Aleksey Ivanov: “We will not be able to intermarry with the East. Alexey Ivanov Tobol. Few are chosen. We want to see your unique experience

March 8th, 2018, 08:28 pm

Not all extensions are equally useful. Sometimes recognized masters stumble on them. As much as interest increased as one read the first part of the novel "Tobol" by Alexei Ivanov, so much did it fade away when moving through the second part. Truly it came at the start and "Few Chosen Ones" gladly reached the final.
And more than a year's break did not benefit reading. In the novel, a lot of storylines are mixed, a lot of heroes, very different, a few basic intrigues. Taking on the second part a year after the first, without re-reading the beginning, it is difficult to navigate the plot mess. Still, splitting up a two-volume book in this way is not good for the reader.
Well, okay, at the very least, but gradually some connections improved, memory threw some clues, and it became possible to focus not on memories, but on the main action. And what? And no good. First of all, it should be noted that the mystical side of the plot, poorly outlined in the first part, begins to dominate in the second part. And that gets boring. Very boring. All this taiga demonism, confrontation between pagan and Christian gods, conversations with the dead and telepathic connections between the characters, maybe good for some mediocre "fantasy", but cross out the merits of such a well-begun book.
The beginning of the novel aroused interest precisely in the disclosure of the unknown world of old, pre-Petrine and Peter Siberia - cities, customs, administration, settlements, markets, history, life and customs of the taiga peoples, contacts between such heterogeneous elements as Russians, Samoyeds, Bukharans, Swedes. Every page is something new, exciting and informative. In the second part, this Siberian novelty is no longer there, but there is sheer devilry.
The only bright spot in the second volume is the campaign of Colonel Buchholz. First, this story is interesting in itself. Secondly, the author quite vividly depicted the battles at Lake Yamysh, the siege of the Russians by the Dzungars, and the heavy standing in the fortress. Thirdly, here, on the sly, the author runs through the history of the steppe, which is also unknown to us. A story that is by no means limited to the campaign of Genghis Khan.
However, there are also disadvantages here. The Siberian specificity in the first part was most often revealed deftly and skillfully, that is, through the development of plots, that way unobtrusively and fascinatingly. The history of the steppe is given fluently, in the spirit of dry academic lectures with a mass of unfamiliar and unmemorable names, words and concepts. After all, they have nothing to do with the plot for the reader. The author simply dips us into this mess to the very top, quickly takes it out and no longer returns to the issue raised, leaving only a mess in our heads. Thus, the meaning of these inserts is lost.
The cinematic style of jumping from plot to plot, from intrigue to intrigue, also becomes bad. The author simply snatches individual episodes from the life of the characters with a gap in the chronology of several months or even years. That is why there is no feeling of development of situations, characters. We simply have to take all changes for granted. Do not absorb and comprehend them, but only read the words of the author "now he looks like this and feels like this." The connection between the reader and the characters of the novel is interrupted, the need or even the opportunity to empathize with them disappears.
It's a pity, frankly, I'm very disappointed with this continuation. If I had not read it, not only would I not have lost anything, but, perhaps, I would have remained of a better opinion about the whole novel as a whole.

Chapter 1
Pietists

No one in Tobolsk would have given an entire area for the Swedes, so they gathered in a wasteland behind the Cossack vozvoz. Four hundred carolins - subjects of King Charles XII - sat in uneven rows on the steep slope of Panin's hillock, as if on the steps of an ancient amphitheater. In fact, there were much more captured Swedes in Tobolsk - about a thousand, but not everyone was able to come. But those who came prepared for the holiday: the soldiers and officers showed off in camisoles and hats with a braid, the servants tied bows around their elbows, the women put on lace aprons and caps with ribbons. Today was the king's birthday. Charles XII was thirty years old.

Behind the Cossack vzvoz, on the cliff, the battlements and square towers of the Sophia Court, the toy fortress of the Siberian metropolitan, were white. The warm June wind carried light clouds across the sky, their shadows silently ran along the streets and the boarded roofs of the Russian city, along the even green slopes of the Alafea Mountains; the fortress flashed bright white, then faded, as if ready to disappear. This is how the bonds of captivity will someday disappear, opening up a free road for the Carolinas to their homeland. But before that, you had to live.

