"a fine rough proof"
history in quarantine | part 1 (of 5)
Part 1: In Search of a Legend
This story begins with a confession.
I confess that I have let my eyes linger on an image for longer than you might think proper.
For longer than anyone might think proper.
In my defense, the image is worth it. I will prove it.
But this essay is about a map, not a town.
Isn't it?
It is. I promise.
It is about a map. It is about a map made in 1837, when the town was forty-eight years old. In other words, when it was still young. Raw. Fresh. Full of shipbuilders.
Here it is.
I recommend using the zoom tool in the upper right of the image display, or opening the map in a new window using the "open" button in the upper right corner. The best viewing experience is via the Harvard Library viewer. To pore over the details, click here .
Plan of Nikolaev, 1837 · Click here for full citation information.
It has an underwhelming title: "Plan of Nikolaev, 1837."
Note that the title doubles as the scale (in sazhens). The Harvard Library stamp is visible as well.
No juicy descriptors. No grandiose claims to novelty.
And you should know that it is not a celebrated map. It is not the sort of map you would find in a standard history of the Russian Empire or of Ukraine.
But it has taken up residency in the Harvard Map Collection and aged to a respectable 183 years. It is now... shall we say... vintage?
More important, it is discoverable. Accessible.
It is there for the taking. You can do what you want with it.
And each time I let my eyes roam across its surface, I realize that I resent this. Deep down, I would rather not share it.
Yet here we are.
The less selfish side of me hopes that you will find something in it, or in its image: a way of relating to the past, and maybe even to the present - to this very strange present in which we find ourselves. A present in which it is not only the past that is distant. A present in which we find ourselves unable to move, except through digital pathways. A present in which the streets and gardens and coffee shops and offices and train cars and libraries and workshops and markets and schools we frequent on a daily basis are out of reach.
There are so many places we cannot go. There are so many things we cannot do.
But our histories are always there. So let's dig in. Let's "do history" in quarantine.
This might be a good moment to offer a second confession: my interest in this map is personal as much as it is professional.
Now I would be able to decode the urban fabric of Nikolaev.
Wouldn't I?
No. Nothing is ever as easy as it seems.
Up next: Part 2, The Rogue Englishman
