Russia (18 page)

The ruthless depredations of the
oprichniki
are proverbial. In effect they represented government by terror; and all the while the ruinous war for Livonia continued. Ivan invoked the people in support of his purpose, and in 1566 the first representative ‘Assembly of the Land’
(Zemskii Sobor)
endorsed the continuance of his policy The only opposition came from the Church. That same year Metropolitan Afanasii resigned after an incumbency of only two years. His successor was sacked after only two days, and
his
successor, Filipp, was deposed two years later by a synod at the Tsar’s insistence (and was murdered within months by a leading
oprichnik).
Filipp’s successor, Pimen, was himself to be deposed in 1570. The times were fraught, the struggle desperate.

By the Union of Lublin of 1569, Lithuania formally merged with Catholic Poland. Lithuanian noblemen were now eligible for the same legal and political privileges as their Polish counterparts, provided they were, or became, practising Catholics. From that point on the Orthodox elite of Lithuania began to desert to Catholicism in increasing numbers. The same year King Erik XIV of Sweden was deposed in a coup, altering the political balance in the Baltic region, and the citadel of Izborsk fell. The fact that Izborsk was well defended, and the force that captured it small, suggested treason. Rumour reached the Tsar that Archbishop Pimen of Novgorod was preparing to hand Novgorod and Pskov to the Polish king, and that all sectors of the Novgorod population were involved in the plot. If true, it would not have been surprising. Novgorod had been squeezed very hard for taxes in recent years; Muscovite officials had replaced local men, and so many peasants had fled that there was a labour shortage too.

Once again, then, a tsar’s fears of holding the line in the west centred on Novgorod, and so in 1570 the
oprichniki
descended on the city, sacked it, and butchered as many as 30,000 of its inhabitants. A huge number of hereditary estates were taken over, the surviving owners being banished to other parts
of
Russia and the land which was once theirs redistributed to state servitors.
³¹
Two years later, however, in the autumn of 1572, the Tsar abolished the
oprichnina.
It may have served its original purpose, but as a seven-year experiment in government by tension it had been an expensive disappointment. An experiment bred of desperate impatience, designed to strengthen the state, turned out to have wasted its resources and dissipated its strength. Its assets were returned whence they had come. The revolution, if revolution it was, was over.

The Livonian war was now directed against Sweden as well as the Knights, while the Crimean Tatars remained a perennial menace in the south. Indeed, on one occasion they were more than a threat. In 1571 their army had looted Moscow and burned it, though it had failed to take the Kremlin. The strains on Ivan and Russia were severe. Yet there were successes too. In the summer of 1572 another onslaught by the Crimean Tatars was broken at Molodi; in 1573 the Swedish fort of Pajda in Livonia was captured, and a faction of Poland’s nobility even canvassed the name of Ivan’s son, Fedor, as a candidate to Poland’s throne. But not until 1577 could the necessary resources be gathered for yet another major offensive in Livonia. By September of the same year the region was all in Ivan’s possession except for the port cities of Riga and Tallin which he desired so much.

Then the tide turned. In 1578 Russian forces were defeated at Wenden, and other Livonian towns were lost. A new king of Poland, the able Hungarian strategist Stefan Bathory, was sweeping all before him. Then Ivan’s former ally King Magnus of Denmark deserted the cause and in 1579 the city of Polotsk was lost. Ivan had been driven back almost to the point where he had started. Within months he was suing for peace, prepared to surrender everything that he had gained at so much cost in the north-west.

To what extent internal strife had contributed to the reversal of fortune it is difficult to say. Ivan’s purges were over. There had been nine terrible bouts of executions. Indeed, they had become an almost routine mark of that period of Ivan’s reign. He expressed indignation at the massacres in France to his ally the Emperor Maximilian II, but he himself was no gentler than the King of France. Some of his most successful generals were among his victims. So was the keeper of his Great Seal, the brilliant diplomat Ivan Mikhailovich Viskovatii. Nevertheless Viskovatii bequeathed a legacy that was to be of lasting value to the Russian state.