Captain Kurt Friedrich von Wrech, alderman of the Swedish community in Tobolsk, looked at the faces of his comrades with sincere sympathy. Yes, the Carolines in Russian captivity had a hard time. But the captain will make every effort so that the subjects of the king do not lose heart. Von Wrech prided himself on his nobility in adversity. Small, plump and short-sighted, he could not prove himself in battle, but he could show his stamina in helping others.

Corporal Brure Rolamb, the poet of the community, read aloud to the Carolines his new ode, composed for the jubilee. The corporal held a sheet of text in his left hand, and with his right hand he waved widely over his head. In the odes of Mr. Rolambe there were always crowned lions, Jupiter, storms and lightning, the thunder of cannons, formidable armies, sparkling with bayonets, banners and victorious timpani. Captain Leonard Kag sat at a distance from Rolambe on a chair - many officers brought or brought chairs with them - and listened attentively, pondering whether it would be worth rewriting these verses in the community diary later; the captain kept a diary on behalf of the alderman. Von Wrech took off his hat and nodded his head in a shabby wig in agreement with the stanzas. The officers understood how much ordinary people needed these unsightly verses, and demonstrated their seriousness. There were about a dozen officers in the leadership of the community; Colonel Arvid Kulbash, captains Otto Stackelberg, Johan Tabbert and Henrik Swenson, lieutenants Gustav Horn, Peter Palm and Johan Matern came to the meeting.

The affairs of the captured Swedes were handled by the Feldt Commissariat in Moscow, in the German Quarter. It was headed by the old Count Karl Pieper, head of the field office of King Charles; he was taken prisoner near Poltava. Through the Feldt Commissariat, money for the prisoners arrived in the depths of Russia: half the salary from the Riksdag, assistance from relatives, loans from Princess Ulrika Eleonora and benefactors from the nobles.

Money was always in short supply, and Captain von Wrech found another source of financial support. The von Wrech family estate needed a good manager, so von Wrech, a caring father, even before the war with Russia sent his son to be educated in the city of Halle in Prussia, at the pedagogium of Professor August Franke. Children studied there all day long, walked in blue uniforms, had no stupid entertainment, weekends and vacations, grew up obedient, pious and hardworking, and graduates were well versed in household and crafts. The reason for such success was the teaching of pietism, which was followed by Professor Franke.

In Halle, Kurt von Wrech got acquainted with the basics of this doctrine, and when fate threw him to Tobolsk, von Wrech realized that pietism is very suitable for surviving in captivity, allowing you to maintain a pious way of thinking and lead a virtuous lifestyle. Von Wrech wrote a letter to the University of Halle, where Professor Franke taught oriental languages, saying that the Tobolsk community of Swedish prisoners of war decided to take the principles of pietism as a model for their charter; Mister Francke's mighty pietistic school will not be able to help like-minded people with money and wise guidance? A year later, a parcel of books and a money order arrived from the University of Halle. Translations from the professor became regular.

- Dear friends! - said Kurt von Wrech to those who were sitting on the green slope of Panin's hillock. “I want to read you the beautiful words of Dr. Franke, which we should be guided by in our exile,” von Wrech took the professor’s letter out of his pocket and unfolded it in front of his eyes: “By the will of fate, you found yourself among the barbarians far from your homeland and the king, but you should not indulge in despondency and mourn. Tireless work for the benefit of a comrade in misfortune, a moral life and the dissemination of knowledge and morality among the barbarians is your prayer and your high educational mission!

Von Wrech became emotional, put the letter away, and dabbed at his eyes with a handkerchief.

Junker bayonet Johan Renat sat in the grass among the Swedes, gnawed at a straw, listened to von Wrech and thought that everything was wrong: neither Mr. Alderman nor Mr. Professor would help him. Renat worked for some Russian at a saw mill, dragged logs and boards with a hook, received pennies, but hard righteous labor did not console him. He wanted to go home. He wanted to do what he loved and knew how to do - shoot cannons. He wanted a woman.

Renat glanced cautiously at Brigitte, the wife of the soldier Michael Zims. Brigitte was sitting next to him, a little lower and half turned, watching her husband. Zims worked as a hooker on the wharf and got drunk almost every evening. Even now he came with a flask and applied to the neck. Brigitte was afraid that the drunken Michael would disgrace the whole community. And Renata was irresistibly drawn to look at Brigitte - beautiful, but gloomy. There was something very exciting about her dependence on the Zims cattle.

“Michael!” Brigitte whispered hostilely.

"Shut up," said Zims.

Von Wrech conferred with the officers and again addressed the assembly.

