Category: Russian Art

  • The First Romanov Abroad: Mikhail Fedorovich Romanov (1596–1645) and His Diplomatic Portrait in Tallinn

    Unidentified 17th-century artist, Portrait of Mikhail Fedorovich Romanov (1596-1645), c. the 1630s, Oil on canvas, Peter the Great House Museum, Tallinn 

    Unidentified 17th-century artist, Portrait of Mikhail Fedorovich Romanov (1596-1645), c. the 1630s, Oil on canvas, Peter the Great House Museum, Tallinn 

    In February 1613, after fifteen years of civil war, famine, foreign occupation and dynastic collapse, the Zemsky Sobor, a national assembly of boyars, clergy, service nobility and townsmen, elected a sixteen-year-old boy as tsar of Russia. Mikhail Fedorovich Romanov (22 July 1596 – 23 July 1645) was neither a brilliant political mind nor an obvious candidate. His chief qualification was genealogical: through his great-aunt Anastasia Romanovna (c. 1530–1560), the first wife of Ivan IV (1530–1584) and mother of Tsar Feodor I (1557–1598), he could claim kinship with the extinct Rurikid line. One contemporary boyar reportedly endorsed the choice on bluntly pragmatic grounds: the boy was young, he was tractable, and he would suit their purposes. The real political authority would arrive six years later, when Mikhail’s father, Patriarch Filaret (born Feodor Nikitich Romanov, c. 1553–1633), returned from Polish captivity in 1619 and assumed the role of co-sovereign, steering the state until his death.

    This portrait, held in the Peter the Great House Museum in Tallinn, likely derives from a prototype produced in the Kremlin Armoury workshops in Moscow, where monk-iconographers created the earliest known examples of a transitional genre known as the parsuna (from the Latin persona): secular portraits of lay individuals rendered in the visual language of Orthodox icon painting. Frontal in pose, hieratic in stillness, and largely emptied of psychological depth, the parsuna occupied an uncertain space between sacred image and political document. The Kremlin Armoury painters, trained as iconographers and typically anonymous, brought to portraiture the same conventions they applied to images of saints: shallow perspective, symmetrical composition, and an emphasis on symbolic attributes over individual likeness. Authority was conveyed through costume, insignia and posture, and the resulting image was less a record of a face than a declaration of rank.

    Whether the Tallinn painting is an original or a copy is not straightforwardly resolved, and the question turns in part on what ‘original’ means within a genre designed for official replication. Some accounts describe it as the earliest surviving seventeenth-century portrait of Mikhail, while others treat it as the earliest known surviving copy, probably at one or more removes from a lost Kremlin prototype rather than a primary image produced from life. In the context of Muscovite diplomatic portraiture, this distinction may be less stable than it first appears. The parsuna tradition produced images intended for controlled circulation and faithful reproduction: a copy sanctioned by the Armoury workshops and distributed through diplomatic channels carried a form of authority that a modern art-historical vocabulary, built around notions of autograph primacy, struggles to accommodate.

    The provenance of the Tallinn painting passes through Adam Olearius (1599 or 1603–1671), the German scholar, mathematician, geographer and librarian who served as secretary to the diplomatic embassy sent by Frederick III, Duke of Holstein-Gottorp (1597–1659), to Moscow and Safavid Persia between 1633 and 1639. His route took him through Reval (Tallinn ) on both the first embassy of 1633–34, dispatched to secure the tsar’s permission to travel through Russian territory, and the second of 1635–39, which aimed to negotiate overland trade agreements with the Shah. Though the commercial mission failed, the vast body of ethnographic, geographical and political observations Olearius gathered during six years of travel resulted in The Much-Desired Description of the New Oriental Journey (1647), one of the most influential early modern European accounts of Muscovite court life and society.

    The Brotherhood of the Blackheads, an association of unmarried merchants, ship-owners and foreign traders active in Reval (Tallinn) from the early fifteenth century, acquired the portrait from Olearius. This purchase fits within a broader collecting tradition: from the seventeenth century onwards, the Brotherhood accumulated full-length state portraits of European and Russian rulers, among them a painting of Gustav II Adolph, King of Sweden (1594–1632), donated in 1639 and now considered one of the earliest in the collection. Whether these portraits served as diplomatic intelligence, political signalling or civic prestige (or some combination of all three) is worth asking, because the Mikhail portrait arrived in a city that had very particular reasons to scrutinise the face of the Russian tsar.

    Decades after the Livonian War (1558–1583), which had devastated the region, the image of the new Russian tsar carried particular weight in Tallinn. The city had twice withstood Russian sieges, in 1570–71 and again in 1577, during which members of the Blackheads themselves had taken up arms in defence of the walls. The Time of Troubles (c. 1598–1613) had temporarily weakened Moscow, but the election of a new tsar and the founding of a new dynasty signalled renewal. Amid continuing power struggles between Sweden, Poland and Russia for control of the Baltic, the portrait registered both recent trauma and a rising awareness of Moscow’s reviving ambitions.

