In 1812, during Napoleon’s invasion and the capture of Moscow, Count Mikhail Alexandrovich Mengden, a major general of the Russian imperial army, was taken to France along with Kondrat, the garden cook. They settled in the Breton town of Dre. There, Mengden and the cook lived with a local woman until the Russian army recaptured Paris. Mengden remained in a French household, observing Russian customs as best he could, with Kondrat assisting him whenever possible.
Because the count followed the Orthodox faith, he maintained a period of fasting. The cook prepared the mushrooms gathered from the nearby forest for the count. At one point a French woman renting a small space nearby saw the prisoners cooking mushrooms and exclaimed, in shock, that Russian prisoners might be poisoning themselves. After observing that the Russians ate the mushrooms without ill effects, she revised her statement, noting that such food would only be tolerated by the stomachs of savages.
This observation hinted at the broader cultural difference: a Russian, even one of German ancestry who had fled his homeland with support and his own cook, often observed a strict fast. No one questioned him, no one condemned him, and the practice remained largely private. The Russian tradition of Lent continued to shape his daily life.
The narrative then turns to the significance of fasting in Russian identity, marked by times of restraint and carnival alike. It is said that Ivan Andreevich Krylov could eat an extraordinary amount of pancakes filled with caviar during celebratory feasts. The crepes were thick and plentiful, raising questions about balance between indulgence and religious discipline.
Fasting has its roots in the gospel account of Jesus in the desert, enduring hunger and temptation for forty days. The example of Christ serves as a model for believers, yet practical life often demands sustenance to work and provide for one’s family. Hence, fasting traditions have adapted over centuries. Even in Catholic Italy, where literal fasting menus are uncommon in restaurants today, people sometimes reduce meals modestly to help those in need. Monks may abstain from certain pleasures, but occasional indulgences like wine still occur. The central question remains: which is the greater sin for an Italian — not fasting strictly or choosing to temper abstinence with other comforts?
Orthodox practice tends to be stricter. Monastic rules often permit dry food such as fruit, vegetables, and nuts on many days, with a lean diet that supports prayer and contemplation. In practice, some can sustain themselves on modest fare like nuts and bananas while staying committed to spiritual disciplines. When Lent begins, even secular dining halls notice a shift with menu changes that reflect the season. There is a larger cultural tendency toward self-restraint during this period, even among those who do not observe religious fasts closely. The reasons behind this trend are multiple.
First, many individuals sense a shared sense of guilt. Everyone carries some burden, and penance becomes a way to acknowledge it. Limiting one thing feels like a modest act of atonement, a way to acknowledge a need for moral balance. Second, the arrival of spring often coincides with Easter, a time traditionally associated with renewal and fresh starts. People treat this as an opportunity to prepare for new life, sometimes with efforts to shed excess weight before the warmer months. In this view, moderation mirrors the Renaissance spirit after darker periods. Third, the period also resonates with a historical memory of religious suppression. After decades of state atheism, the public’s rituals and processions reemerge as a sign of life and continuity. The broader message is that life must endure hardship and uncertainty, and tradition remains a source of meaning in trying times.
Ultimately, the text presents reflections on fasting as a cultural and spiritual practice—a mosaic of faith, history, and personal choice. The message emphasizes that these rituals continue to shape contemporary life, offering a way to navigate moral questions, communal bonds, and the rhythms of the year.