- Friends! he said loudly. – As you know, the royal episcopate does not approve prayer meetings outside the walls of churches, but for us, deprived of our homeland, the word of the shepherd and Holy Communion are very important. Therefore, Dr. Franke agreed to grant our request. The doctor and the community sent us eight hundred riksdalers to set up a church. Mr. Governor assured that he had no objections, and allotted a piece of urban land.

The assembly boomed with excitement.

“I think that our battalion pastor, Mr. Gabriel Larius, should write a letter of thanks to Professor Franke,” said Colonel Arvid Kulbash, the most senior among the carolins of Tobolsk, without getting up from his chair. And we will all put our signatures.

“Excellent suggestion, Herr Colonel,” von Wrech approved.

“Mr. Alderman,” Lieutenant Karl Leonsheld asked from the ranks, “the news of the church is good news, but has the winter salary been delivered?

In captivity, only officers received payments from the Riksdag, while lower ranks and servants were supposed to independently seek their own earnings. However, many officers, including Leonsheld, arranged free meals for poor comrades, so everyone was interested in the delivery of salaries.

“The money has arrived,” said Captain Otto Stackelberg, treasurer of the community.

And one more announcement! Von Wrech waited for silence. - It will be done by Mr. Joachim Ditmer, secretary of the Mr. Governor.

Dietmer got up from his chair and, smiling, straightened his hat.

“Mr. Governor Prince Gagarin asked me to tell you the following,” Ditmer spoke quietly, confident that he would be heard. “His Excellency will give our community a thousand riksdaler from his own funds to expand the school if we accept Russian children for education.

- Russians? Russians? the Carolines murmured in surprise.

There were many children in the wagon trains of the Swedish army. Some soldiers and junior officers took their families with them to the war in Russia, because without breadwinners, families had nothing to live on in Sweden. Families were also taken prisoner. In Tobolsk, the troublesome von Wrech ordered all the children to be registered and opened a school for them. The Swedes built the house for the school themselves, the alderman begged firewood from the chief commandant Bibikov, and Professor Franke sent the salaries to the teachers. The teachers were educated officers.

Lieutenant Johan Matern rose from the ranks of the Carolinas.

“If there are Russians in our school, then instruction will have to be conducted in Russian,” Matern was a garrison fortifier and taught drawing at school. But I don't speak Russian well. Will I be removed?

– Russians do not know the Reformation, we have different churches! - Supported Matern Lieutenant Peter Palm, he also taught at the school.

“Holy history, my son, is the same for all branches of Christianity,” Pastor Larius objected judiciously.

We are not missionaries! shouted Lieutenant Gustav Horn from the ranks. At home, in Kalmar, he was a jeweler, and at the von Wrech school he taught calligraphy; but the Russians will not need Swedish calligraphy. Why do we need Russians?

“This is a good deed, and it pleases the Almighty,” von Wrech said softly.

Ditmer, without saying anything, sat down on a chair and crossed his legs. He was still smiling calmly, as if he knew how this argument would end.

Junker bayonet Renat did not listen to the argument about the Carolina school. Soldier Zims got completely drunk and, grumbling something under his breath, began to fall sideways on Renat. Brigitte silently tried to seat him back so that no one would notice that Zims was drunk. Renat would have dismissed Zims with disgust, but he did not want to be rude in front of Brigitte, and therefore he also silently helped her. He didn't understand how a senseless brew could be more interesting to Zims than this woman.

“Excuse me, Herr Junker,” Brigitte said softly.

She saw the hungry, if hidden, attention of this young officer. Of course, now he imagined her in his bed, men always think about it. But Brigitte was not embarrassed. Her shameful secret was her husband's drunkenness, and the officer had already learned this secret. This means that he can now imagine closeness, as if he had crossed some sacred line.

Captain Tabbert decided to intervene in the Caroline dispute. He was confident in his arguments. He got up, straightened his doublet and stepped forward.

“Gentlemen, let me tell you. Do you mind, Kurt? Tabbert looked politely at von Wrech, who nodded graciously. - Lord! You all came here to Tobolsk on your own feet, and you know from your own experience how big Russia is. It will be difficult for King Charles to defeat such a country, and the war will be over for a very long time. During these years, we will all need the Russian language. Let us therefore take upon ourselves the labor of learning this speech, and let us not deprive our children of the advantage of knowing their rival.

“Brilliant, my Tabbert!” Von Wrech clapped his hands.

