Meanwhile, Russia was arming.
The new English flintlocks were a huge improvement on the old muskets of the streltsy, which had been completely unreliable. Equally impressive were the new bayonets from France.
‘See how neatly it’s done,’ Procopy explained to his father and Daniel one day. ‘Instead of firing and then fitting the bayonet into the barrel, and then removing it if you want to fire again, these cunning Frenchmen have thought of fitting the bayonet on to the outside of the barrel, so you can actually fire with the bayonet fixed!’
Neither man had ever seen such a weapon and even Daniel, the former Cossack, agreed that the thing was well done.
Above all, the state would need money.
‘We’re going to tax everything we can get our hands on,’ Procopy declared. ‘Even people’s beards,’ he laughed. ‘And since trade will improve when we’ve got our Baltic ports, we’ll make the merchants cough up too.’
‘How will you do that?’ Nikita asked.
‘Simple,’ his son replied. ‘Administrative reforms.’
And he explained how Peter was now going to allow all local tradesmen to be completely free of the control of the provincial governors and let them elect their own officials. ‘That will please them, I should think,’ Nikita said. For though he himself had once hoped to be a governor, he knew very well how corrupt their administration was.
‘Not really,’ Procopy grinned. ‘You see, we’re doubling their taxes!’
Indeed, though many of Peter’s reforms were for the ultimate good of Russia, it is certainly true that most were actually thought of originally as ways of raising revenue more efficiently.
Not only money, but men were pouring in. Procopy insisted that Nikita send a good complement from his estates, including Russka. ‘And make sure they’re all shaved,’ he remarked. When his father observed that, for his part, he couldn’t see why it mattered whether the peasant recruits were shaved or not, Procopy quickly cut in: ‘Of course it does. That way we can spot deserters at once.’
There was another way of getting men as well as applying to landlords. ‘We’re going to make sure the peasants who’ve been freed by their masters don’t get off,’ Procopy explained. ‘They’re to report to the recruiting officers or lose their freedom.’
‘So their freedom will be the army?’
‘That’s right.’
And Nikita could only shake his head at such ruthless efficiency.
But what, in the long run, did all these changes mean? This was what puzzled Nikita.
He was not shocked, as Eudokia and Daniel were. And though he found Procopy’s air of superiority hurtful, he tried to be humble and to interest himself. He saw whole regiments dressed like Germans. He saw his son lead his wife out in a new German dress, in which she looked rather bashful. He saw the Church mocked and the Tsar’s only son taken from his mother and given into the care of foreigners.
‘And all I want to know,’ he burst out to Procopy, when they were alone one day before Christmas, ‘all I want you to tell me is, where are we going? Are we to stop being Russians altogether? Is that the idea? I even heard someone say the Tsar would prefer us all to speak Dutch.’
On this subject, to his surprise, his son reassured him.
‘For while I dare say the Tsar would be delighted if we did speak Dutch, he won’t attempt such a thing,’ Procopy laughed. ‘But you see, Father,’ he went on, ‘to understand what’s going on you have to look not to Russia, but outside.’
‘What for?’
‘Because no one in Russia realizes how backward we have become. If you went to London or Amsterdam, you’d see at once. Didn’t Tsar Alexis import foreign officers and methods in your day? Yet wasn’t he a good Russian?’
‘He was,’ said Nikita piously.
‘We Russians must use whatever seems good to us, then, and reject the rest,’ Procopy continued.
‘But why does the Tsar hate religion?’
‘He doesn’t. But the Church is so backward, so superstitious, so opposed to any change, that he cannot work with it.’ He paused. ‘Tsar Peter, Father, is like a giant dragging a great army up a hill. Only the army is all facing the wrong way and pulling downwards. He has to be strong. He has to be firm. He has to act, if you like, like Ivan the Terrible to achieve anything at all. Only in this way can he make Russia strong.’
‘Then we are not to become westerners? We can still be Russians once we have caught up?’
Procopy put his hand on his father’s arm.
‘Of course. I will tell you what the Tsar said to me only last week. He said: “Procopy Nikitevich – we need Europe for twenty years. Then we can turn our backs on her.”’
1700
Then came the blow.
Old Russia ended.
To many of the population, it was a cataclysm, as though the firmament of heaven had been riven. By this terrible sign, Daniel knew, as he had long suspected, that the end of days was indeed at hand. And gathering together Eudokia, Arina and little Maryushka, he told them gravely: ‘The Apocalypse has begun. The Antichrist is here.’
It was, indeed, the dawn of a new era.
For in December 1699, Tsar Peter had decided to change the calendar.
To understand the significance of this event, it must be remembered that in Russia, as yet, it was not the year 1699 at all. It was the year 7207 from the Creation, which system of counting, in all the centuries since the times of ancient Kiev, the Russians had never given up.
It must also be remembered that the year began not in January, but in September.
This, too, as any Russian could have explained, was logical. For did not the story of Adam and Eve in the Book of Genesis speak of the apple on the tree? Clearly, then, when the world began, it must have been the autumn season!
The fact that the rest of the world used a different system was only further proof of how wicked other countries were.
This was the calendar which Peter in December 1699 decided to change. He issued a ukaz that the very next month, the new system, a new year, and a new century were to begin. Thus, in January, it became the year 1700.
He made only one concession to Russian sensibilities. The Catholic countries of Europe had by now adopted the modern, Gregorian calendar. The English, being Protestant, were then still using the older, Julian calendar. The small difference between the allocation of solar days to the year meant that as each century passed, the small gap between the two calendars grew larger. By this time, the Julian was already eleven days behind the Gregorian. But it was better to be a little late than to agree with the Pope! Peter therefore decided to use the Julian calendar and as a result, until 1918, the Russians would continue to be nearly two weeks behind the west.
This, then, was the new age which Peter brought to Russia. He decreed that in the first week of January, a branch of pine or juniper should be hung over every door, in celebration.
And to Daniel, and many like him, this was the final confirmation of all that they had feared.
The idea that the world was approaching its end, though not new, had been growing enormously in Daniel’s lifetime. It was not only the Raskolniki who thought so. The collection of Ukrainian tracts predicting the end, called the Book of Cyril, had been widely read long before the Schism. The followers of Kapiton, whom Daniel had known on the Volga, had been urging the peasants there to prepare for the Apocalypse since Daniel was a young man. Indeed, it had been a regular monk who had remarked to him one day: ‘You know, after the Church council, Nikon himself began to think the end was coming.’
The end was near. The question was: when exactly would it come? By the time of Daniel’s arrival in Moscow, it was widely believed that it already had.