    Mikhail’s gem-studded robes function in the painting less as garments than as sacral vestments, proclaiming sanctity, wealth and cosmic order. His features are idealised, and the overall effect is closer to an icon than to any portrait tradition familiar to Western European viewers. This was deliberate. The title tsar, a Slavic rendering of Caesar, had been formally adopted at coronation by Ivan IV on 16 January 1547, in a ceremony staged in the Cathedral of the Dormition and designed by Metropolitan Makary to assert Muscovite succession from the Roman emperors through Constantinople. The ideological groundwork was older still. Ivan III (1440–1505) had married Sophia Palaiologina (c. 1455–1503), niece of the last Byzantine emperor Constantine XI (1405–1453), adopted the double-headed eagle as his emblem, and begun styling himself as tsar. Around 1510, the monk Filofei of Pskov articulated the doctrine in a letter to Vasily III (1479–1533): two Romes had fallen, a third stood in Moscow, and there would be no fourth.

    By Mikhail’s reign, this invented continuity was thoroughly embedded in the visual rhetoric of tsarist portraiture. The frontal pose, the absence of any spatial depth, the rendering of costume as armour-like encasement rather than draped cloth: all of these choices enforced the idea of the tsar as a figure outside time, continuous with a sacred imperial tradition stretching back through Byzantium to Rome. Some historians have argued that the Muscovite political model was itself a hybrid, combining Byzantine sacred kingship with administrative and fiscal structures inherited from the Tatar-Mongol period, though this thesis remains contested. What is less debatable is that the resulting court culture struck Western European observers as exotic and opaque, and that portraits such as this one were designed to sustain exactly that impression.

    Unidentified 17th-century artist, Portrait of Mikhail Fedorovich Romanov (1596-1645), c. the 1630s, Oil on canvas, Peter the Great House Museum, Tallinn 
    Unidentified 17th-century artist, Portrait of Mikhail Fedorovich Romanov (1596-1645), c. the 1630s, Oil on canvas, Peter the Great House Museum, Tallinn 
    Unidentified 17th-century artist, Portrait of Mikhail Fedorovich Romanov (1596-1645), c. the 1630s, Oil on canvas, Peter the Great House Museum, Tallinn 
    Unidentified 17th-century artist, Portrait of Mikhail Fedorovich Romanov (1596-1645), c. the 1630s, Oil on canvas, Peter the Great House Museum, Tallinn 


    References

    Cross, A. (2014) In the Lands of the Romanovs: An Annotated Bibliography of First-hand English-language Accounts of the Russian Empire (1613–1917). Cambridge: Open Book Publishers

    Dunning, C.S.L. (2001) Russia’s First Civil War: The Time of Troubles and the Founding of the Romanov Dynasty. University Park: Pennsylvania State University Press

    Halperin, C.J. (1987) Russia and the Golden Horde: The Mongol Impact on Medieval Russian History. Bloomington: Indiana University Press

    Keelmann, L. (2014 ) Art Patronage of the Tallinn Brotherhood of the Black Heads (Ph.D. dissertation, University of Michigan). Available at , https://www.researchgate.net/publication/353705807_Bachelors_Bridging_the_Baltic_The_Artistic_Ambitions_of_the_Tallinn_Brotherhood_of_the_Black_Heads_c_1400-1524 (Accesses 17 May 2025)

    Olearius, A. (1967) The Travels of Olearius in Seventeenth-Century Russia. Trans. and ed. S.H. Baron. Stanford: Stanford University Press

    Ovchinnikova, E. S. (2000) Portret v russkom iskusstve XVII veka [Portrait in Russian art of the seventeenth century]. Moscow: Iskusstvo.

    Waugh, D.C. (n.d.) ‘The Development of Portraiture in Muscovy’, University of Washington. Available at: https://faculty.washington.edu/dwaugh/rus/art/port.html (Accesses 17 May 2025)

  • The Novgorod Saint George (15th century): Icon of Eternal Combat with Evil

    School of Novgorod, Miracle of St George and the Dragon, c.1400–1450?, Tempera and gesso on linden panel, 77.4 × 57 cm, British Museum, London

    School of Novgorod, Miracle of St George and the Dragon, c.1400–1450?. Tempera and gesso on linden panel, 77.4 × 57 cm. British Museum, London
    School of Novgorod, Miracle of St George and the Dragon, c.1400–1450?, Tempera and gesso on linden panel, 77.4 × 57 cm, British Museum, London

    In 1959, in the village of Il’inski Pogost on the River Pinega, a tributary of the Severnaya Dvina in the far north of Russia, an icon was found serving as the shutter of a barn window. Subsequent cleaning by the conservator Adolf Ovchinnikov at the I.E. Grabar State Restoration Workshops in Moscow revealed a panel that had been overpainted several times, beneath which lay one of the finest surviving examples of late medieval Russian painting.The icon entered the British Museum in 1986, though the circumstances of its journey from the Soviet Union to London remain incompletely documented.

