Archive for March, 2011

Apparently you have no vision; your President is being knocked for standing up to the USA; and your young people are leaving in droves for better job opportunities and education in foreign lands.

I have been visiting Lietuva since 2003, before you joined the EU. Previous to that I had contacts with Lithuanians who spent their holidays in England. In those eight years I have seen Lietuva changing, going places, advancing, taking its place in the modern world. At the same time, my country (Britain) has been going down the pan.

Clearly corruption in public life is a problem in Lietuva, as it is in Britain. The difference is that Lietuva impeaches its politicians, whereas we literally let ours get away with murder. It is virtually impossible to have corrupt politicians removed from the British Parliament. The new British Government has promised reforms to remedy this situation, but as recent events have shown that corruption is endemic at all levels in both our Houses of Parliament, the chance of a swift adoption of anti-corruption measures is unlikely.

I’m English (of Swedish decent) so cannot speak for America where clearly most emigrants went to escape Nazi and Soviet domination in the 1930s and 40s. I suspect much of the economic migration of recent years is directed towards Britain, which is obviously cheaper to get to, and will let Lithuanians and Poles in without hindrance, unlike the US and other European countries.

We have a saying “The grass is/isn’t greener on the other side”. Be under no illusion; the grass is not greener in Britain. Much of the right-wing press (which is virtually all of it) is very anti Lithuanians and Poles who come here “stealing our jobs, occupying our houses, poncing off the State, stealing, sex trafficking, scrounging etc”. Rarely mentioned is the contribution to our economy by doing jobs that our British scroungers and benefit claimants won’t do. I’ve personally known university educated Lithuanians who have worked in abattoirs and done cleaning jobs in order to earn a living here. Many of the less well educated Lithuanians have been unable to find work and become homeless without receiving any help from Social Services. It is not surprising that many have returned disillusioned to Lietuva and Poland.

Why do you knock your education? From my experience, and that of former Lithuanian student friends, it is much better in your country. Whilst on holiday here, one of them managed to sit in on a week of classes at a local further education college (gymnasium). She was appalled at the attitude of the students who were quite obviously not there to learn. She gave up any idea of continuing her studies in Britain. Her sister, who is now working as an architect (a vocation under threat due to Government economic cutbacks) in London, recently married, and said she would move back to Lietuva when her children are born, so they could get a good education. It is shameful that many young people who have been through the British education system cannot read and write adequately, and have very little knowledge of life outside their small social environment. “Where is Lithuania?” is a question I am often asked, which echoes the inscription on the front of a tee-shirt I bought from Vilnius University in 2003.

Since I started visiting Lietuva, I have seen the rise of supermarkets, a lot of new buildings, motorways, new trains. Not always for the best; supermarkets have decimated the street kiosks and small shops, just as they have done in Britain. How you restrain the power of these organisations I don’t know, but be warned, if you don’t, they will destroy the fabric of your society. I’ve noticed many Coca-Cola machines sprouting on the streets of cities, but what really angers me is that in the supermarkets they have pushed gira out of the fridges onto the shelves – who wants’ to drink warm gira? I refuse to buy Coke both here and in Lietuva. Fortunately there is alus, but there are restrictions on where it can be drunk.

People in the West look at the average multi-storey housing block with disgust. In Britain we have an antipathy towards multi-storey communal living. Everybody wants their own little box to hide away in; and for all except the very rich, those little boxes are shrinking rapidly. I’ve been in many flats in Panevėžys, Vilnius and Kaunas, and been pleasantly surprised how clean and well-furnished they are, even where the outsides are tatty and the roads and pavements are diabolical. Many put the interiors of British homes to shame. Outside, British homes, cities and open spaces are regarded as dumping grounds for all kinds or rubbish. Dog mess on pavements is a recurring subject of letters to local papers. Your old ladies who go round picking up what very little litter there is in Lietuva, would have a field day in London or all other cities in Britain. Except of course, with few exceptions, road sweeping tends to happen only in the early morning by huge mechanised vacuum cleaners.

Obviously with increasing wealth, the desire to own your own house rather than a flat is taking hold in Lietuva. As in Britain, this can be a dangerous trend. I, like many thousands of home owners, lost my house due to repossession when Government-induced financial policies caused the mortgage payments to be unaffordable. I have seen housing estates and a large school in Panevėžys abandoned as a consequence of the financial crash of Russia in the early days of independence. However, as someone interested in architecture, I am impressed by the variety of designs on your new estates, compared to the collection of small identical boxes on the average British housing estate.

