Tavern and Church

The presence of migrants was the dominant social reality of urban Russia. It caused civic leaders and officials to search for the means by which to bring enlightenment and order to their migrant city. Although they often claimed to know the "people," they were aware of a cultural gulf between "society" and the "people" that bred suspicion and made any form of communication a difficult endeavor. The label "migrant" subsumed a variety of social conditions. The occupations of the newcomers varied widely, as did the length of their residence in the city. Although descriptions of housing offer a one-dimensional image of the laboring poor, they provide a general indication of the private places that these strangers occupied in the city. To the extent they can be perceived in contemporary reports, these living conditions help to describe how the world of the migrants was circumscribed with respect to the settled townspeople and how the migrants' efforts to "privatize public space" evolved.

The great disparity between the comfortable housing of the few well-to-do townspeople and the squalid quarters of the poor can be measured using the data gathered in official studies. The distance between the houses in Kiev's center that were classified as "expensive" and the "crowded houses, more like hovels stuck together with mud" (as one medical inspector observed in 1890) on the city's outskirts, where "petty artisans, traders, [and] day laborers" lived, was at once spatial and social.^[2] There was no territorial border, however, to separate "decent" from "squalid" rental lodgings; both often existed in the same neighborhood or even next to each other. When in the 1890s the Ministry of Finance introduced a tax on urban renters, it estimated that the floor of the tax on the most "inexpensive" taxable residences excluded three-fourths of all lodgings.^[3] This administrative decision gives an indication of the size of the urban poor.

[2] "Sanitarnyi nadzor v Kieve v 1890 godu," Izvestiia Moskovskoi gorodskoi dumy 12 (December 1891):2.

[3] Gosudarstvennyi kvartirnyi nalog (St. Petersburg, 1903), 69 n. 1, 108.

The structures that the fiscal agents left off the tax roles included the ready-made shacks that one traveler found in Volga port cities that landlords constructed to house laborers in the navigation season. He saw "small lots on the outskirts of town that were so crowded" with these structures that "they represent a serious danger in case of fire."^[4] In this domain, as in others, the lives of the poor were beyond the reach of official regulations. Building violations could easily be dismissed with a bribe to the neighborhood police officer, who was the only authority to enforce the municipal statutes. A particularly characteristic form of housing for the poor was the "cot-and-corner" (koechno-kamorochnaia ) apartment, which was a residence sublet into as many cots and corners as the market and physical space would permit. At the turn of the century a Moscow survey estimated that such lodgings housed nearly 175,000 people (one-sixth of the total population).^[5]

In these conditions the borders between public and private space were difficult to discern. The desperate need for cheap housing was the paramount concern. Observers reported that crowding, fetid air, and the stench from courtyard latrines set these areas apart as places of terrible squalor. Gorky's "lower depths," which he used at the end of the nineteenth century to shock his educated audience, were located in a cellar "cot-and-corner" apartment. The term trushchoba ("slum") had emerged by the mid nineteenth century to designate the areas where this squalid housing was concentrated—at first the streets around Haymarket Square in St. Petersburg, then also the Khitrovka neighborhood of Moscow. Soon it was used to identify places of visible poverty in any town. The term also conveyed a secondary meaning similar to the usage of the word "slum" in the United States in the late nineteenth century: to middle-class Americans, slums were "strange, novel, large places that people visited as a foreign territory." In America as in Russia, the inhabitants of these places became "slum people."^[6] In this manner the language of educated Russians identified a different social world within the migrant cities.

[4] E. I. Ragozin, "Puteshestvie po russkim gorodam," Russkoe obozrenie 4, no. 7 (July 1891):255-56.

[5] Moskovskie vedomosti , 14 November 1902; the report was published in Izvestiia Moskovskoi gorodskoi dumy 23 (October 1899). This subterranean housing world (I use the term both figuratively and literally because many such apartments were located in cellars) is explored in detail in Joseph Bradley, Muzhik and Muscovite (Berkeley, 1985), 211-13.

[6] Sam Bass Warner, "Slums and Skyscrapers," in Cities of the Mind: Images and Themes of the City in the Social Sciences , ed. Lloyd Rodwin and Robert Hollister (New York, 1984), 187. The Russian term, which originally designated a thicket in a forest, first appeared in literary works in the 1840s and had a pejorative social meaning; at that time it designated the St. Petersburg slums. See Slovar' sovremennogo russkogo literaturnogo iazyka (Moscow, 1965), 15:1063.

