Part One. Sumarokov and the Literary Process of His Time 10 THE ILLEGAL STAGING OF SUMAROKOV’S SINAV AND TRUVOR IN 1770 and the Problem of Authorial Status in Eighteenth-Century Russia Authors and authorship had little formal legal status in eighteenth-century Russia. Over the course of the century the basic elements and institutions of literary life — from writer and audience, to the text, means of dissemination, and their very linguistic medium — underwent dramatic changes (Levitt, Introduction, ix-xviii). If William Todd, in his ground-breaking study of literary institutions in the age of Pushkin, could refer to a “vexing multiplicity” of institutional choices facing the writer (46), for Аlexander Sumarokov (1717–1777) the situation was sooner the reverse: he struggled to define the emerging role of the writer in what often seemed a vacuum. The fact that scholars have awarded such titles as “first modern Russian poet” and “first professional Russian writer” to such disparate figures as Simeon Polotskii (Hippisley 1–2); Antiokh Kantemir (Gukovskii 51); the trio of Lomonosov, Trediakovskii and Sumarokov (Pypin 433); the cohort of Matvei Komarov, Fedor Emin and Andrei BoIotov (Grits, Trenin, Nikitin, ch. 3), as well as to Pushkin (Gessen; Meynieux 85-6); testifies not only to the various shades of meaning implied by these terms but also to the changing nature of Russian letters between the late seventeenth and early nineteenth centuries. Sumarokov’s claim to these titles is based on the fact that for much of his adult life he was occupied exclusively with literature, and on his strong belief that he was laying the groundwork for what he called his “professiia” (Pis’ma 131). Among his other firsts was the publication of original Russian belles-lettres as individual books (excluding individually published odes). In addi tion, he published, edited, and largely wrote Russia’s first private literary monthly, Trudoliubivaia pchela; he was the first director and principal playwright of the national theater, founded by Empress Elizabeth in 1756 in St. Petersburg; and he introduced many of what were to be staple genres of modern Russian literature (Levitt, “Sumarokov,” 370–381). As а writer on 190 Chapter 10. Th e Illegal Staging of Sumarokov’s Sinav and Truvor in 1770 the cutting edge of literary development, Sumarokov was acutely aware of the difficulties in establishing his new profession and defining the status — legal, financial, political, cultural — of the author. In early 1770 Moscow’s com- mander-in-chief, P. S. Saltykov, ordered the staging of Sumarokov’s tragedy Sinav and Truvor against the author’s will and despite the theater’s contractual obligation not to stage his plays without his expressed assent. This incident, alleged by some to be a turning point in Sumarokov’s career, dramatically laid bare the limitations, legal and other, of the author’s position. The incident came at a moment when Sumarokov appeared to be at the height of his powers and repute. Up to this point at least, Sumarokov seemed to enjoy a position of favor under Catherine II, although their relationship as patron and client was never comfortable and is open to various interpretations (e.g., Gukovskii, Ocherki; Gleason). A supporter of the empress several years before the coup that brought her to the throne, upon her ascension in 1762 he had been rewarded with, among other things, the unique lifelong privilege of having his works published at her expense. This meant that at times Catherine took the role of Sumarokov’s personal censor, which led to minor clashes. Despite such incidents, Sumarokov continued to enjoy her ostensible support, and in 1769 he was apparently granted a modest “derevushka” near Moscow where he could write in peace. He also made ample use of having the empress’ ear, often (as she put it) “bombarding” her with letters. He excused his “impertinence” by arguing that he spoke not merely as an individual petitioner but in the name of Russian literature. When pleading the case for establishing a Russian theater in Moscow in the late 1760s, he explained that he had taken upon himself the role of “advocate (advokat) for Melpomene and Thalia,” a role for which he claimed himself uniquely worthy (Pis’ma 123). Still, Sumarokov’s position was far from secure. After leaving the Russian theater in 1761, he had been allowed to keep his annual stipend, on top of his military salary, for which he had earlier been excused from duties. However, both sums gave him a relatively small income, and Sumarokov continued to be strapped for money and often in debt. He acutely felt the anomaly of the writer’s position in rank-conscious Russia and was frustrated by the privations that the profession forced upon him and his family. On May 3, 1764, for example, he wrote to Catherine asking