Before I leave the subject of housing, I must praise the design of much of the Council built multi-storey housing estates in Lietuva (and Latvija). Not only are the designs interesting, unlike British equivalent developments which were built on the cheap post war, but the greenery around them can be beautiful. There are “garden cities” in Britain, but the norm is concrete rather than grass and trees.

You have lovely countryside with huge areas of gorgeous forest, pretty lakes and rivers with clean water which won’t poison you if you bathe in them.

As for President Grybauskaite opposing the American’s security plans GOOD FOR HER! If only other World leaders had the guts over the years to make a stand against some of the corrupt and monetarist behaviour of the USA, the World might (?) be a better and safer place.

Lietuva, don’t keep knocking yourself.
Aš mieltu Lietuva!

Tony Olsson
North Devon, United Kingdom

Dear readers,

On 15 June 1940, Soviet Russia invaded Lithuania. This was the beginning of Lithuania’s loss of freedom for more than fifty years and the beginning of one of the saddest and most tragic parts of Lithuania’s history. There has been much talk and speculation about how this invasion came about and what Lithuania did, or as some would accuse didn’t do, to prevent it. To shed clear light on this topic, we would like to share with you parts of the personal memoirs of Juozas Urbšys who was a member of the group that personally met with Vyacheslav Molotov and Stalin. After reading these fascinating and very informative memoirs we are sure you will have a better appreciation for the precarious situation the leaders of the then free Republic of Lithuania were in and what they did to try to protect the lives of the Lithuanian people.

We will share these memoirs in 4 parts. Here is part 2 of 4 

VILNIUS! ARMY GARRISONS …... 

p. 12

(That same morning Urbšys flew from Moscow to Kaunas carrying with him the drafts of the two treaties and the two maps of Lithuania.

He pondered the war raging in Europe and the Soviet/German agreement which left the fate of Lithuania in the hands of the Soviet Union and dependent on its good or ill will. Urbšys entertained some optimistic thoughts about Soviet promises of non-intervention in Lithuanian internal affairs and the possibility that at war's end they would dismantle their army bases leaving Lithuania to go on with its independent life. He also thought that this was perhaps the last chance to reclaim Vilnius.

Juho Kusti Paasikivi

On the same plane with Urbšys were the Finnish envoy to the Soviet Union, Passikivi, and his wife. Urbšys remarks wistfully that, unlike him, they seemed calm and in a good mood. He points out that the future did not spare them. The Soviet Union, having established bases in Estonia, Latvia and Lithuania, decided that they wanted some in Finland. Finland refused to sign an agreement permitting this and on December 1, 1939 a war broke out between the two countries ending with a peace treaty signed on March 12, 1940. According to its terms, Finland ceded to the Soviet Union the isthmus of Karelia with its city of Viipuri (Vyborg) and leased the Hanko peninsula to them for thirty years.)

p. 13

Back in Kaunas, I reported to the government on the situation. Meanwhile, in Moscow, Latvia signed a mutual assistance treaty with the Soviet Union including, of course, the provision for Soviet troops on its territory. Our envoy in Berlin, having spoken to an official of the German Foreign Ministry regarding Germany's agreement with the Soviet Union to take a portion of Lithuania's territory, was told that Germany was dismissing this matter with a wave of the hand (laesst diese Sache unter den Tisch fallen).

(Urbšys then refers back to a previous citation from the French encyclopedia and notes, wryly, that Germany received about seven and a half million dollars from the Soviet Union for this "wave of its hand.")

The government of Lithuania decides to offer the Soviet Union a mutual assistance pact stipulating that there be no Soviet garrisons on its territory in peacetime. However, this pact would provide for a peacetime military collaboration between the two countries with the possibility of combining their armed forces in the event of enemy aggression.

In other words, there will be two treaties:

1. The treaty regarding Vilnius, such as the Soviet Union offered;

2. A treaty of mutual assistance with no Soviet troops stationed in Lithuania in peacetime but foreseeing a close military alliance of the two countries during wartime.

