecote.

The door did not close for a minute: one merchant brought hot, ash-baked potatoes, another offered juicy local pears, a third sold bagels. When the Germans, hoping to buy themselves off from the intrusive service, acquired all these delicacies, new merchants appeared at the doorstep — this time with lottery tickets. The researchers literally had to usher this crowd out the door to finally get some sleep.

Blasius was also pleased that local merchants spoke Yiddish with him and among themselves, which the German perceived as a corrupted German language. The professor notes that the locals apparently felt 'close to the German heart,' and he gladly recorded familiar words in his diary: 'Stub' (room) or 'Mauer' (wall).

Away from the Police State

Crossing the lands of the former Grand Duchy of Lithuania, Blasius approached the borders of Europe. The final chord of the journey was an an incident in the city of Šiauliai, then still in the Vilna Governorate (the Kaunas Governorate would only be created in 1842; now it is Lithuania), where the German professor encountered the worst manifestations of the Russian police and bureaucratic system.

Arriving at the local postal station, Blasius discovered that a valuable hatbox had disappeared from his carriage. He appealed to the local police chief, hoping for a swift investigation and recovery of the items.

The police chief, having neither evidence nor desire to investigate the matter, quickly found a 'culprit' — the coachman who drove the scientists. The officer ordered the peasant to be stripped and whips prepared. When Blasius, shocked by such a barbaric approach, tried to intervene, the police chief asked in surprise: did the esteemed sir not want the flogging to continue until the culprit confessed?

Blasius understood that the police chief was not seeking the truth, but that the beating was a demonstration of power before a foreigner, and perhaps revenge for the European not having thought to offer a bribe before the 'case' began. Blasius categorically refused to participate in this violence and declared that he would forgo further search for his belongings, as he did not wish for a person to be tortured without trial or evidence.

This aroused even greater suspicion and irritation in the police chief. The official found a new pretext — the researcher's passport. It turned out that Blasius's document was issued from St. Petersburg to Prussian Tilsit, and not further into Europe. On this absurd basis, the police chief declared that the traveler had no right to proceed further or obtain post horses. The professor had to hire private carriages to escape the realm of lawlessness and arbitrary rule.

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