Lithuania (Vladimir Zabolotskii, Mark Sarykhozin, the Elder Artemii, Timofei Teterin) "traitors to the sovereign."[191] And very recently, in the 1970s, Professor R. G. Skrynnikov has had no words for Kurbskii except "a history of treason," "treasonous negotiations," and "treasonous relations."[192] Destiny was truly merciless toward Kurbskii. For 400 years, both before the revolution and after it, no one has been found willing to raise their voice in defense of him.[193] But whom should anyone who was so bold refute? Skrynnikov, who borrowed his opinion from Gorskii? Gorskii, who borrowed his opinion from Ravelin? Kavelin, who borrowed it from Karamzin? Karamzin, who borrowed it from Tatishchev? Tatishchev, after all, had it from Tsar Ivan himself, who first called Kurbskii a "traitor" and "oath-breaker." Only by tracing back this chain, unbroken for centuries, do we come finally to the original inspiration of all of these ideologists and historians—to the true founder of the "state school" in Rus'. Before Tsar Ivan, the Muscovite government stood, at least officially, for freedom of political choice, decisively rejecting—even if for selfish reasons— the treatment of political emigration as treason. Ivan was the first to put the question in the terms in which it is phrased to this day. His credo ran: "He who opposes the regime opposes God. . . . Children should not oppose their parents nor slaves their masters." The tsar cited Saint Paul, forgetting that the apostle was speaking of slaves. Kurbskii was a famous general, a boyar, and an advisor to the tsar. He felt himself to be a free man.
The alternative to emigration which the tsar proposed to him was: "If you are just and pious, why do you not desire to suffer and acquire a martyr's crown from me, the obstinate ruler?"[194] Kurbskii preferred exile and struggle against the tyrant to slavery and the martyr's crown, a choice for which Russian historians have unanimously pronounced him to be a traitor, thereby recognizing Ivan the Terrible's alternatives, slavery or martyrdom, as the rational ones, and coming down on the side of the autocrator. But it is not so much the medieval sermons of the terrible tsar which astonish, as the slavish concurrence of modern Russian commentators.
Karamzin called one subsection in his History "The Treason of Andrei Kurbskii." This was not as easy for him as it was for Gorskii. A few pages earlier, he describes the situation preceding Kurbskii's flight: "Muscovy was paralyzed with fear. Blood poured out; in the dungeons and the monasteries the victims groaned; but . . . the tyranny was still maturing; the present was horrified by the future."5'' In a situation of total terror, when the fate of a person no longer depends on his or her behavior, but only on the caprice of the tyrant, on dark rumors, on evil reports—how in this situation, are we to judge a person who does not wait for the executioners to come after him? Karamzin does not judge: "He [Kurbskii] could without qualms of conscience seek refuge from the persecutor in Lithuania itself." There is another thing, however, for which he cannot forgive Kurbskii: "Regrettably, [he] did more: he joined the enemies of the fatherland. . . . He committed [to the king of Poland] his honor and his soul, and advised the king on how to ruin Russia.'"" But why Russia?—we might ask Karamzin. Why not the terroristic dictatorship of Ivan the Tormentor—a dictatorship which truly ruined Russia? We would ask this in vain of Karamzin, for whom the autocracy was the soul of Russia and struggle against it equivalent to struggle against the fatherland.
For Skrynnikov today, we must assume, the autocracy is no longer a synonym for the fatherland. However, he goes even further than Karamzin. He not only associates himself with Gorskii, but judges the "traitor" even more severely than does Tsar Ivan himself: "The viceroy of Livonia [Kurbskii] had been bribed by the Lithuanians, and was driven from his country by the fear of exposure. Kurbskii was not subject to direct persecution at home. To the last day he enjoyed power and honor."61 A little further on, Skrynnikov writes of the "insolent reproach [by Kurbskii] to the tsar, [whom he] compared to a fierce and bloodthirsty beast," who had embarked on the "universal ruination" of his governors and counsellors.62 Well, does Skrynnikov refute this "insolent reproach"? Not at all. "Kurbskii's words," he writes,
N. M. Karamzin, Istoriia . . . , vol. 9, p. 23.
Ibid., p. 68.
R. G. Skrynnikov, Perepiska . . . , p. 61.
Ibid., p. 53.
had a quite real historical basis. On the eve of his flight, the tsar's wrath and punishment lost their usual personal character and began to affect entire families. After the death of A. Adashev, the tsar ordered his brother Daniil [the hero of the Crimean campaign of 1559] killed, with his son and his relatives—P. Turov, I. Shiskin, the Satins, and others. In precisely the same way he confined in a monastery the boyar Prince D. Kurliat'ev, his wife, his son, and his daughters.[195]
Furthermore, Skrynnikov understands the meaning of these events excellently: "The execution of famous war leaders symbolized the end of an entire period. . . . Under the 'liberal' regime of Adashev, the death penalty was not once applied to a boyar. . . . The first executions of boyars in 1564 signalized the onset of the Oprichnina terror against the boyardom." Why does Skrynnikov think that the boyar Kurbskii, a member of the Government of Compromise, understood what was happening less well than he himself does? In fact, Skrynnikov does not think anything of the kind. "Kurbskii understood well the meaning of the events taking place before his eyes," he tells us.64 What is there surprising, then, about the fact that "in a letter to the tsar, the refugee boyar undertakes the role of intercessor for all people suffering in Rus'"?65 Why is Kurbskii's flight necessarily explained by an ignoble bribe, and not by a noble attempt—which under the conditions of total terror is the only possible one—to "intercede for all the people suffering in Rus'"? Why does this simple and apparently self-evident explanation not even enter Skrynnikov's head—just as it did not enter the head of Likhachev or Lur'e, or Solov'ev or Kavelin, not to speak of Karamzin? And why, if he asserts that the political emigre Kurbskii was bribed by the Lithuanians, is Skrynnikov offended when he is told that the political emigre Lenin was bribed by the Germans?
We will never find the answer to these questions unless we return to poor Gorskii, with his stereotype about the struggle of "the old" and "the new." Let us remember how he reasons: "The old for Kurbskii was second nature; it was his flesh and blood, a vital necessity. . . . He considers the restoration of the old tradition the main task of his life." What "old tradition" is Gorskii talking about? And what is bad about it? "What advantage for Russia could be expected from the restoration of the custom of boyar council? . . . What advantage could it obtain from its old-fashioned politics"? Gorskii asks indignantly, revealing in his simplemindedness the horrible secret of the entire apologia for Ivan the Terrible. And he answers: "Nothing but ruin and harm."[196] Here we see quite clearly what, precisely, it is that Gorskii (and his Soviet pupils) cannot forgive the opposition of that time, and why it is that they hate Kurbskii: the struggle for limitations on power, for the custom of the boyar council and the Assembly of the Land, for social control over the administration. Why was the ruin in England not brought about by the existence there, even in the darkest times, of the custom of Parliament? Why was France not ruined by the provincial Estates-General? Why was Sweden not ruined by the Landtags, why did Denmark get only good out of its "old-fashioned politics"? Why is it that what was possible for them was not possible for us? No one, beginning with Tatishchev and ending with Skrynnikov, has an answer to this question. For that matter, no one ever asked it. Autocracy is the imperative for Russia, a historical necessity, its destiny.