Our delegation is enlarged for the future negotiations in Moscow and now consists of the Deputy Prime Minister Kazys Bizauskas, General of the Army Stasys Raštikis, and, of course, our minister in Moscow Ladas Natkevičius. I, as Minister of Foreign Affairs, am asked to be chairman.

OUR WORDS — LIKE PEAS AGAINST A WALL

p. 14

In all likelihood, it was on the evening of October 7th that the delegation arrived in Moscow. We lodged at the Hotel Nacional. That same evening, the Lithuanian representatives were invited to the Kremlin where they were received by Molotov Potemkin, and Pozdniakov.

During the entire trip from Kaunas to Moscow I had racked my brain for the right words to make these muscovite officials understand that the introduction of Soviet troops into Lithuanian territory when neither country was at war was not only detrimental to Lithuania, whose sovereignty and national pride would be wounded, but to the Soviet Union as well. Had not the leaders of the Soviet Union, any number of times, openly condemned the establishment of military bases on foreign soil as injurious to the sovereignty of and a constant threat to those countries in which they were established? Had they not termed the treaties leading to the establishment of such bases as unjust? How then to convince them that a mutual assistance pact safeguarding the equal rights of both countries and freely entered into without the presence of a foreign army in time of peace would be a greater guarantee of security for both countries since it would be warranted by the approval of the entire nation?

Once again we arrive at the Kremlin. Molotov and I sit facing one another at the long conference table. To my right, Bizauskas, Natkevičius, Raštikis. To Molotov's left — Potemkin, Pozdniakov. The head of the table is empty; behind it, in the shadows, a door to the chambers beyond stands open.

I begin to set forth my anxious thoughts. I remind them of Lithuania's past and the fact that, from antiquity, Lithuania has been independent, a lover of freedom in whom this love has never perished. I remind them of czarist times, of the suppression of printing, of the abjection in which Lithuanians were held in their own country. I summon up the July 12, 1920 peace treaty based on that vaunted principle of the October revolution, the right of nations to self-determination, a treaty which was freely entered into by both nations, with no coercion, and which was to have lasted for all time.

Continuing on, I remark on the beneficial effect that such a high-minded and freely entered into treaty had on the relations between Lithuania and the Soviet Union. Relations which, from the signing of the treaty till now, had been excellent. In Lithuania, I tell them, there is a fund of good will towards the Soviet Union whose proclaimed ideas regarding the peaceful coexistence of nations and the need for international relations based on truth and justice have been, and continue to be, close to our hearts. Lithuania has always been loyal to the Soviet Union never engaging in any international intrigues against it.

Coming to the mutual assistance pact, I submit that in the belief of the Lithuanian government the basing of troops on Lithuanian soil when neither the Soviet Union nor Lithuania was at war with anyone would sow the seeds of mistrust between the two countries, depress the Lithuanian people, and turn the nation against the Soviet Union, for Lithuania would regard such a movement of troops onto its territory as nothing other than occupation. There would be constant misunderstanding between the armies as well as between the stationed troops and civilians. In the international arena, the presence of a foreign army on its territory would degrade the status of Lithuania to that of a dependent nation. Neither the Soviet Union's nor Lithuania's defense interests would be served by such a military action when there was no evident need for it. The security of both nations, however, would be greatly abetted by a defense treaty freely entered into by the two as sovereign nations.

I see Molotov nodding his head as I speak, as if in agreement. Hope kindles in my heart. The other members of our delegation later told me that they, too, had felt the same way.

Suddenly, Stalin appeared in the doorway of the far wall and came sullenly to the table. One could infer that he had been listening to the proceedings from the other room. We stood to greet him.

I said to him:

— In your absence, I was apprising the chairman (indicating Molotov with my eyes) of the views of the Lithuanian government regarding the matter we are deliberating. If you will permit me, I will briefly repeat my arguments.

— Very well, — he said, — sit down.

We all sit while Stalin remains standing. Watching him with upraised eyes as I briefly resume what I have just said, I see that he is getting impatient. He interrupts. I become even more succinct. Finally, Stalin cuts off my speech with:

— You argue too much (vy slishkom mnogo dokazyvaj'ete).

I sum up by saying that the government of Lithuania accepts the idea of a mutual assistance pact. However, it offers its own proposal for such a treaty which in its view, because it would not infringe on either country's independence, would be a surer guarantor of security. The essential difference between the two is that, until the war situation in Europe makes it inevitable, the Soviet Union would not deploy its army on Lithuanian territory.

