Berkley Center

Background: As part of the Education and Global Social Justice Project, in June 2012 undergraduate student Masha Goncharova interviewed Alexander Kedroff, archdeacon of the Alexander Nevsky Cathedral in Paris, France. In this interview Kedroff discusses the role of the cathedral and Russian Orthodoxy in helping waves of Russian immigrants adapt to life in France, his family's own experience with immigration, and the challenge of transmitting Russian culture and faith as community members begin to use the French language rather than Russian.

Who were the Russian émigrés?

It is known that this emigration was very cultured and intellectual. Those who fled to Paris from the Bolshevik revolution had made very significant contributions to Russian society. In 1925, thanks to the work of Metropolitan Evlogii, and with the help of Mikhail Ossorgino, we bought a space for the Theological Institute in St. Sergius courtyard. This spiritual center welcomed very famous theologians from the White emigration, such as Anton Kartashev, Archpriest Georges Florovsky, Father Alexander Shmemann (who later emigrated to America), and many more. It was essentially a corpus of pedagogues, all very prestigious. On the one hand, our eparchy played a significant role in saving different Russian culture and the personalities of imperial Russia of the immigration. But, on the other hand, they also opened Russians to the West—they wanted to proclaim, give evidence of, and share Russian orthodoxy in Europe. This was the first wave of émigrés. The second wave fled Stalin. The third wave were dissidents. They were more politically motivated—[Alexander] Solzhenitsyn, [Andrei] Sinyavsky. Among them artists, like Rudolf Nureev, and the famous dancer [Mikhail] Barishnikov.

What role did Orthodoxy play in the émigré experience?

In essence, the Orthodox Church became admired and interesting to the Western world in part by the work of the Russian émigrés, and the culture that developed in the diaspora and immigration to Paris. There was, in Alexander Nevsky Cathedral, beautiful worship. Metropolitan Evlogii was very smart and a great administrator. Every Sunday there were so many people, the church was full—not only inside the church, but spilling out into the street there were packs of people. This was a process of consolidating these Russians through their faith. At that point, their material depravity and distance from their homeland both developed and concentrated their spirit in the church. Here the cathedral played the central role. They wanted to continue and keep alive their culture here through the St. Sergius Institute, through publications like YMCA press published by Nikita Alexeyevich Struve.

But I do see that for a long time the emigrations had the spiritual understanding that Orthodoxy was part of our mission. In their spare time, Russian émigrés began to work on church texts, publishing church textbooks for children, and not only in Russian, but also in French. They felt that God laid out the path to the West like an apostle-like mission. There were many writers, poets, who were all concerned that religion is what occupied these active émigrés in the context of hardship. We could say that in Paris their situation resulted in the birth of great talent.

Would the situation today be different without this cathedral?

Of course, we shouldn't assume religious life and diaspora around a building. It's understandable that the architecture of our cathedral is beautiful. There are gold domes, beautiful windows and icons, etc. But more importantly, this cathedral is a namolnoye mesto [where many have prayed] and specifically many Russian émigré people. It is important to note that it's not the stone building, but the people who inhabited it. I mean for culture, one can say many people have had christening and burial ceremonies here—Picasso, the famous writer [Ivan] Bunin, Mstislav Rostropovich’s daughters were christened here. Even Feodor Chaliapin sang here. There were many events important for French society here. For instance, they buried Henri Troyat here.

How did the Russian émigrés adapt to Paris at first?

You know, it was actually famous back then—so many of these talented immigrants had become completely impoverished. They fled Russia with nothing. And it was known that in the Parisian taxis, the driver would be a former Russian admiral of a naval fleet, or a minister in the old regime, generals, or a soldier, or an intellectual. And they had excellent manners: they would salute you, open the door, be as polite as possible, and sometimes not even charge the fare! They just didn't know how to act any other way. So the saying was back then that every Parisian wanted to find himself in a taxi with a Russian driver. Of course, this is an anecdote, but there is much truth in it.

What about religion—how did the Orthodox find their place in a Catholic France?

The latest wave of immigration was after the perestroika. It was a moment when our immigration became very weak. Not dying, but very weak. The fourth and fifth generations of the first wave barely speak Russian now, although the fact that even this many generations have saved Russian language is something to be proud of. But we need to admit that in the church, we really have accepted our role in the West as bringing orthodoxy to Western people, so there are many francophone congregations, and we translate the services into French. In Paris we actually began ecumenical relations of mutual understanding between Christians, Catholics, Muslims, etc. And the fact that people value the Orthodox church is completely new, because people had not seen the beauty of it for so long.

How did the Alexander Nevsky Cathedral help them hold on to their identity or foster a sense of Russian culture within a new French community?