    The panel, painted in egg tempera and gesso on wood (probably linden), measures 77.4 by 57 centimetres. It is conventionally known as ‘The Black George’ (Чёрный Георгий) after its most striking feature: Saint George, wearing a red mantle, rides a black horse to the left, transfixing a dragon beneath him with a spear held in his right hand (BM, 1986,0603.1). The background was originally a light yellow, painted in orpiment (a yellow arsenic sulphide pigment used to imitate gold leaf), though most of this has been lost during earlier restorations, with traces surviving on the right side and in patches elsewhere (Cormack, 2007, pp. 82–85). An inscription in Church Slavonic above the saint reads: Ο ΑΓΙ(oc) ΓΕΟΡ(г)ИЕ (Saint George). The dating is not entirely settled. The British Museum’s object record gives c.1400–1450, while it late fourteenth century.

    The icon belongs to what Russian scholars term the concise iconographic type (краткий извод) of the Miracle of Saint George, in which only the saint and the dragon are depicted, without the princess, the city walls or witnessing figures that appear in the more detailed type (пространный извод). The concise type is the older of the two, with its earliest known examples in tenth and eleventh century Cappadocian church frescoes (Walter, 2003, p. 128). It became particularly popular in Novgorod and the Russian north, where the cult of George as warrior-saint (Георгий-змиеборец) had deep roots in popular devotion. The absence of the city of Lasya (Lacia) and of any narrative context is therefore not a decision peculiar to this painter but a well-established tradition within which he worked. What he chose, in effect, was the more austere of two available compositional formats.

    The black horse is the panel’s most discussed feature. It is unusual but not unique. The British Museum entry notes parallels on a small number of other fourteenth to sixteenth century Novgorod and northern Russian icons, including a mid-fourteenth-century ‘Miracle of St George’ from the Morozov collection, now in the Tretyakov Gallery, Moscow (Bruk and Iovleva, 1995, no. 21), a sixteenth-century panel of ‘St George, Nikita and the Deesis’ in the Russian Museum, St Petersburg (Likhachёv, Laurina and Pushkariov, 1980, fig. 237), and a ‘Miracle of St George and his Life’ from Ustyuzhna dating from the first half of the sixteenth century (Rybakov, 1995, fig. 214). A further Novgorod icon of ‘Saint George the Victorious on a Black Horse,’ now in the Khanty-Mansiysk Museum, dates from the second half of the fifteenth century. The black horse, then, was a recognised variant within the Novgorod and northern Russian iconographic tradition. Whether it carried specific symbolic freight, or was primarily a regional stylistic convention, remains an open question in the scholarship.

    What can be said with more confidence is that the panel’s formal character belongs to a visual world quite different from the one in which contemporary or near-contemporary Western painters were working. The flat orpiment background, imitating gold, offers no illusion of spatial depth. George and the dragon are arranged as a compressed compositional unit in which legibility and symbolic clarity take precedence over narrative plausibility. The spear does transfix the dragon, so the image records the moment of victory, but the manner in which it does so is revealing. There is no struggle, no exertion, no dramatic tension between combatants. George’s posture is upright and calm, his face impassive; the dragon, though pierced, writhes with undiminished energy beneath the horse. The effect is less that of a battle concluded than of a condition made permanent. In a Western painting of the same subject, the viewer would expect to see the dragon in its death throes, the saint in the act of delivering a decisive blow, and the surrounding landscape as a stage on which an unrepeatable event takes place. Here, the absence of setting, the stillness of the rider, and the continuing vitality of the creature beneath him suggest something closer to an emblem than a narrative: not a triumph accomplished but a spiritual combat that is, by its nature, unending. The Orthodox theology of the icon, as articulated by writers from John of Damascus (c.675–749) onward, held that the sacred image should make present the prototype it depicted, functioning not as a picture to be admired but as a window onto the divine. If the icon makes the event perpetually present rather than historically past, then the dragon cannot be shown as definitively dead, because the evil it figures is not definitively overcome in the fallen world. Stylisation, in this context, was not an absence of skill but a positive discipline: the painter avoided naturalism because naturalism would domesticate the sacred, reducing miracle to anecdote (Lazarev, 1983; Cormack, 2007, pp. 14–22). The dragon that refuses to die is, on this reading, a theological statement made in formal terms.