Neither Stalin nor Molotov show the least bit of interest in the Lithuanian proposal. Troops will have to be brought in. They remind us once again that under the circumstances any capitalist country would simply occupy Lithuania while they, on the contrary, had no designs on either the independence of Lithuania or its internal affairs.

The following day (which was probably the eight of October), seeing that all arguments were fruitless, I implore Stalin in the name of the friendship between Lithuania and the Soviet Union to renounce sending troops into Lithuanian territory. His answer is a short and unsparing "No (Nyet)!"

I can no longer negotiate for I would be exceeding my authorization. Since the Soviet Union does not agree to our proposals, we must refer back to our government for further instructions. I then repeat the same question I had asked during our first meeting, that is, if the Lithuanian government would agree to any Soviet troops at all, could they not be based just in the newly re-acquired territory of Vilnius? The army must be stationed throughout the entire country, asserts Stalin.

The Moscow newspapers of October seventh or eighth had printed an article, together with pictures, about the meetings and demonstrations which had taken place in Vilnius, then still under Soviet rule. Not having those papers in front of me now, I could not say for sure what the demonstrators' demands were. I suspect that they were asking to be incorporated into the Soviet Union or, for what amounts to the same thing, the establishment of a Soviet regime. No other kinds of demonstrations would have been permitted.

One way or another, on October eighth Molotov brought these demonstrations to the attention of the Lithuanian delegation adding that the Soviet government could not placate the working people of Vilnius for long if they ignored their demands. It would be best to secure the necessary authorization and to sign a mutual assistance treaty today, he warned.

THE SIGNING

p. 17

On October 9, Deputy Prime Minister Kazys Bizauskas and General of the Army Stasys Raštikis left for Kaunas to inform the government about the progress of the negotiations.

The choice facing the Lithuanian government was as follows:

1. Either sign the mutual assistance treaty as demanded, thereby according the Soviet Union the right to establish a set number of military bases at specific locations on Lithuanian territory, and regain Vilnius and part of its territory;

2. Or, refuse to sign the treaty, fore sake Vilnius, and enter into a ruinous conflict with the Soviet Union. A graphic example of the form which such a conflict could take was the Finnish experience which I have alluded to earlier.

Understandably, the government of Lithuania chose the first alternative.

On October 10, Bizauskas and Raštikis returned to Moscow with this decision. The entire delegation then went to the Kremlin. Now that the Lithuanian government had acceded to the Soviet Union's demands it seemed that we would have no further difficulties. That was not entirely so.

We were met at the Kremlin by Molotov, Potemkin, and Pozdniakov. Stalin was absent. Molotov announced that the Soviet government had decided to join into one the texts of the two treaties agreed to earlier thus forming "The treaty of the cession of Vilnius to the Republic of Lithuania and of mutual assistance between Lithuania and the Soviet Union."

Familiarizing themselves with the new draft, the members of the Lithuanian delegation note that the length of time the treaty is in force has been extended to 15 years. This time frame, however, applies only to Articles 2-7, i.e., those establishing the obligations of mutual assistance. Article number one, dealing with the cession of Vilnius and its territory, is without time limit, that is, perpetual.

From further discussions we learn that the size of the army contingent to be sent in has also been increased. We attempt to voice our displeasure at these changes but are summarily cut off by Molotov announcing that this was Stalin's own decision and therefore further alterations are impossible. He orders an old text be brought in showing Stalin's changes in his own hand.

— There, you see, — he says, brandishing that contrived evidence.

— We would like to return to the legation and confer, — I tell Molotov.

— You can confer here. We will give you a separate room.

— We would be more comfortable at the legation.

Returning to the legation we look for the "safest" room in which to consult together. You see, the building used as our legation is being rented from the Soviet fund of government houses. Soviet repairmen work on the premises when something needs fixing. Our legation staff is almost certain that hidden microphones have been installed. Perhaps Molotov knew what he was talking about when he proposed that we consult right there in the Kremlin.

Having established that, talk all we want, we could negotiate nothing better, we "decide" to accept the changes.

This time when we return to the Kremlin, besides Molotov, Potemkin and Pozdniakov, we find an elderly officer, a representative of the Red Army.

— It seems that the staff has not drawn in for itself the line demarcating that which is to be under German control. Give them the map which we gave you during our first meeting. They'll draw in what's necessary and return it to you, — says Molotov.