her to fund a trip to Italy and France so that he could produce travel notes that he felt would be of use to the country. At the same time he begged the empress, whether or not she accepted his proposal (and she did not), to let him know “what I am: in the service, and if so, in which?” (Pis’ma 97). He complained that he was without 191 Part One. Sumarokov and the Literary Process of His Time clear institutional affiliation or responsibilities, and hence without the possibility for normal career advancement and salary increases: “Moreover I have no place or position at all. I am neither with the military, nor the civil service, nor with the court, nor with the Academy, nor in retirement. I make so bold as to make this request of Your Imperial Majesty, so that something will be determined for me, so that I will know what I am” (Pis’ma 96). The episode with Saltykov in 1770 reveals in a dramatic way just how pre- carious his position was. It offers a compelling starting point for discussing the problem of what Foucault calls the “author function” in eighteenth- century Russia, a complex and little studied subject (see: Jones, “The Image”; Serman; Stepanov; Zhivov, “Pervye”). In this article I will describe what is known about the incident, try to clarify Sumarokov’s murky legal position, and analyze two cultural models (patronage and personal honor) that, given the limited possibility of legal redress, Sumarokov invoked to define and defend “who he was.” AN ACCOUNT OF THE DEBACLE In March 1769, the writer had moved to Moscow, where he became involved in protracted negotiations to set up a permanent theater there. With the support of Moscow’s commander-in-chief, Count P. S. Saltykov, and the city’s police office (which at that time had jurisdiction over theatrical matters and censorship), he had helped the Italians Giovanni Belmonti and Giuseppe Cinti (variously spelled Chinti, Tchougi, Chuzhi; see Mooser 89–90, 135, 144) assume the privilege to stage plays in Russian (a privilege previously held by N. S. Titov, whose company, founded in 1766 with actors from Moscow University, had gone bankrupt). “The Muses, the local governor-general (namestnik), chief of police (politseimeistr), entrepreneurs and actors are all in complete agreement with me,” he wrote to the empress on July 24, 1769 (Pis’ma 125). Sumarokov himself signed a personal contract with Belmonti giving Belmonti the right to stage his plays, but only with his permission and under his supervision. The reasons for Sumarokov’s debacle are not clear; some scholars assert that there was a large-scale conspiracy to publicly embarrass the writer. On about January 24, 1770, a few days before the advertised opening of his popular tragedy Sinav and Truvor, together with his new comedy Тri brata sovmestniki, the playwright contacted the head of the police department (ober-politseimeistr), Count V. I. Tolstoi, to let him know that the play had to be postponed because the leading actress, Elizaveta Ivanova, was getting 192 Chapter 10. Th e Illegal Staging of Sumarokov’s Sinav and Truvor in 1770 drunk and not coming to rehearsals; he asked Tolstoi’s help in ensuring that she appear. Earlier, on January 18, Saltykov and his son themselves had come to Sumarokov to ask him to have the theater directors “restrain” the actress, with whom Saltykov had formed a special attachment, apparently as а drinking companion. Then, while Sumarokov was away at his estate, she had run away, and been subsequently sent back, but ran off again, with Count М. F. Apraksin, who (according to Sumarokov) “made а drunkard of her (s kruga spoil), so that every day she would quarrel with her comrades” (presumably the other actors; Pis’ma 126). Sumarokov’s request to police chief Tolstoi for help offended the seventy-year-old war hero Saltykov. This is Sumarokov’s version of what then transpired: Count Tolstoi, а good and conscientious person, wanted to send her [to the theater], but could not, because Count Saltykov had told him that he would assign the actors their roles, and that he would order what they would play and how they would perform. Count Tolstoi told me to speak with Count Saltykov myself. I went to his house, but he was not in. I went to his son’s house to make him a contre-visite (since he had been to visit me). His father also arrived. He came in and started shouting at me with exceedingly great anger and with even greater disdain. “Why are you sticking your nose into putting on plays?” “So that they be performed well,” I answered, my heart in my shoes. “Why are you sending orders to the police?” — “I am in no position to send orders anywhere, except perhaps to the villages I own, and the chief of police is witness to my innocence.” “You have no business with performances and actors, so don’t you tell them what and how to act.