For the residents of these poor neighborhoods such living conditions were part of a network of relations by which they organized their lives in the city. Where peoples of different languages gathered in the same city, ethnic differences to some extent determined the borders between neighborhoods. In Odessa, for example, the ethnic segregation of Russians and Jews led most Jews to reside in the central areas. Russians congregated in the outlying factory districts.^[7] Because residential segregation highlighted the cultural barriers that divided Jews and Gentiles (Russians and Ukrainians), they had the effect of turning certain neighborhoods into targets for mobs when anti-Semitic pogroms erupted.

Residential areas of migrant laborers in Russian cities principally housed working-age men who were living apart from their families. According to Joseph Bradley, in Moscow in the early 1880s between one-half and two-thirds of these men were not living with their families, and we can assume that the same condition existed in the other migrant cities.^[8] Urban labor was largely male. In the last decades of the nineteenth century most men no longer moved about as part of a work gang (artel' ), but they still frequently changed jobs and residence. They kept the company of fellow migrants both in work and, just as important for their sense of place in the city, in their lives away from work. Thus, places that we might call a "man's world" occupied a visible and important area in the migrant city.

The urban centers where the migrants gathered were "privatized" by their new residents in the sense that Lofland suggests: they sought to find space in the city for their own way of life. In the mid 1890s one young villager, Semen Kanatchikov, entered this world under the protection of his father's village friend, who was a migrant factory worker bringing his own son to Moscow at the same time. In many ways Kanatchikov's story, which he later told in his autobiography, is typical of the migrant laborer. He lived with fifteen other men, who were employed at different trades and worked in different parts of the city; they shared a communal apartment that they collectively rented and for which they hired a cook. He took his meals at the apartment and spent his leisure time in the company of the other migrants who lived there. He ran to fires, read the penny press, joined in collective fistfights, and at payday visited neighboring taverns and brothels.^[9] Our

[7] Robert Weinberg, "Worker Organizations and Politics in the Revolution of 1905 in Odessa" (Ph.D. diss., University of California, Berkeley, 1985), 84-85.

[8] Bradley, Muzhik and Muscovite , 217-19.

[9] S. I. Kanatchikov, A Radical Worker in Tsarist Russia , trans. and ed. Reginald Zelnik (Stanford, 1986), 9-13; see also Bradley, Muzhik and Muscovite , 196-211.

meager records suggest that these collective living arrangements, which were termed a residential artel' , were common. According to the 1897 census, in the typical migrant city 6 percent of the population lived in "households without family ties," and this figure is probably artificially low.

Artel' residents came and went; new arrivals at times came from the workplace of one of the members or from the neighborhood. At times the village (or regional) connections provided by the members' zemliachestva furnished new residents. Experienced migrants assisted the move from the village and initiated the newcomer into the ways of the city. Kanatchikov, presumably like many other new arrivals, soon moved on to separate quarters and found comrades in other places. However, at a key moment of transition in his life the artel' had become for him both a refuge and a school in urban living; in personal terms it was as important as his place of work.

The customs and living practices provided by shared housing and comradeship gave migrants, both those employed in factories and those who found work elsewhere, special skills and knowledge that they needed to make some small part of the city their own. The significance that the French writer Michel de Certeau attributes to the everyday practices of residents of modern cities is equally pertinent to the experience of these Russian urban migrants, who were also able to incorporate in the practices of their daily lives "ways of making use of the confining order" in which they found themselves.^[10] The large group of married workers in an apartment-commune in St. Petersburg knew that they belonged in the city and their wives and families belonged in the villages. Their life as "temporary bachelors" was forced on them, they explained to a visitor, by their urban transience: "'Today we're here, but God knows where we'll be tomorrow. So that's how we live—each by himself."'^[11] But instead of living in disordered solitude, their way of life gave them a special collective place in the city.

The migrant way of life was in many respects repugnant to both civil society and official Russia. The bonds that united the laborers' society were solidified by rituals in work and leisure; these bonds were cemented by regular and heavy consumption of vodka, by masculinity that was proven in organized fistfights, and by casual sex with prostitutes. Educated Russians and workers who aspired to respectability regarded temperance (or at most moderate drinking) as a mark of cultural development. But in the

[10] Michel de Certeau, The Practices of Everyday Life , trans. Steven Rendall (Berkeley, 1984), 76.