The work of establishing protocol for dealings with foreign countries, already begun, had been extended under Viskovatii’s supervision, at a time when the European diplomatic system was still in process of formation. And he had also established a practice for keeping records in a systematic way
³²
Every embassy, of whatever rank, sent to another country (as yet no state maintained permanent missions in other capitals) was equipped with detailed instructions about what to say and even in what circumstances to say it. It was also given specific questions to ask, and lists of matters it should seek intelligence about. As a result, a large database was built up on all previous dealings with a country and of accurate intelligence about its geography, resources, society and mores. Russian diplomats may have taken protocol and recordkeeping to tedious lengths, but the tradition carried with it some inestimable advantages. Russian decision-takers tended to be better informed than their rivals, and, though their representatives abroad often seemed slow and their method cumbersome by contrast to their often more brilliant opposite numbers, they were more careful, painstaking, professional.

This was a less glorious achievement than the capture of Kazan and Siberia, perhaps, but none the less significant. Advantage was also gained from Ivan’s massacres, for they had helped to complete the revolution in landholding begun by the Tsar’s predecessors. Henceforth the entire elite of Russia served the tsar, and knew that their privileges and their advancement depended on him alone. Although his reign coincided with a demographic upswing, it also saw a major haemorrhage of the kind of talent and expertise which is of value in building empires, and the massacres left a blot on his reputation. They stirred deep resentments at the time. Yet they may also have added to the Tsar’s popularity as the supporter of the common man (a reputation which the Tsar’s own court may have helped to create by spreading positive rumours about him). History’s verdict on Ivan has not yet been agreed.

Among the victims of Ivan’s executioners was his personal physician and astrologer the Cambridge-educated Dr Elisei Bomel. The learned Bomel may have borne some responsibility for the increasingly uncontrollable fits of rage that Ivan suffered from in later life. An autopsy on Ivan’s remains has revealed that he suffered from the acutely painful condition known as ankylosing spondylitis — that is, his spine was locked in a stooping position. Inhalation of mercury vapour was evidently prescribed to excess in order to help him with the pain, and scholars have recently suggested that, over the years, this medication resulted in neurological damage which produced insomnia and contributed to his rage attacks.
³³
It was in one of these bouts in 1581 that he unintentionally killed his son Ivan, who was being groomed
to succeed him. But for that, the succession crisis, and the political desta-bilization, which followed Ivan’s death on 18 March 1584 might well have been avoided.

Meanwhile, the strains and costs of Ivan’s wars of imperial expansion and the internal upheaval he created in his attempts to pay for his campaigns contributed to an economic crisis which struck Russia in the latter part of the sixteenth century. As a result, many urban settlements were abandoned by their inhabitants, who fled to the countryside, and there was a large-scale movement of population from central and north-western Russia to the south and south-east.
³⁴
The effect was not only to diminish tax revenues but also to pauperize many servicemen who depended on their peasants for their income. The government tried to combat this trend by restricting the right of peasants to move except during a brief period after the autumn harvest, and by allowing their lords to pursue and reclaim those who flitted. This was the beginning of the oppressive system known as serfdom.

At the root of the problem was the fact that the Russian state could not accumulate sufficient specie to issue good coin in sufficient quantity to pay its servicemen in cash. It therefore had to supply them with land in lieu. But the land was useless without labour, and small landlords, such as the holders of service estates, were not able to attract labour in competition with the great landowners, who could afford to offer peasants better terms of tenure. So the state had to intervene to save the servitors from their predicament at the expense of the peasants’ freedom. Serfdom did not yet exist formally as an institution, but from Ivan’s reign it became progressively inevitable.

In the long term, the oppressive effects of serfdom were to aid Russian expansion by encouraging a steady flow of people ready to pioneer newly discovered or recently secured territories at the periphery of the state. However, by the 1580s Ivan’s main expansionist thrusts had all been halted. Poland and Sweden had blocked Russia’s roads westward and to the Baltic; the Turks blocked the advance to the south. And Ivan himself seemed a broken man. He had finally conceded failure in the war for Livonia; he had brought ruin to much of his realm, and destroyed many of its best human assets. Compared with such costs, his achievements seemed slight indeed. In his last testament, redolent with quotations from the Bible, he gave vent to despair and self-pity: ‘My spirit is afflicted, my spiritual and bodily wounds have increased, and there is no physician to heal me … I have
found no comforters, they have repaid me with evil for my kindness and hatred for my love.’
³⁵

Resentful and full of foreboding, one imagines, both for his empire and for the state of his soul, Ivan confronted death. He died in 1584, and Russia did indeed fall into ruin. Before long, the pretensions to imperial status were to seem almost risible.