It does need to be acknowledged that our cathedral was really the spiritual and cultural center of this immigration. People find warmth and home here. Petersburg culture before the revolution wasn't necessarily religious. Petersburg White Russians went to church for religious holidays of course, but Orthodoxy was not necessarily a crucial part of their lives. In that way, the Bolshevik revolution inspired the émigrés to find a homeland; it birthed in the Russian émigrés a spiritual yearning. These people became religious in deeper and stronger ways that before. They heard with thanksgiving, emotion, and nostalgia. So in one respect thanks to the Bolshevik revolution there was born a spirituality in the Russian emigration. The rebirth of the Russian church after the perestroika is an event not only in Russian history but also in the history of Christianity. And, our small Alexander Nevsky Cathedral is playing its part. So is our cathedral, and the St. Sergius Institute, and of course the theological schools and children’s camps.

Is there an interest to go back to Russia?

Stalin actually invited our community to come back. When Russia won the war over Germany, many Russians were so enthused and thought "This is our motherland, and it's time to go back." But actual Russians who came to Paris after the war told them, “Stop, you don't know what's waiting for you over there.” This arrested some people from going. But in my family Nikolai Kirichenko did go. He disappeared like many of them—it's believed that they either shot him or sent him to a camp.

How did your family experience the move to Paris, and how do you personally remember your parents and their émigré experience?

My father was a student of [Nikolai] Rimsky-Korsakov and at one time sung in St. Petersburg and was a famous vocalist. In 1897, he founded the Vocal Quartet of St. Petersburg. This was the first vocal quartet in the history of Russia. Among the composers that participated in the founding of this quartet were César Cui and Rimsky-Korsakov. It certainly became a big event in St. Petersburg at the time after their first concert in the Malii Zal Hall of the St. Petersburg Philaharmonia, and again before the emperor. They took the name Kedroff Quartet only after the revolution, when we were no longer legally allowed to be called the Petersburg Quartet. This is so typical of the experience of the émigré community!

It was a tragic time for them, 1923, the year they moved, just five years after the revolution. People were closing the churches and leaving their lives in St. Petersburg. This was a spiritual crisis for the entire Russian people but for [my father] personally. In his memoirs he writes with such sadness how he and the quartet were prohibited from performing in Petersburg, and that what they would do instead is visit small churches anywhere in Russia that they could find them. The people who dared to visit their concerts would weep for the soul of Russia that was in those songs, and for the performances of the quartet during worship. The political crisis was spiritually difficult for the entire Russian population, and it is as if in this crisis were born the feelings that inspired his creation of the quartet’s songs. For the Russians in the emigration, Russians from Petersburg, who were losing their faith really—they started to believe again. The suffering for the motherland woke within people the culture inside of them and these feelings of Russian-ness. And you understand of course their situation—poverty, nostalgia, rejection, regret—was extremely difficult for them. The Russian revolution was a cleansing of the Russian people—both in Russia, and abroad.

What role did Russian education play in your life?

When I was little, I was in the ACER-MJO children’s camps. These are perhaps the strongest expression of how deeply connected our community is. There are more than five Russian summer camps, and they still exist in full force today. There are the Russian Scouts, the Sokoli, there are of course the ACER kids, or the Vitizei group, etc. In these camps and the schools that used to be attached to the camps, they taught us Russian literature, Russian civilization, history, of course classes in the law of God.

You were a student at St. Sergius Seminary.

Yes. It is recognized for its high quality professors who educate the next generation of church theologians. The first professors of the theological institute in New York, St. Vladimir, actually learned from the professors in St. Sergius and then went to the United States. They were the protégés of big figures like Father Georges Florovski and Father Alexander Schmemann. The role of St. Sergius in the larger émigré community was significant. It is like a window to the Orthodox culture in the Western world. St. Sergius played a leading role in the debates about the two factions of churches—our Russian Orthodox Church abroad, and the church headquartered in Moscow. St. Sergius advocated for openness in terms of entering into a dialogue with the Catholic church and even the Protestants. And to this day, there are these ecumenical weeks; in fact we just had one at the end of June. Every year there are themes, but in order not to always raise too many pointed questions, it was agreed that this time we would primarily focus on what we have generally in common—the liturgy, Christianity, both in the Catholic and the Orthodox churches.

The church music that accompanies the religious services is really a staple of Orthodoxy. What role does music play in preserving culture?

I think about this very much. Truly there is a spiritual connection between traditional Russian folk songs and spiritual church music. Of course, each has its own spirit. Even now, in French musical circles we categorize the classical music [that] evokes the Russian soul. What's more is that “Russian soul” is a term exclusively used to describe Russian people. You can't say, oh, the “Spanish soul”—the soul is Russian. And this phrase says a lot. First of all, the Russian people are gifted. And the Russian soul is famous everywhere—in literature, in music. It evokes itself through the spiritual life and faith of the Russian people.