[11] P. Timofeev, Chem zhivet zavodskii rabochii? (St. Petersburg, 1906), 13-14.

male brotherhood of laborers, the use of vodka was an essential sign of membership. It celebrated entry into a workplace, it was a reward for a job well done, it commemorated the holidays, and it turned strangers into comrades in the neighborhood tavern. Its use, in the words of one censorious provincial governor, initiated young migrants into the "different style of life of the workers." From his official perspective vodka was the first step toward creating a "riotous" laboring population, which appeared so threatening to public order.^[12] If we can believe the tabulations of the municipal statisticians, who were zealous record-keepers of the well-ordered city, in the migrant cities at the turn of the century there were nearly as many taverns per capita as there were churches. Whether it was justified or not, the Russian laborers' reputation of drunkenness made the tavern (traktir ) a particularly odious symbol of squalor and depravity to educated Russians. As in the West, it was the common target of the temperance movement and respectable workers, both of whom held up high standards of moral behavior by which to reform the laboring population.

The prevalence of casual sex in the laboring community added another dimension to the "strangeness" of their part of the city. In this respect the workers in Russian cities resembled those in Western metropolitan centers earlier in the century. Alain Corbin describes what he calls the "quantitative sexual poverty" that labor migration created in large French cities in that period. In these urban centers the "sexual activity of laborers appeared virtually synonymous with prostitution."^[13] The tsarist state, like other European states, attempted to regulate prostitution, which according to its problematic records was the occupation of young, female, peasant migrants who either abandoned or were forced out of domestic service.^[14] Officials recognized that "secret prostitution" was probably far more prevalent than the legal form. Women in trades such as seamstress, where unemployment was endemic, often turned to prostitution to escape destitution. The evidence that casual sex was widespread in the city is indicated by the far higher rate of illegitimate birth in migrant cities than in the countryside.^[15] The assumption among educated observers that laborers were promiscuous helps explain why medical writings tended to attribute the cause of the syphilis epidemic to this particular segment of the urban population. The

[12] "Vsepoddanneishii otchet Ekaterinoslavskoi gubernii za 1898," Tsentral'nyi gosudarstvennyi istoricheskii arkhiv (abbreviated TsGIA), f. 1282, op. 3, d. 3255 (1899), 10.

[13] Alain Corbin, Les filles de noces: misère sexuelle et prostitution au 19e et 20e siècles (Paris, 1978), 276-77.

[14] Prostitutsiia y Rossiiskoi imperii (St. Petersburg, 1890), xii-xxxvi.

[15] A. G. Vishnevskii, "Rannie etapy," in Brachnost', rozhdaemost' i smertnost' v Rossii i v SSSR , ed. A. G. Vishnevskii (Moscow, 1977), 115, table 3.

evidence of male laborers' sexual behavior and the male stereotype to which it gave rise contributed to an image of the migrant city that was very troubling to respectable urban society.

In addition to drunkenness and sex, manliness in the migrant setting found its expression in fighting. Violent behavior among the laboring population assumed a variety of forms, some erupting in deadly earnest but others assuming a spirit of play. As best we can determine, the participants in urban riots were a cross section of the urban laboring population: unskilled laborers and factory workers, shopkeepers and artisans, migrants and townsmen. Similar confusion surrounds the question of who participated in the collective fistfights that were a common affair on the outskirts of major cities and in laboring sections of towns at least until the end of the century. A centuries-old custom, they were banned by the state in the 1832 law code, which stated that "collective fistfights are a harmful pastime and are absolutely forbidden as a violation of public order."^[16] Nonetheless, they continued to occur wherever large numbers of male laborers gathered. They pitted neighborhoods against neighborhoods, factories against factories, or workers against peasants. Any holiday was appropriate for this entertainment, although winter Sundays and Christmas and Easter seemed particularly favored moments.