H
ISTORIANS OFTEN ATTRIBUTE
Russia’s descent into anarchy in the early 1600s to Ivan’s misrule, yet the tyrant’s death did not mark the onset of what Russians call ‘the era of confusion’ and we in the West know as the ‘Time of Troubles’. Indeed, there was something of a recovery However disappointing the terms that ended the Livonian war may have been politically, the conclusion of hostilities the year before Ivan’s death eased the economic pressure on the country Recognition that the terror of Ivan’s
oprichnina
had gone for good gave hope to many; there was a breathing space, a chance to stabilize the country after the disruptions of the
oprichnina
— and the new tsar’s government seized the opportunity.

Economic activity revived; the outward migration of population from the Moscow region ceased. Abandoned villages were gradually resettled. Service gentry, in despair at losing their peasant tenants, who had been leaving for the freedom of the frontier areas or for large estates which offered them terms that mere gentry could not afford, were mollified by new laws. These banned the departure of peasant tenants before St George’s Day (the end of the autumn harvest), and authorized their recovery by force for a period thereafter. At the same time, the weight of government demands on the peasantry was lightened.

The new domestic policy sought to establish internal calm after all the recent storms. It was paralleled by a foreign policy which guarded Russia’s essential interests without requiring any massive mobilization of resources. Dangerous ambition was abandoned, and feelers were put out to countries far and near offering co-operation for mutual benefit. The defences of the southern frontier were shored up; a twelve-year peace was concluded with Poland-Lithuania in 1591; diplomatic relations were established with the Ottoman Empire, and commercial relations with Holland and France. Only the confrontation with Sweden continued — but it was to result in the recovery of central Karelia and territories on the Gulf of Finland and Lake Ladoga which had been lost in the Livonian War. Another triumph, achieved by peaceful means, was the raising of the metropolitan see of
Moscow, hitherto subject to the Patriarch of Constantinople, to the status of an independent patriarchate in 1591. This made the Russian Church effectively a national church, increasing both its authority and that
of
its partner, the state.
¹

If Ivan’s misrule had made a collapse inevitable, the measures taken under his successor kept disaster at bay, and when the reckoning eventually came it was to be precipitated and deepened by factors independent of Ivan’s actions — by ‘acts of God’ that were quite unforeseeable.

The new tsar, Fedor, was the elder of Ivan’s two surviving sons. The younger, Dmitrii, was to die an accidental death in 1591. Years afterwards this event was to precipitate a crisis, but not at the time. True, Tsar Fedor was rumoured to be of limited ability - he was probably mentally retarded - but he served well enough as a figurehead, and he soon gained a reputation for piety, a critical indicator of legitimacy in that age and therefore a real political asset. Besides, it transpired that he was capable of siring an heir. His policies, however, are associated with those who managed affairs for him - the regents, his ministers.

These included the brothers Shchelkalov — Andrei, who had headed the Foreign Office
(Posolskii prikaz)
from 1570 to 1594, and Vasilii, who as head of both the Musketeer Office
(Streletskii prikaz)
and the Felony Department
(Razboinii prikaz)
was effectively in charge of state security.
²
Two other leading lights were Dmitrii Godunov, a former
oprichnik,
and his brother Boris, who made a reputation as a financial manager. The Godunovs hailed from Kostroma on the Volga, where they were generous benefactors of the riverside Trinity Monastery. Both had been members of Ivan’s council of ministers; both were shrewd politically, and when Boris persuaded the Tsar to marry his sister his prospects were much enhanced.

The policies that Boris and his colleagues pursued were judicious. One of the new regime’s first measures was to abolish the tax privileges of hereditary estate-holders. It also gave effective relief to the hard-pressed service gentry by giving them seigneurial rights over their ploughland, as well as allowing them to pursue and recover their runaway peasants. Tradesmen, craftsmen and other productive commercial people — another vital constituency — were helped too, by exempting the suburbs and settlements where they lived from taxation. These measures promoted social peace and encouraged commerce especially in central Russia, but the government also took radical measures to develop the south and south-east, chiefly by building new towns.