Even after Western influence arrived in Russia with Peter the Great, Russian poets, musicians, they took instruments of the Western culture but they made them Russian. A famous example is that polyphony entered into the history of Russian church singing. Before, you would sing in monotones without the ornamentation of songs with a harmony. And even this polyphony, it became absolutely Russian, even though it came from the Western world. When a French or Western person listens to Russian spiritual or church music, he or she feels the might of this music that it is truly otherworldly. I have always felt that when you hear a folk song, the earth speaks—the humans and the people speak. The simple, pure people. And they express their soul, not necessarily just in academic, classical music. [Alexander] Borodin, [Pyotr] Tchaikovsky, Rimsky-Korsakov, [Mikhail] Glinka, [Alexander] Glazunov, [Mily Balakirev], and many others: the Russian people speak through these symphonic creations.

The Russian people I think are very connected to the earth; many writers have written about this. The Russian earth and Orthodoxy are very connected also. I don't know if other countries share this characteristic, but why do they call our land “Holy Russia”? In fact Russia is unique in this sense as well. This word “holy” really characterizes the Russian people.

Tell me about your experience as a teacher. How do you transmit Russian culture?

I teach church singalong with Mikhail Fortunato, and for 20 years I have also been teaching Zakon Bozhii [the "Law of God" class] here at the Alexander Nevsky Cathedral. I learned from Father Anatolii Rakovich, who is today a priest in our congregation. I do teach the classes; there are about six to seven people per class. We start teaching them this at 5 years old and until 18 years old. Some classes are taught in Russian, others in French. We try to teach them the material independently of their language abilities. There are about 10 different levels of the class.

Is it challenging to teach them these concepts?

Well, for the small children we just teach them the basics—the history of the saints, stories, names, etc. That which their age can handle. But when they grow the programs become more developed. We discuss the dogmatic elements of our theology, the history of the Russian church specifically, and more questions and discussions come up in class.

Do the children of the fourth and fifth generations learn in French or Russian?

There has been a great evolution, before the perestroika and after. When I began to teach, we had just been beginning to teach in French. Still, many kept the Russian language, so we were going back and forth. The types of families who sent their kids here of course also had religious upbringing at home, so the kids were prepared for the class. Towards the end of the 1990s, though, you could definitely see that the school was letting in students who did not know anything about Orthodoxy. These were marriages between Russians and French, and the French were open to Russian culture. But most of the time the moms wouldn't pass on the Russian language to their children—even to children who were born in Russia! So as a result these new generations of students are less cultured. The language and culture loss was the worst for the generations coming out of the communist era. Grandmothers who were communist did not pass on the Orthodox religion at all to their children, who are now parents of basically French kids. 

Of course the students in my classes are all very good, most of them are humble and kind, but they just have not been exposed to the concept of religion. You have to teach the kids everything from scratch. So these parents sometimes want to learn along with the children. Mothers often follow along with their children’s assignments. This is a new phenomenon.

What do you see as the future of Russian education in France?

We need to admit that the first wave of émigrés—the ones most powerfully connected to the Russian culture and determined not to see it go—is slowly dying. Finding the first people who came over from Russia is extremely challenging today. At the same time, as I was saying, until the fourth and fifth generation, there are many children who have saved their language and church culture—especially those who had parents who were Orthodox. But the mixed marriages led to much language and culture loss. It is easy to meet a very incredibly Russian family from the Russian emigration: they do not speak Russian, and yet their manners are completely like ours.

As to the future, there are many questions. In the 1930s it was very difficult to maintain contact with the church in Russia, so many sons and daughters of the first waves look to Russia with great astonishment or perhaps even contempt. They see the rebirth of the Russian church and the feeling is that the Soviet period has truly changed the people. Not only that the communist shadow remains, but there is still a deep faith of people from there. They differ from us and the Western émigrés, but it is clear that they have a deep faith and want to learn more about Orthodoxy. 

 We have become Westernized ourselves—we learn in French schools. We learn so much about Russian musicians and thinkers and writers here in France! So many European people are fascinated by our Russian culture! The older émigrés criticize us for opening our church to the former Soviet people. They don't believe that the Russian spirit and soul—and Orthodoxy—connects us or inspires them. That leads us to the current question going on among church leaders: Is it time for the church to return back to Russia? Or is our mission here? “Those people are still Soviet, a different culture, and even a different type of Russian language!”—is what some people say. So that does create a sort of fracture within our emigration.