I remove the map from my briefcase and hand it over to the officer adding:

— Only please do not forget to return it.

— Certainly, certainly. We'll draw in the line and return the map.

That is the last we saw of that map . . . In comes Stalin. Molotov tells him:

— All is taken care of with our Lithuanian friends (S litovskimi druzyami vsio uzhie ulazhieno).

— How's that, — replies Stalin, — until our offices prepare everything we can take some refreshment here together.

— Moreover, — he adds — now we must appoint a minister plenipotentiary to Lithuania (Karski having been called back, Pozdniakov was acting only as charge d'affaires.)

— What's your opinion? — he asks Molotov.

— It needs some thought.

Since the question was raised in front of us, I interject with a smile:

— You don't have to look any further than Mr. Pozdniakov who is already well acquainted with Lithuania.

Pozdniakov, somewhat befuddled, mumbled something or other. They only word I could make out was "exhaustion."

— You were sitting in jail, or what? — asks Stalin bluntly.

— No, but . . . and Pozdniakov mentions some family misfortunes.

Some cold food and drinks are brought to the other end of the conference table. Voroshilov and Zhdanov, with several days worth of stubble, join us. We talk and take some refreshment.

Stalin pokes fun at the Polish ambassador (whose name, I believe, is Grzybowski) who decided to protest the Soviet army's entry into Polish territory on September 17th. He condemns Rydz-Smigly for fleeing Poland and leaving the country to its misfortunes. Now there's a leader for you!

Stalin and Kliment Vorshilov

Voroshilov jokes:

— We propose to Ribbentrop that Germany and Japan accept us into the Antikomintern pact.

On the whole, Voroshilov seems like a humorous man.

A smallish fellow comes in, most likely from the office, to inquire about something. Stalin pours him a glassful of spirits and says:

— Drink!

The young man protests somewhat ceremoniously.

— Drink! Drink! Come, come. A Russian likes to drink (Piej, piej niechievo tut! Russkij chieloviek vypitj liubit!)

The young man lifts the glass, drains it in a gulp, and wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. Stalin offers him something to eat.

— Thank you. That's not necessary.

Some functionaries announce that the treaty is ready for signing. We all go to Molotov's large desk. Two photographers are let in. Molotov and I sign the Russian text, the Lithuanian one is not ready. He and I will sign that one alone tomorrow.

Now our signing is "immortalized" by the photographers. Behind the treaty table on the Russian side also stand Stalin, Voroshilov, and Zhdanov. On our side, the members of our delegation.

October 10, 7939 in Kremlin, I. to r.: Natkevičius, Molotov, (sitting) luozas Urbšys, Bizauskas, Raštikis, Potemkin, Stalin, Voroshilov, Zhdanov, Pozdniakov.

The treaty is signed. We return to our refreshments and sit for a while. It would appear to be time to leave. I stand . . .

— No, no, sit down! We are going to the cinema, — insists Stalin.

And indeed, after a bit, we put on our coats and take the elevator down to the Kremlin courtyard. The cool night air is refreshing. We walk along with Stalin in the lead. In front of us rises a small old, somewhat bowed, Russian Orthodox church. We turn toward its portal.

— Ivan the Terrible used to walk through here, — remarks Stalin.

Narrow steps lead downwards as if to a cellar. The modern interior dissipates all the reminiscences of antiquity inspired by the exterior. Close by the screen several benches are sparsely set about, perhaps eight of them. We sit on separate benches: Stalin with Bizauskas, Voroshilov with Raštikis, I with Zhdanov. I do not remember Molotov  with us in the church. Perhaps he was excused and had gone home.

To our right there is a niche, most likely a previous addition of some sort, in which stands a table set with sweets and drinks.

On the screen — a parade of athletes. It is a long film, and perhaps when viewed with a lighter head, a pleasant one. At last "The End" flashes on screen.

Now, home to the hotel? No!

Stalin orders that another film be shown. This time "Volga, Volga ..." appears on the screen. No doubt a boat filled with happy singing youth floats along that river. Zhdanov whispers his pleasure and pride in the film and explains it to me. All of this barely reaches my consciousness. That this were over once and for all ... The end, at least.

It was after seven in the morning when we finally left the Kremlin for our hotel. To go to bed or not to? It was light already.

