BAKHCHYSARAI, Crimea—Guliver Altın loves old maps. He loves the crudely drawn outlines of continents and oceans, the regions of bright green and red and yellow—shapes and colors moving across the ages, expanding and contracting. To him, maps represent the vagaries of political history, illustrated.
Few places in the world have had more colorful and mutable maps than the Crimean peninsula, where borders have shifted yet again after Russia annexed the region from Ukraine in mid-March, following a referendum. As if living in a world of Zeno’s paradoxes, Crimeans have suddenly found themselves in a new country and even a new time zone. But this is nothing new. In 1783, after a series of wars, the Russian Empire annexed the Crimean Khanate, the Muslim Tatar state that had ruled Crimea and part of the north littoral of the Black Sea for the three previous centuries. In 1954, Soviet leader Nikita Khrushchev transferred the peninsula from Soviet Russia to Soviet Ukraine, only for Crimea to become part of independent Ukraine after the disintegration of the U.S.S.R. in 1991.
A Crimean Tatar, Guliver Altın is primarily interested in the Khanate. Relentlessly persecuted under the Russians, massacred and deported under the Soviets, their books burned and their architectural monuments razed to the ground, the Crimean Tatars have lost much of their legacy. What remains can largely be found in and around the town of Bakhchysarai, where the old palace of the Khans still stands and serves as an official museum. But its collection, which largely consists of ethnographic objects, is hardly comprehensive, and in 2011 Altın decided to open his own museum—Crimea’s first and only private museum of history. In a place where the past had been forcibly impoverished, he called it “La Richesse,” French for “wealth.” As Russia once again assumes control over Crimea, the institution could be a crucial outpost in the battle for political and cultural memory.
A large, rectangular, two-story building originally constructed in 1909 as a madrassa, or religious school, and later converted by the Soviets into a lunatic asylum, La Richesse sits at the bottom of an imposing canyon in Salaҫiq, a neighborhood on the outskirts of Bakhchysarai. Dizzying cliffs and steep rock faces rise toward a faraway sky. It is here, in this exact spot, where Crimean Khans set up their first capital in the mid-fifteenth century, and a few monuments next to La Richesse still attest to its greatness: an old madrassa from the early sixteenth century; a mausoleum containing the remains of the Khanate’s first rulers; and the recently excavated ruins of a hammam, or bath complex. “This was Moscow before Moscow,” Altın says with a mischievous smile. “It is here that the affairs of Eastern Europe were decided before the Russian Empire took over.”
Altın’s museum is designed to preserve the memory of this once-potent European state. Since most of the documents, maps, art, and literature produced by the Khanate were systematically destroyed in prior centuries, Altın has relied on foreigners, mostly European diplomats and artists who visited Crimea, to reconstruct the story of his own ancestors. Aside from original paintings and engravings of Tatar rulers, ambassadors, scientists, and cultural figures, the exhibition halls feature treaty documents, newspaper clippings, and first-edition travelogues regarding the Crimean Khanate. “The Tatars are now in a great body in Moldavia, expecting the benefit of the frost to make incursions into Hungary or more probably into Poland, where the provincial diets break up in great discontents,” reports a copy of The London Gazette, the oldest surviving English newspaper, on December 3, 1688. Next to it, a 1736 edition of the British journal Gentleman’s Magazine mentions the very first Russian invasion of the Crimean peninsula and the destruction of Bakhchysarai. “Thank God that Europeans took care to preserve the memory of the Khanate,” Altın says.