The fights followed a simple, ritualized scenario that new arrivals could easily recognize. Two sides formed "walls" of skirmishing lines to struggle for control of a disputed no-man's-land. The participants relied largely on their fists, although rocks and knives were occasionally used as weapons as well, and fought until one team fled the field. The event usually began with a "young" wall of teenage boys, who were still learning the skills of battle; they were followed by grown men until up to five hundred fighters were present. Enthusiastic onlookers gathered and some placed bets on the outcome. A few well-to-do fight lovers became patrons of champion fighters. The degree of violence occurring in these fights appeared barbaric to both outsiders and those who had passed through this school of manly training before suppressing their fighting skills to adopt respectable behavior. One Moscow businessman later recalled that the fights he participated in as a young man were events where "passions built up [and] men turned into animals; [they] broke each other's ribs, arms, and legs and beat [their opponents'] faces to a bloody pulp."^[17] His lurid account probably added

[16] V. Lebedev, "K istorii kulachnykh boev na Rusi," Russkaia starina 44 (August 1913): 337.

[17] I. A. Slonov, Iz zhizni torgovoi Moskvy (Moscow, 1914), 23-24.

more gore to the event than was usually the case; the fights were to him a barbaric remnant of old Russia and had no place in a civilized city.

At the end of the century militant workers also sought to distance themselves from these wild customs. In the opinion of one Marxist worker these fights were the result of cultural backwardness, which stemmed from the fact that "the majority of the factory workers were illiterate and lacked intelligent entertainment in their free time."^[18] To any Russian for whom culture meant learning and rational discourse, the fights epitomized the uncultured and backward aspects of popular life. A provincial correspondent for a Moscow paper summed up his report on one collective fistfight in his town by damning the activity as a "form of Asian barbarism [tatarshchina ] that has lost all sense in our time."^[19]

What outsiders judged to be uncivilized had a very different meaning to the laboring population. In the conditions of the migrant city the long history of these battles made them a familiar activity to newcomers and residents alike. In the laboring man's world of the late nineteenth century this ritualized conflict was, like the other forms of social conflict studied by the sociologist Lewis Coser, "a means to 'test' and 'know' the previously unknown . . . stranger, [who] may become familiar through one's struggle with him."^[20] Although they were bloody and brutal, the collective fistfights created bonds of comradeship that helped the migrants to form a community to which they could turn in times of need; this community gave the migrants a sense of belonging to a place of their own in the city.^[21] Thus, the migrants adapted past practices to the needs of their new lives in the city. In doing so, they created another visible indication of the gulf that divided them from the urban elite.

For this reason, in the last decades of the nineteenth century the Moscow slums of Khitrovka acquired a great power of fascination and revulsion for educated Russians. The concentrated misery, squalor, and—to the outsider—depravity in Khitrovka made it emblematic of the conditions in all migrant cities. Lev Tolstoy's traumatic encounter with the Khitrovka area, which occurred while he helped in the 1882 municipal census, inspired him to meditate in general on human misery, although he placed his meditations in what he called the "different world" he had discovered in Moscow's

[18] I. I. Smirnov, "Brianskie zavody v 80-90-kh godakh," Letopis' revoliutsii 4 (1923): 88.

[19] Moskovskii listok , 16 January 1882.

[20] Lewis Coser, The Functions of Social Conflict (New York, 1956), 122-23.

[21] A thoughtful study of this social and cultural world of working men and women is found in Anne Bobroff, "Working Women, Bonding Patterns, and the Politics of Daily Life: Russia at the End of the Old Regime" (Ph.D. diss., University of Michigan, 1982).

slums.^[22] The strangeness of Khitrovka's population and its repellent sights, sounds, and smells led writers to use images of exotic and dangerous places to describe their reaction.

In the last decade of the century popular newspapers regularly sent journalists to Khitrovka to write titillating and censorious "eyewitness" accounts. One writer compared it to an "Indian kingdom" in North America's Far West.^[23] Exotic comparisons with distant lands, however, were less frequent than those that evoked images of Christian damnation; one popular writer borrowed from Dante in warning his readers that Khitrovka's motto was "All hope abandon, ye who enter here."^[24] The journalist Vladimir Giliarovsky, who made something of a profession escorting educated "tourists" into the slums, wrote of the denizens of Khitrovka as if theirs was an anti-society in which the hierarchy, rituals, and honors were a gruesome caricature of respectable society. He portrayed a hierarchy that included lowly beggars and "fences" at the bottom and the lords of the land, that is, the thieves, at the top—all residing in murky taverns or repellent flophouses. Perhaps inspired by thoughts of Hades and the river Styx, he turned Khitrovka's district police sergeant into a sort of border guard who regulated passage between the underworld of the slum and legitimate society beyond.^[25] In these popular accounts the masses of migrant workers who gathered at the labor market went unmentioned; they could not satisfy the writers' fascination with depravity and lawlessness. Public interest in Khitrovka was in large measure the result of the implicit challenge that its apparently barbaric ways posed for urban civilization.