I summon the bellboy, a polite young man in a white jacket, and ask him for the morning papers and some coffee.

— Coffee, yes, but there are no papers yet. They're late today for some reason. No doubt something special's in the making, — he replies.

The papers appear around midday. On the front pages are the treaties we signed last night and the accompanying photographs.

At the Kremlin, at two o'clock in the afternoon, Molotov and I finish up the night's work by signing the Lithuanian text of the treaty. One could almost dress a wound with Molotov, he is so unctuous. I mention something about leaving.

— Oh no, no! — he interjects — We don't let our friends leave like that. We must celebrate.

(...)

p. 22

That same evening we left by train for our country. Molotov and other high-ranking Soviet officials, together with a military honor guard, accompanied us to the Byelorussian station.

We ride towards Vilnius and riding with us are foreign army bases for Gaižiūnai, Prienai, Alytus, and Naujoji Vilnia. One hand gives and other hand takes. Or grabs by the throat? Time will tell.

The passing Russian forests and empty autumn plains are somberly quiet and sleepy. What a dissonance between that tranquillity and my uneasy heart. "I was tormented by the contrast between the majestic serenity of nature and the deep anguish of my soul." (E. Herrict, Episodes 1940-1944). Thus the President of the French Parliament recalled his journey from Paris to Vouvray when he was forced to flee the German-occupied capital. Fortunately, he still had some place to flee to ..

We would like to thank Lituanus for their kind permission to share this article with you.

LITUANUS

LITHUANIAN QUARTERLY JOURNAL OF ARTS AND SCIENCES
Volume 34, No. 2 - Summer 1989
Editor of this issue: Antanas Dundzila

Memoirs of Juozas Urbšys
Translated and edited by Sigita Naujokaitis

http://www.lituanus.org

This article is from the book “VILNIUS a Personal History” written by Tomas Venclova.
From reading Mr. Venclova’s Bio you can understand why we are excited and honoured to have him as one of the contributing writers for VilNews. In the future we will continue to post excerpts from his book for your reading enjoyment. We thank the publisher, The Sheep Meadow Press for their gracious consent in allowing us to share Mr. Venclova’s book with you and we would like to direct you to The University Press of New England who is the book’s distributor.

Published at:
Sheep Meadow Press
http://sheepmeadowpress.com/
Distributed by:
University Press of New England
http://www.upne.com/index_new.html

MINDAUGAS, GEDIMINAS and VILNIUS

The first Lithuanian ruler, Mindaugas, is wreathed in mystery and ambiguity―almost as much as St. Christopher on the city’s coat of arms. His rise occurred at a time when Lithuania first confronted the German knights, the so-called Knights of the Teutonic Order. Like most founders and unifiers of nations, Mindaugas probably was not a very attractive character. He did away with the majority of his opponents (among them, quite a few of his relatives), adopted Christianity, was crowned King by the Pope, but then broke with Christianity after his wife’s death―in any case, that is what the Teutonic Knights claimed. His wife’s sister, who was married to Grand Duke Daumantas, came to the funeral. According to the story, “The king shamelessly violated the law, robbing the woman of her honor by force and keeping her as his wedded wife.” Daumantas killed Mindaugas and fled to the Russian city of Pskov, where he adopted the Orthodox Christian faith. He became a famous ruler and was later canonized. Meanwhile, for a good half-century the Lithuanian state disappeared from history: what happened during this time is beyond reliable historical knowledge.

What is clear is that there were no longer any kings, only grand dukes. (After the First World War an attempt was made to restore the old monarchy. When the German Prince von Urach was called to the throne, he intended to call himself Mindaugas II. But the idea never went beyond this operetta-like plan.) Historians, relying less on documents than on patriotism, have been trying to prove that the story of Mindaugas is connected with Vilnius: he was said to have been crowned and murdered in this settlement. In any case, he is credited with having built the first cathedral, whose Romanesque ruins can be found in the vaulted cellars of the present-day Cathedral. When Daumantas took revenge against Mindaugas, they say, the cathedral again became a pagan place of worship. Ardent supporters of this tale have even found twelve stone steps and the sacrificial altar of the cult site.