    The contrast with Western European treatments of the same subject is instructive, though it should be handled with care, since the comparison risks flattening both traditions. Antonio Pisanello (c.1395–c.1455), in his fresco of Saint George and the Princess of Trebizond (c.1436–1438, Pellegrini Chapel, Sant’Anastasia, Verona), placed the saint in a minutely observed landscape populated by horses, dogs, and hanged men, embedding the miracle in a chivalric world of courtly display and empirical detail. Vittore Carpaccio (c.1465–c.1525/1526), in his Saint George and the Dragon (c.1502, Scuola di San Giorgio degli Schiavoni, Venice), composed a theatrical panorama in which the saint charges on a white horse through a landscape strewn with dismembered body parts, the city visible behind. Both painters treated the subject as an occasion for narrative invention and visual spectacle, working within a tradition in which the image’s power was understood to reside in its capacity to persuade the eye. Carpaccio’s cycle dates from roughly a century after the Novgorod panel, so the comparison is not strictly contemporaneous, but the underlying divergence in pictorial principle had been established well before either painter was born. The Latin West, from the thirteenth century onward, moved progressively towards naturalism and spatial illusion; the Eastern Churches, for theological reasons that were articulated, debated, and in some periods violently contested, maintained the icon as an image governed by different rules.


    References

    Алпатов, М.В. (1956) ‘Образ Георгия-воина в искусстве Византии и Древней Руси’ [The Image of George the Warrior in the Art of Byzantium and Old Rus’], Труды Отдела древнерусской литературы (ТОДРЛ), 12, pp. 292–310. Reprinted in: Алпатов, М.В. (1967) Этюды по истории русского искусства [Studies in the History of Russian Art], vol. 1. Moscow: Iskusstvo, pp. 154–211. Available online at: https://docs.yandex.com/docs/view?url=ya-disk-public%3A%2F%2F%2BscgZfnwvFq3mlkRq1ic8Jr0YDyrbl%2B65LmBjsJz100%3D&name=%D0%AD%D1%82%D1%8E%D0%B4%D1%8B%20%D0%BF%D0%BE%20%D0%B8%D1%81%D1%82%D0%BE%D1%80%D0%B8%D0%B8%20%D1%80%D1%83%D1%81%D1%81%D0%BA%D0%BE%D0%B3%D0%BE%20%D0%B8%D1%81%D0%BA%D1%83%D1%81%D1%81%D1%82%D0%B2%D0%B0.%20%D0%92%202%D1%85%20%D1%82%D0%BE%D0%BC%D0%B0%D1%85._%D0%90%D0%BB%D0%BF%D0%B0%D1%82%D0%BE%D0%B2%20%D0%9C.%D0%92_1967%2C%20%D1%821-216%D1%81%2C%20%D1%822-328%D1%81.pdf (Accessed 27 July 2023)

    British Museum (n.d.) The Miracle of St George and the Dragon / Black George, accession no. 1986,0603.1. Available at: https://www.britishmuseum.org/collection/object/H_1986-0603-1 (Accessed: 21 July 2023).

    Брук, Я.В. и Иовлева, Л.И. (ред.) (1995) Государственная Третьяковская галерея: Каталог собрания. Древнерусское искусство X — начала XV века [State Tretyakov Gallery: Catalogue of the Collection. Old Russian Art, Tenth to Early Fifteenth Century], vol. 1. Moscow: Krasnya ploshchad

    Лазарев, В.Н. (1983) Русская иконопись от истоков до начала XVI века [Russian Icon Painting from Its Origins to the Beginning of the Sixteenth Century]. Moscow: Iskusstvo

    Лихачёв, Д.С., Лаурина, В.К. и Пушкарёв, В.А. (1980) Новгородская икона XII–XVII веков [The Novgorod Icon, Twelfth to Seventeenth Centuries]. Leningrad: Aurora

    Овчинников, А.Н. и Кишилов, Н.Б. (1971) Живопись древнего Пскова [Painting of Old Pskov]. Moscow: Sovetsky khudozhnik, no. 16, pl. 33.

    Смирнова, Э.С. (1976) Живопись Великого Новгорода: Середина XIII — начало XV века [Painting of Great Novgorod: Mid-Thirteenth to Early Fifteenth Century]. Moscow: Nauka

    Ямщиков, С.В. (1966) Древнерусская живопись: Новые открытия [Old Russian Painting: New Discoveries]. Leningrad: Aurora

    Cormack, R. (2007) Icons. London: British Museum Press, pp. 82–85.

    Walter, C. (2003) The Warrior Saints in Byzantine Art and Tradition. Aldershot: Ashgate