The cultural dynamics of Russian urbanism were as contested as the civil public sphere that emerged in the activities of the municipalities. Not one, but several conflicting "common mental pictures" of the city existed among Russian urban dwellers. The "single physical reality" of the urban landscape was interpreted differently by different groups in the population.^[26] The public images that civic leaders, intellectuals, and tsarist officials held of urban popular culture made invidious comparisons with an ideal city. For them such comparisons represented a call to action. Tolstoy's encounter with Khitrovka's "different world" is an example of one such moment. Even the penny press, whose commercial needs provided an incentive to take a less activist and more entertaining approach to everyday life in the

[22] L. Tolstoi, What Then Must We Do? trans. Aylmer Maude (London, 1935), 10.

[23] "Khitrovtsy i ee obyvateli," Russkoe slovo , 7 May 1897.

[24] A. Pazukhin, "Khitrovtsy," Moskovskii listok , 18 April 1892.

[25] V. Giliarovskii, Moskva i Moskvichi (Moscow, 1955), 29-30; these writings date from the 1890s.

[26] Kevin Lynch, The Image of the City (Cambridge, Mass., 1960), 7.

city, was drawn into these cultural debates, although its moralizing never satisfied disdainful intellectuals or suspicious tsarist officials.

Learning assumed many forms as the urban population adapted to its needs, real or presumed. Townspeople who identified themselves as enlightened relied on formal education and scientific knowledge in organizing cultural activities for the laboring population. It is tempting to adopt their point of view and to assume that their work alone reshaped Russian urban culture. However, I have sought to avoid this assumption. The public images by which urban dwellers gave meaning to their lives were not the sole product of civic activists. Learning emerged from behavior as well as from texts. In other words, the way of life of the laboring population offered an understandable model to the "strangers," who needed to make a place for themselves in the migrant city. Khitrovka, besides being a den of iniquity, was also a place where migrant laborers learned of work opportunities, found the means if necessary to avoid police patrols, and could hope to establish ties with zemliaki . Similar places existed in other migrant cities. Their practices were not sure protection from misery in an urban world where finding work remained the essential condition for survival. Still, these practices were far more easily learned by the newcomers to the city that the symbolic language and learning of those who defined enlightenment in literary and artistic terms.

The processes of acculturation operated at times independently and at times in competition with the organized programs of instruction. Some cultural activists promoted what they understood to be Russia's traditional order. Others worked within narrowly defined cultural fields. Still others sought to begin a profound, revolutionary reordering of public life. The migrant cities were the principal arena where these programs could be introduced and tested. In cultural activities the Russian city was the principal symbol of the country's future.

Traditional popular rituals associated with Orthodoxy and the autocracy continued to be observed in the postreform years. It is difficult to judge from contemporary reports whether their message of patriotism and piety retained a strong hold over the urban population. Provincial governors invariably stressed the public enthusiasm that greeted official receptions, the canonization of bishops, and celebrations of tsarist holidays, which they extolled as "triumphal" and "magnificent" spectacles. Nicholas II's coronation in 1896 made the union of the Orthodox church and the tsarist state visible in all cathedral towns, where celebrations were held on the designated day of the Moscow pageantry. The bishop of Saratov described with satisfaction the "triumphant bell ringing" in that city that opened the

ceremonies in honor of the tsar's coronation. It was followed by public prayers in the cathedral square, which was "filled by a large crowd of common people, military, and civil servants," and ended with a religious procession. He noted that all schools held their own ceremonies, which were accompanied by "religious and patriotic songs."^[27] It would be a mistake to minimize the importance of these popular ceremonies. They had monopolized the public life of Russian cities for generations and continued to figure prominently in urban practices. For example, the movement of pilgrims through religious centers such as Kiev involved hundreds of thousands of people yearly.

