Читать книгу The History of the West. Through the Eyes of Bears and Balalaikas - - Страница 13

People really like to attribute all achievements to one leader. This greatly simplifies the picture of existence: understanding one person is much easier than understanding several, let alone many. However, in life, of course, it doesn’t happen that way. Any changes, any progress, and any movement are the result of the interaction of many people. And not a single, even the most brilliant pioneer, is capable of doing anything without those who follow behind him. When, for some reason, the creative energy of thousands and tens of thousands of people is unleashed, the changes turn out to be truly grandiose.

The 19th century produced an unprecedented number of great people, from the military genius of Bonaparte to Brunel112, Tesla113 and Edison114. In general, listing them is pointless: hundreds and even thousands of names have inscribed themselves into the history of humanity over these hundred years. We can easily count twice, ten times more historical figures than in all previous human history. It seems as if a faucet was opened, and the earth began to produce geniuses where there was previously only emptiness and ordinariness.

By the way, this assumption is not far from the truth. Indeed, the 19th century broke several barriers that held back human energy and unleashed creative resources previously unable to grow and develop.

First and foremost, this is the class barrier. For many centuries before, the world was rigidly divided into social strata. Only people from the upper echelons of society had the path open to large-scale achievements. Everyone else had to be content with roles determined by birth. Not only did a peasant, doomed to a lifetime of plowing, but also an ordinary priest or a not particularly noble nobleman have insanely little chance of achieving something, becoming noticeable, or accomplishing something worthy of being remembered by descendants. Moreover, as time went on, these opportunities became fewer: if in the eleventh century a certain Robert Guiscard115, the sixth son of an obscure baron, could win himself the title of duke and essentially found a kingdom, then in the seventeenth century, Chevalier d’Artagnan could at best call himself a count and hope that His Majesty would find it possible to overlook this small liberty. By the end of the 18th century, in most states, the class division had reached its peak. Among the developed countries of that time, the only exception was the North American United States, where, due to the colonial peculiarity, there were never any classes116, and the republican form of government only emphasized the atypicality of the situation117.

The example turned out to be quite illustrative. It turns out that if you simply tell a lord to go to hell, the world doesn’t collapse. And if everyone does it together, you can even send the king far away.

At first, this was undertaken by the former allies of the Americans in their struggle against the British metropolis – the French. The most absolutist power in Europe dismantled its power vertical slowly, bloodily, and meticulously118. Other nations approached the matter less thoroughly, but overall, a person in the nineteenth century depended on their origin dramatically less than in the eighteenth century. The remnants of the class society were finished off by two world wars, but even by the start of the first one, a Jewish banker or an Irish engineer meant more than an impoverished descendant of ancient dukes with a mix of royal blood.

The second barrier, swept away even more thoroughly than the first, is the geographical one. And here, it’s not just about the distances, which have been reduced from long months of walking to hours or days by train and steamboat. It’s about people’s perception of the suddenly emerging possibilities of globalization.

Until the 19th century, the overwhelming majority of the population, with the exception of sailors, travelers, and some merchants and military personnel, led an incredibly sedentary lifestyle. And where could a barefoot peasant go? It wasn’t even just about having to walk: few could afford a riding horse, let alone a carriage. They had to carry food on their back and find lodging and companions. Today, we need money, money, and more money on the road, but until the 19th century, it played a much smaller role than we imagine. The Middle Ages were a time of subsistence economy, and even after their end, peasant contributions in grain, wool, and livestock were often more common than monetary rent in many places. In modern books and films, feudal lords scatter gold and silver everywhere, and even peasants always seem to have a pouch of coins. In reality, a poor person having just “a couple of shillings” did not mean immediate starvation: money was only needed to acquire something that couldn’t be grown or bartered. Obtaining money was not easy either – it required selling something, which was a serious problem in the absence of trade networks and developed logistics chains. Gathering the amount necessary for a journey was a non-trivial task even for a fairly well-off person.

And besides obtaining, one also had to spend. Nowadays, we have hotel chains, restaurants, and gas stations at our disposal, but travelers of those times faced not only terrible unpaved roads but also inns and taverns that were too rare and expensive to rely on as the main travel refuge. They had to seek out acquaintances, ask strangers for lodging, and rely on churches and monasteries where available. Spending the night under an oak tree was also not particularly uncommon.

Let’s add to this the general lack of safety – a stranger became easy prey for the crime of that time, there was no one to stand up for him, and to the nearest help – it was a long walk, as well as the absence of thermoses and refrigerators, which did not allow taking anything tastier and healthier than rusks… traveling in the times of Lomonosov, not to mention even earlier times, was an activity for enthusiasts.

All this led to what is most appropriately called “local patriotism.” A Saxon or a Holsteiner could not feel like a German – many days of inconvenient and useless travel separated them from other German lands, which for most were inaccessible and undesirable. A Norman did not want to have anything in common with a Gascon. The Italian principalities were continuously at odds with each other, and a Milanese would rather let a snake into their home than a Florentine. The world was not only monstrously vast but also monstrously fragmented.