The Carolyns murmured discreetly as they discussed Tabbert's words.

Lieutenant Svante Inborg, head of the artel that was building a new house for Gagarin, sedately took out his pipe from under his gray mustache and asked:

- Mr. Secretary Ditmer, if the Russian governor is so rich that he is building a school, would he want to build another house for himself?

The people around Lieutenant Inborg laughed good-naturedly. The Carolinas in a good way envied Inborg's artels, because the governor generously paid for his palace, and many workers were still fulfilling Mr. Gagarin's orders: Cornet Johan Bari and Lieutenant Gustav Horn, jewelers, made settings for precious stones that Gagarin bought; cornet Johan Shkruf made silverware; Captain Adolf Kunov and Lieutenant Karl Leonsheld drew playing cards; captain Georg Malin carved chess pieces and moulds; cornet Ennes Barthold painted patterns on canvas wallpaper for the governor's house.

Von Wrech rose to his feet again and adjusted his sword.

- Friends, let me consider the issue with the Russian school resolved. As an alderman of our congregation, I appoint a commission to reorganize the school: Colonel Arvid Kulbash, Captains Johan Tabbert and Otto Stackelberg, Fenrik Georg Sternhoff and our pastor Gabriel Larius. And now let's pray together for the health and victory of King Charles.

The Carolines got up and took off their hats. The meeting is over.

Secretary Ditmer, after saying goodbye to the officers, went to his gig, which was standing at a distance on the street, and Lorenz Lang, a very young lieutenant of the engineering corps, caught up with him. He did not even have time to fight - he was captured along with the headquarters. Lorentz sincerely admired Ditmer's position under the governor and saw no other career than that of the Russians.

“Mr. Secretary,” Lang asked excitedly, “did you find out? ..

“Yes, Mr. Lang,” Ditmer smiled patronizingly, climbing into the gig. - Mr. Governor said that you can enter the Russian service, but for this you must take an oath.

- Did you take an oath? Lang was offended for some reason and blushed.

“I am not in the Russian service,” Ditmer replied with dignity. - I am in the service of the prince as a private person.

Ditmer roused his horse and rode off, leaving the embarrassed Lang alone.

The Carolinas parted ways. Brigitte crouched down and shook Zims to bring him to his senses and take him home. Zims bellowed and pushed his wife away. Brigitte blushed, a thin strand of hair escaped from under her cap. Renat couldn't resist.

"I'll help," he said dryly.

He stepped towards Zims, grabbed him tightly under the arm and jerked him to his feet. Brigitte supported her husband from the other side.

“Let me go!” croaked Zims. - I'm tired, Swedish whore! ..

“Forgive him, Herr Junker,” Brigitte said impenetrably.

“Remember, soldier! Renat barked softly and furiously.

- I'll help you get home.

- It's close, Herr Junker.

- Who is he? Zims wheezed, without realizing it. “Who did you pick up, whore?

Brigitta and Zims, indeed, lodged not far from Panin's hillock. They lived in a large Russian courtyard in a cramped closet next to the cowshed. Renat dragged the staggering Zims to the right gate and dragged the soldier into the yard. In the middle of the yard stood a cow; sitting on a bench, she was milked by a Russian woman. She glanced around with displeasure at Renat, Brigitte, and Zims.

“Throw your pig into the stall, girl,” she said.

Renat and Brigitte dumped Zims on a bed of hay in a cow stall. Renat dusted himself off, went out and, as a token of gratitude, nodded to the woman by the cow. Brigitte straightened her cap and apron and went to see Renat off.

Renat stopped in the street at the gate, he frowned and did not look at Brigitte. He did not want to part with her, but he could not find a reason to linger. Brigitte understood the young officer's confusion.

“Thank you, Herr Junker,” she said, examining Renat.

- Johan Gustav Renat. At your service, Fru Zims.

- I know your name. After all, we walked together here, to Siberia.

“I remember you too, Mrs. Zims,” Renat admitted reluctantly.

Brigitte smiled tiredly and made a kind of curtsy.

- Brigid Christina, soldier's wife.

Renat hesitated, and yet looked into Brigitte's eyes.

- Why do you tolerate such treatment of your spouse?

Brigitte didn't look down.

“Because Zims is my only support,” she said firmly.