Samara and the stronghold of Ufa in northern Bashkiria (founded in 1586), Tsaritsyn, later Stalingrad (1589), Saratov (1590) and Tsivilsk — forts and future cities with alliterative, romantic names — were all founded on the middle and lower reaches of the Volga at this time. The government’s hold of the steppe was furthered both by founding new towns and by refor-tifying others: Voronezh and Livny (1586), Kursk (1587), Yelets (1592), Kromy (1595) and in 1598 Belgorod on the river Donets. The purpose was to create strong defensive points and governmental centres to administer the growing population of those parts, for since Tsar Ivan’s time Russian settlement had been growing denser south and east of the centre. In pursuing this policy, therefore, the state was trying to catch up with its own population, and at the same time to promote, protect and control commerce. But it also probed regions beyond. In 1586 an emissary was sent to spy out the land of Kakhetia south of the Caucasus Mountains. He returned with an envoy from the local king. This proved the beginning of a long, close association between Russia and Georgia.
³

Before the end of the century Moscow was also in touch with the Kazakhs of the southern steppe, and further north, across the Urals, it was extending its authority into Siberia. Tiumen was founded in 1585, Tobolsk in 1587, as well as Pelym, Tara and other strong-points, including eventually Verkhoturia. This was a remarkably swift follow-up of Yermak’s conquest of the Tatar state of eastern Siberia and the Stroganovs’ exploitation of it. The building boom extended to established towns too. Astrakhan and Kazan were given new stone citadels at this time, and Smolensk on the western frontier was developed into the strongest fortress of all.
⁴

The chief purpose of the government’s extension into Siberia was to secure that invaluable source of furs — a major export — and to administer the native population, the hunters and trappers, who all paid their taxes in furs. Russia was creating an immense colonial empire in Siberia and the southern steppe. But it did so innocently, without realizing the world significance of the fact,
⁵
its long-term strategic significance in giving Moscow control of the world’s most extensive land mass. But, though the motive was short-term and practical, the policy was systematically pursued. Every strong-point, whether built of logs upon earthworks, of brick or
of
stone, was strategically sited and provided a serviceable district centre for the government’s representative, who acted as both civil governor and military commander.
⁶

Scattered as many of them were, it would be the work
of
decades to develop these strong-points into an integrated system of defence. In the meantime older expedients still had their uses, like that of which the
Elizabethan venturer Jerome Horsey wrote in 1588: ‘The moving Castle
\gulaigorod]
… so framed, that it may be set up in length … two, three, foure, five, sixe or seven miles’. A double wall of timber spaced with three yards in between and closed at both ends, the structure could be dismantled, transported and re-erected where needed, and was an effective block to Tatar and other raiders from the steppe.
⁷

Careful thought as well as improvisation lay behind these essentially expansionist developments — as behind the stabilization programme and the economic and foreign policies — and Boris Godunov was the moving spirit behind all of them. He had a particular interest in the south-east, and some relevant expertise, having earlier run the department which administered Kazan, Astrakhan and Siberia. He knew all about running a central financial department and how the palace was administered, was supported by some very able helpers, and made it a principle to promote and exploit talent. Apart from the Shchelkalov brothers, he furthered the careers of men like Foma Petelin, the treasury specialist whom the English merchant Giles Fletcher considered outstandingly efficient and politically astute, and Eleazar Vyluzgin, chief administrator of the department of service estates, who seems to have headed the regents ‘private office and who, in 1591, was sent to Uglich with the commission of inquiry into the sudden death of the Tsarevich Dmitrii.

The untimely death of the Tsar’s younger brother is popularly attributed to Boris, but the charge is unjust. Boris had no motive to kill Dmitrii in 1591, when Tsar Fedor, whatever his mental strength may have been, was in good health and expected to sire heirs. Generations of good historians from V. I. Klein to Ruslan Skrynnikov have sifted the evidence and concluded that Boris was innocent and that, as the investigation report concluded, Dmitrii died by accident or misadventure while playing with a sharp instrument in the courtyard of the palace at Uglich.
⁸
Why, then, has the contrary view prevailed?