Admittedly, like most stories from that period, this one has a touch of the absurd. Still, Mindaugas became the symbol of the threatened state. Not long ago, a memorial to him was erected at the mouth of the Vilnia. A somewhat naïve play* portrays him as the first Lithuanian patriot. It influenced the generation that subsequently took to the barricades for the liberation of the country from Communism. Nevertheless, the true founder of the city was not Mindaugas, but Gediminas, a ruler who came to power after this “blank” period in the history of Vilnius.

Legend has it that at first Gediminas did not rule here but in Trakai, a town surrounded by lakes, not far from the present-day capital. During his lifetime this distance seemed greater than it does today, for between the two cities lay a forest only traces of which are left. On an island in one of the lakes of Trakai there stands a huge stone castle that was built not by Gediminas, but by one of his successors. From Trakai, Gediminas set out to go hunting at the confluence of the Neris and Vilnia. The aforementioned Latin history continues the tale: “On the peak of the hill with his spear he killed a forest bull (our word for it is “aurochs”) driven toward him out of the forest thicket and the steep mountain slopes. Tired from the daylong hunt and happy at having killed the beast, he spent the night in Šventaragis Valley. In his dream he saw, on the peak of the same hill where he had killed the animal, a huge wolf that looked as if it were made completely of iron or was wearing iron armor. Hundreds of other wolves howled within it, and their howling echoed across the surrounding fields and forests.”

By happy coincidence, the pagan high priest Lizdeika lived nearby and interpreted the dream. He said a city as hard as iron and with a reputation as powerful as the howling of wolves must be founded on this spot. “And the ruler heard him out and thought the high priest had correctly interpreted the will of the gods. After observing all the rituals, he determined that the site for the castle was to be the spot where he had just killed the aurochs.” At this point, the myth turns into reality. Today, a castle built of masonry walls and stone―the oldest structure in the Vilnius―still stands on the hill, its rough appearance a contrast to the city’s later, more sophisticated architecture. But in its own way the castle fits in with the skyscrapers that now rise on the far shore of the Neris. History repeats itself: both then as now, naked pragmatism rules―then for defense, now for commerce. Just as in Trakai, the castle dates to a time somewhat later than Gediminas’s rule, but, like the hill, it bears his name.

The prophetic dream and its consequences are familiar to cultural anthropologists and mythologists, who note that the wolf links the foundation myths of Vilnius and Rome: the animal stands for the symbol of tribal leaders throughout Europe. Gediminas doesn’t dream just anywhere; he dreams in the Šventaragis Valley, at a sacred place. The name of the valley―the low plain where Vilnius Cathedral stands―is derived from the words šventas (“holy”), and ragas (“horn”). It is still called that today. “Horn” may refer to the bend in the river. Medieval chroniclers even invented a Duke Šventaragis who supposedly reigned sometime between Mindaugas and Gediminas. All that the chronicles say of him is that he ordered a funerary site to be constructed at the confluence of the rivers where, according to pagan tradition, he, his successors, and the most important ruling families would be cremated. In other words, there was already a religious center in the valley, obviously a place of worship―perhaps the one that was built on the ruins of Mindaugas’s Cathedral. Clearly, it was no accident that Lizdeika turned up. A contemporary researcher maintains that it was the high priest who advised Gediminas to spend the night near the burial site in the valley rather than in one of the nearby houses. Only at a religious site can you have a dream that will determine the future for hundreds of years. And when you prepare for a prophetic dream, you have to offer a bull, better yet a wild aurochs, as the animal sacrifice―hence, the theme of the hunt.

Lizdeika is also a figure with roots in the world of ritual and myth. He is the only Lithuanian pagan high priest whose name has entered the chronicles. His name has the same root as lizdas (“nest”)―apparently, the priest had been abandoned as a child and was found in an eagle’s nest. Mythologists consider this a typical shaman story of the sort that was common among many tribes in the Eurasian lowland plains. The old chroniclers invented a more conventional genealogy for Lizdeika: he is supposed to have been a high-ranking relative of Gediminas, who was concealed from his enemies in a tree. Incidentally, the Lithuanian noble family Radziwiłł traces its origins to Lizdeika―the name Radziwiłł (Lithuanian: Radvila) is equivalent to “foundling.” Did these beautiful and amazing adventures really take place? It’s a question that cannot be answered. The myth is part of reality and has a clear meaning: Gediminas founded the political capital at the place where the religious capital already existed, and then he blended the two. Lizdeika, by virtue of his authority, sanctioned the act.