“But calling you a corrupt woman…”

Brigitte now turned away. Even carts rarely passed along this outlying foothill street, and the street was overgrown with cheerful grass. A white goat with kids nibbled grass under a massive fence of lying logs. The evening sun generously painted the wide slopes of the roofs in a honey color. Steep green slopes rose above the rooftops, and above them the tops of the trees shone in the sky, as if on the steep slopes of Stenshufvud. But here was not Stenshuvud, not his native Skåne, not Sweden. And this young officer is just a bored man, for whom the Russian city of Tobolsk is the most difficult test.

“Because I am a corrupt woman, Mr. Renat,” Brigitte answered calmly. Zims is my third husband now. I am getting married for my well-being. All the best, mister junker bayonet.

At this time, Captain Tabbert and Kurt von Wrech rode a droshky to the alderman's house: von Wrech invited Tabbert to a late dinner. Von Wrech lived quite richly - money was sent to him from the estate in Halland. The droshki slowly rolled along the crooked streets past solid Siberian dams, as if in a shallow gutter with a trodden bottom and wooden walls. Towards came across carts of water carriers with barrels and servicemen with sabers on their sides. Along the edge of the street stretched plank pavements on chopping blocks; on them, so as not to interfere with carts and riders, the townspeople walked: women with yokes, bearded men in shirts and hats, Tatars in colored robes. Only boys and dogs ran where they wanted, not recognizing any rules.

“My dear Tabbert,” said von Wrech, “I want to ask you a favor. I have already bought a house for the church. It is located not far from here in the village, but it must be taken apart into logs and floated to the city along this river.

"It's called the Irtysh," Tabbert suggested condescendingly.

- These clumsy names are not for the language of a European ... The whole community would be grateful to you if you undertook to supervise the work of moving this building. Lieutenant Inborg, alas, is currently busy.

“All right, I'll do the job,” said Tabbert. - But are you sure, Kurt, that the church is what our comrades need?

“Certainly necessary, my dear Tabbert,” said von Wrech with conviction. – Sermons are the best way to convey the ideas of pietism to people.

- It does not matter. Agree, dear Tabbert: in order to preserve the dignity of the citizens of a great state, in this Russian wilderness we must observe certain rules of life. They are pretty simple. You can’t grumble and grieve, but your poverty should be considered a blessing. You need to work hard. You can't lose touch with God. We must remember the king. You should spread your knowledge and beliefs among the local peoples in order to soften their morals with development, including for your own well-being. But these rules are the essence of the pietic doctrine.

"You're probably right, Kurt," Tabbert agreed on reflection, pulling his hat over his eyes to block out the sun.

- By the way, I'm going to open a pharmacy at the school soon.

“Dear Kurt, you will soon surpass St. Francis himself,” Tabbert chuckled. “But I'm afraid the Russians won't appreciate it.

“My work is not for gratitude, but to make the world a better place,” von Wrech admitted with secret pride. “I'm sure the king wants it too.

“At any rate, I want to,” said Tabbert ironically.

He wondered if he should talk to Kurt about his plan.

“Listen, Kurt,” he finally decided. - You understand that I am capable of more significant accomplishments than transporting peasant shacks. Therefore, in turn, I also want to ask you for help.

"At your service," von Wrech said eagerly.

- Do you know that this river - the Irtysh - begins in China?

“Very interesting,” said von Wreh. - So what?

“I'll share my plan with you, Kurt.” Tabbert felt a little uneasy, for his plan was indeed very unusual. - I decided to draw up a detailed map of the Irtysh and its tributaries in order to show Russian routes to China unknown in Europe.

“The monarchs of Europe have always been curious about this strange state,” von Wreh nodded, “and Sweden does not yet have its own East India Company.

– I hope my map will serve the development of trade and diplomacy. But first it needs to be published in a good circulation so that it is sold in all bookstores. As far as I know, Professor Franke at the University of Halle has engraving tables and a printing house. I agree to pay a quarter of the profits from the sale of the card to Dr. Franke and a quarter to you, Kurt.

Von Wrech did not answer, tugging at the reins.

“My dear Tabbert,” he said guiltily, “I cannot violate the laws of this country, because we are forbidden to send maps from Russia.

Tabbert was disappointed. Von Wrech, alas, did not understand the audacity and grandeur of his project. The map of the protected route to China is not a school or a pharmacy.

“Very sorry, Kurt,” said Tabbert coldly. - Well, then, maybe you can point me to some expert on the local lands for consultations? After all, you have been living in Tobolsk longer than me.