The rumour that the Tsarevich had been murdered was first put about immediately after his death by his mother’s kinsmen, the Nagois. But the Nagois hated Boris. They had tried to displace Tsar Fedor, and Boris had thwarted them, sidelining the heir apparent and his entourage. After the death they sought revenge, spreading derogatory rumours about Boris and trying to organize opposition to him. They had little immediate effect, although, as we shall see, they were to gain ground later. The myth that Boris had had Dmitrii murdered was furthered fifteen years later by the young prince’s
canonization (for cynical political reasons) as an innocent ‘sufferer for Christ’s sake’, like the popular boy saints Boris and Gleb. Later still, and for their own purposes, the Romanovs were also to exploit the myth.
⁹
The leading nineteenth-century historian Soloviev followed the Nagois’ line, giving an account
of
‘the saint’s murder’ which was dramatic, sentimental and disgracefully tendentious, and the famous Vasilii Kliuchevskii followed him uncritically - although both historians wrote before essential evidence was published in 1913.

Meanwhile Russia’s greatest poet, Pushkin, and the composer Mussorgsky had used the myth to create a popular Shakespearian-type tragedy and a famous opera. Since then the lie about Boris’s implication in Dmitrii’s ‘murder’ has been perpetuated by the Church, which would find it embarrassing to de-canonize the saint, and by the financial interests of those who profit from the pilgrims and tourists attracted to Dmitrii’s shrine. Boris Godunov has been traduced. There is no evidence that he plotted to murder his way to the throne as Shakespeare pictures Richard of York doing; no evidence that he was more scheming than any other politician anxious to preserve his position near the top of the pile. But there is evidence that he was an able minister concerned to promote the country’s interests, treating its subjects no worse than necessary
¹⁰

In 1588 Terka, Russia’s stronghold in the north-eastern foothills of the towering Caucasus, was rebuilt on a new site. In the following year Prince Andrei Khvorostinin was appointed its governor. The region had been identified as particularly important, and the government sensed that its politics were complex, so Khvorostinin was instructed to follow the situation there particularly closely. In 1589 he reported that Shevkal, the shamkhal of Tarku, was being wooed by the Ottoman pasha of Derbent. The shamkhal was chief of the Kumukhs, who had originated in the mountains of Dagestan but had come to dominate the Kumyks of the coastal plain west of the Caspian. But if the Turks wanted the shamkhal to declare for them, the Russians wanted him on their side and the Turks out of the region. The motive was control of the profitable trade route between Moscow and Persia, the source of rich silks and other oriental luxuries.
¹¹
Besides, the Tarku area was adjacent to the most convenient road south across the mountains to the exotic lands of Georgia and Armenia. Moscow was now particularly interested in the little successor states to the united Georgia that the Mongols had undermined, for their peoples were Orthodox Christians and natural allies. So in April 1589 an embassy left
Moscow for the south, returning a mission from the King of Imretia which accompanied them. The importance of the mission can be gauged by the presents it took.

For King Alexander himself there were:

Forty sables worth 100 rubles,

A thousand ermine pelts worth 30 rubles,

Fifteen fish teeth [probably walrus tusks] worth 70 rubles,

A cuirass worth 20 rubles,

A helmet worth 20 rubles

as well as three falcons, which were not valued
¹²
— perhaps priceless — one of which specialized in catching swans. Valuable gifts were also taken to present to princes and
mirzas
(to use the Persian term for prince) of the neighbouring Avars and Kabardinians. But the shamkhal of Tarku was to be given only a warning to send hostages for his future good behaviour if he did not want war.

This particular attempt to expand into the eastern Caucasus was to end in failure in 1594 when a Russian force, deserted by its Muslim allies, was routed. A joint attempt with Georgian forces was also to come to grief in 1605, though the attempts did not end there. In any case the 1594 mission had other aims, including cultural penetration. The mission, which was given an escort of nearly 300 soldiers and 50 Terek Cossacks, also included priests who were experts in liturgy and canon law and three icon painters. Clearly Moscow wanted the Georgians to conform to its version of the religiously correct. This had become all the more important now that the see of Moscow had been raised to patriarchal status, and the Catholic Church was campaigning not only against the Protestants, but against Orthodox Christians too.