Major religious processions (krestnye khody ) occurred regularly in large and small towns as part of Orthodox activities. A Russian ethnographer concludes that such ceremonies were the principal "forms of public activity available to the common people."^[28] Some townspeople had recourse to such traditional religious rituals for protection against diseases. In 1892 a Simbirsk physician sarcastically reported that a "large crowd" participated in a religious procession on a hot summer day to appease "God's wrath," which had been manifested in the cholera epidemic that year. Not unexpectedly, at the end of the ceremony the thirsty participants rushed to drink untreated river and well water. The result, he claimed, was a disastrous rise in the number of cholera cases.^[29] His obvious disapproval may well have been shared by other urban dwellers who were more inclined to rely on medical expertise than priestly intercession in their daily lives. But the evidence of anticholera riots that year suggests that medical science could not claim to have numerous converts among laborers in provincial towns.

One indication of the decline in the presence of the state and the church in the Russian migrant city is provided by the architectural reordering of urban space. In Alexander II's reign tsarist authorities abandoned the effort to impose a classical order on streets and buildings of the central city. Parade grounds and administrative buildings remained symbols of autocratic magnificence and power, but after the rapid expansion of the migrant cities they held a diminished place in urban life. As business developed and new residential and manufacturing districts appeared on the city outskirts,

[27] "Otchet o sostoianii Saratovskoi eparkhii za 1896," TsGIA, f. 796, op. 442, d. 1639 (1897), 2.

[28] L. A. Anokhina and M. N. Shmeleva, Byt gorodskogo naseleniia srednei polosy RSFSR v proshlom i nastoiashchem (Moscow, 1977), 259.

[29] Cited in Nancy Frieden, "The Russian Cholera Epidemic, 1892-93, and Medical Professionalization," Journal of Social History 10 (June 1977): 546.

the centers of tsarist and church activities ceased being the focal point of the city.

Contemporary writers and artists are eloquent witnesses to the new architectural identity of the city. For Fedor Dostoevsky the effort to make the city conform to a plan represented a product of alienated intellectuals such as Raskolnikov, the protagonist of Crime and Punishment . Living in the Haymarket, Petersburg's worst slum, Raskolnikov dreamed of a "Napoleonic utilitarian plan for rebuilding the city" that would correct the deplorable behavior of the inhabitants.^[30] In his journalist's writings of the 1870s the novelist celebrated the "increasingly dynamic life of the city," whose essential qualities were "intensive street movement," crowds, and "an abundance of signs and posters."^[31] In words that might be read as the epitaph of the imperially planned city, the poet Vasily Briusov remarked late in the nineteenth century that "because architecture cannot fight life, it must submit to it."^[32]

By the close of the century some church leaders were aware that their religious rituals and messages had little influence on the population of the migrant city. Orthodox piety confronted a way of life that was dominated by the workplace and the tavern. Certain Orthodox bishops made this note a prominent feature of their yearly reports to the Holy Synod. The bishop of Ekaterinoslav, one of the industrial centers of the Ukraine, proclaimed in 1902 that "urban civilization" was the enemy. Although he was concerned about those he called "depraved workers," he was particularly outraged at the people who, "calling themselves educated [intelligentnye ], treat questions of faith and related duties often with complete indifference and treat the priesthood with scorn and even hatred."^[33]

Vituperative judgments such as his were a condemnation of the social forces that were remaking the city. The 1890 report of the bishop of Kherson province, whose capital was Odessa, portrayed the Russian city in the lurid colors of Sodom and Gomorrah; it was a place where "church holidays, family life, and work" were all neglected. His philippic identified the cause of the decline of Christian morality and social virtue in the very conditions of life in the migrant city, where the "lower [classes], lacking a permanent place of residence," are drawn to "countless numbers of taverns, restaurants, beer halls, [and] bars, [which were all] open until late at

[30] See Adele Lindenmyer, "Raskolnikov's City and the Napoleonic Plan," Slavic Review 35 (March 1976): 46.

[31] E. A. Borisova, Russkaia arkhitektura vtoroi poloviny XIX veka (Moscow, 1979), 166.

[32] Ibid.

[33] "Otchet o sostoianii Ekaterinoslavskoi eparkhii za 1902," TsGIA, f. 796, op. 442, d. 1951, 14.

night."^[34] From his spiritual perspective a secular popular culture had become an integral and very undesirable part of the new city. By implication, his message called for new measures of cultural control. Among these measures, schooling occupied first place.