“I don’t know such a person,” von Wrech put his hand on Tabbert’s hand in sympathy, “but the local officer Nowitzki will help you. He teaches at my school. Come back in the fall when he returns from his trip.

• 22.

A new book by Alexei Ivanov "Tobol. Few Chosen", the second part of the epic work ( First part called "Many Called") about how the reforms of Peter I plowed Siberia. Konstantin Milchin - about how the Ural writer's soul ended.

Once the writer Alexei Ivanov was walking around Perm and met the devil. The unclean one immediately offered a deal: let Ivanov give him his soul, and in return the devil would give him the talent to write brilliant prose. Ivanov agreed, they concluded an agreement with which everyone was satisfied. The devil laughed, because he knew that without a soul, writing talent is worth little. Ivanov also chuckled: he knew, as an expert on the legends of the Khanty and Mansi, that he had not one soul, but five. I gave away one, and the other four will last for a long time.

The devil kept his word. Stunning novels began to come out from Ivanov's pen one after another: the magical "Heart of Parma" and "The Gold of Riot", the realistic "The Geographer Drank His Globe Away" (successfully, by the way, filmed), underestimated, although no less brilliant "Fornication and Mudo" ", a little less successful, but still amazing" Bad weather. And a few more non-fiction books (hell be generous).

As befits a resident of the Ural region, Ivanov spent his remaining souls economically and pragmatically. But the devil, as luck would have it, turned out to be also Ural, corrosive and hardworking. And he finally got to the last soul of Ivanov just when he began to write the novel "Tobol".

Old Ivanov put all the souls he had left into his texts, rediscovered the Urals for Russia and, choking with delight, shared with the reader unknown episodes of the history of our country and his beloved region. In his place came Ivanov 2.0, a master of his trade, a cold, distant novelist who came to Siberia, looked at her in a businesslike way and decided that she was worthy of his pen.

The new Ivanov skillfully weaves intrigue and retells relatively well-known stories with a patronizing intonation. The hand does not rise to scold this book: the devil keeps his agreement, Ivanov is still as magnificent as a storyteller. But to find enthusiastic words about the novel "Tobol. Few Chosen" is no less difficult.

So, before us is the second and, it seems, the last part of a large historical prose. XVIII century, Tobolsk and environs.

The governor of Siberia, Matvey Gagarin, not only stole, but also secretly colluded with the Chinese. The Russian detachment of Colonel Bukhgoldz set off to conquer Kashgar, but was surrounded on the territory of present-day Kazakhstan by the Dzungars, lost almost all his strength, did not surrender to the enemy, but was forced to retreat. Captured Swedish officer Renat dreams of escaping with his beloved Brigitte from Russian captivity. The cunning Bukharian Kasym weaves intrigues, and the priests baptize the Ostyaks. Semyon Remezov builds a fortress in Tobolsk.

The fates of two dozen characters are intertwined with a complex set of sympathies and contradictions, the happiness of some means the painful death of others. Everyone will die, everyone will rot in the ground, and the Tobolsk Kremlin stands to this day.

Again, this is a very skillful text. Ivanov can, in one paragraph, as if casually, retell the content and background of Vasily Perov's painting "Nikita Pustosvyat. Dispute about Faith", without even naming the painting itself. And this is very useful: if a reader goes to a museum and there he immediately recognizes the plot, he will figure out what's what. Even Ivanov, who was operated on and gutted by the devil, is still strong in describing nature:

“Winter stopped hiding: it no longer sent scouts into the cellars, attics and barns, it didn’t arrange quiet night raids, it came in the daytime - everywhere, wide and open.<…>Winter filled the city densely with itself, as a boat is loaded with supplies for a long journey.

Or, through the mouth of a Swede, explain how in Russia Siberia and the state of the economy and politics are closely connected with each other in any of the periods of our history:

"Siberia supplies the treasury with furs, that is, with gold. And this circumstance provides Russia with the opportunity to differ from Europe. Russia does not need to acquire gold in exchange for the fruits of its economy, so it can keep its economy intact in the ancient order. If it were not for the furs of Siberia, the Russians the tsars would have to, like European monarchs, rid the peasants of their serfdom and allow manufactories. Siberia is the key to understanding Russia."

However, it's not just that. In the old novels devoted to Perm and its environs, Ivanov turned a normal, interesting, but generally ordinary Russian region into a wonderful country. The novels were equal or even greater than the region. But Tobolsk with its Kremlin is an incredible miracle in itself. Much more than the novel itself.