The Gathering of the Rus, Part 2:
The first pan-Russian Zemsky Sobor to take place after the Sundering of the Rus, in 1635, had not been very significant in and of itself. There had been some discussions over the need to coordinate foreign affairs, trade tariffs, and the like, but nothing concrete had emerged. There was desire on the part of the delegates to do more, and more of substance, but their powers to do so were sharply limited. By itself then, the 1635 Zemsky Sobor ended up doing very little and by itself would merit barely a footnote. However one decision made was that there should be another Zemsky Sobor, and this one should be attended by delegates with authority to negotiate for a reunification of the Russian principalities and with proposals as to how that should be accomplished and the new Russia restructured.
The devil, as always, is in the details and a question of such importance could not be rushed, which is why the new Zemsky Sobor would face repeated delays before it could open. The first major issue in Russia sparked in Lithuania in 1638. Ivan Sapieha’s term as First Posadnik ended and he ran for re-election. His initial election did not merit the term, as his getting the position had been one of the provisos of the Treaty of Smolensk. This counted against him when he ran now in a real election and he was defeated, to be replaced by his rival Andrias Gostautas.
Ivan, infuriated, had refused to accept the election results and had started gathering retainers and supplies at his estates, looking as if he was going to resist militarily. He also appealed to Demetrios III. For his services to Rhomania against the Germans, the Basileus had played a key role in making him First Posadnik originally. But Demetrios III was sick and dying, while Rhomania was facing the Italian crisis and economic scandals. Ivan’s former commander Odysseus was sympathetic, but practically every member of the Roman diplomatic service was emphatic that the Roman government stay out of it, and so nothing came of Ivan’s appeal.
The Roman diplomats emphatically advise staying out because they’ve accurately read the room. In 1635 Roman prestige had been riding high in Russia, but much had changed in three years. Russians are extremely well informed about what goes on in Rhomania. Many Roman papers have a brisk circulation in the lands to the north, transported on the cargo ships that regularly ply the Black Sea. The Russians know all about the Italian crisis and the economic issues in the Empire.
Furthermore, all that reading also means the Russians know all about Roman pretensions and thought patterns, and they are unimpressed. The belligerency and bellicosity is off-putting and concerning. One Russian merchant who trades in wine and sugar makes the observant remark that the makers of newspapers are more bloodthirsty than regular people, because “paper written in blood sells better than paper written in ink”, an older version of the modern variation ‘if it bleeds, it leads’. But even with that observation in mind, he finds many of the attitudes commonly expressed in the papers to be very tiresome.
The brusque treatment of the Pronsky ambassador Boris Morozov when he tried to mediate in the Italian affair is viewed by many Russians as a deliberate insult. The Scythians can read, in the Romans’ own words, the occasional proposal about how the Empire should annex them, or at least vassalize them, in order to ensure grain supplies for Constantinople. Considering what is transpiring in Vlachia, that suggestion is viewed with horror and fury.
These are hardly, by themselves, a serious danger to overall good Roman-Russian relations. The religious, economic, social, and cultural ties are too strong to be so easily broken. But in the words of the Roman consul in Kherson-on-the-Don, “these expressed sentiments inflame Russian sensibilities, meaning they would be much more likely and quickly and violently to take offense if an issue of actual substance were to arise. It is imperative that no such issue arise.”
In addition, while the Zemsky Sobor has not met again, three years of discussions over kaffos, of printed pamphlets and the occasional tome, has encouraged the growth of pan-Russian sentiments, even if the details are still inchoate. Ivan, by appealing to the Romans in this new atmosphere, thus condemns himself. This is an internal matter, and he is trying to invite foreigners into it.
Many would-be supporters thus turn away from Ivan, giving Andrias the advantage. Andrias can also rely on promised support from Pronsk, Novgorod, Scythia, and Khazaria if it becomes necessary. The ironclad condition for such aid becoming necessary would be if the Romans did intervene on behalf of Ivan. That, fortunately for everyone, including the Romans, ends up never being the case. Ivan, seeing his support fade away, stands down and returns to his estates
The storm thus blows over, but the attitudes expressed are illustrative of the changing times. In 1635 the Romans could intervene in the affairs of Russia and neither they nor their patrons faced any kind of backlash. But three years later, the Russians, more confident in their own strength and more wary of the Romans, were in absolutely no mood to tolerate the same maneuvers. Furthermore, Andrias faced no backlash for his appeals to the other principalities to deal with Ivan, even though the specific affair was internal to Lithuanian politics. But the principalities were not viewed as outsiders in the way the Romans were; they could get involved in a family quarrel because they were, in a sense, family. The Romans were not.
The way interventions were determined to be acceptable or unacceptable in the Lithuanian affair showed that the development of a common Russian identity was well-advanced. It was very clear who was in and who was out. But forging common identities is still a very tricky thing. They usually originate in an oppositional form, defining themselves by what they are not, rather than what they are. It is much easier to agree on ‘we are not X’, as opposed to ‘we are Y’.
One of the issues that made it difficult to agree on the nature of the proposed new Russia was the issue of ensuring that it would be a new Russia, and not some super-Pronsk. Four out of every seven Russians resided in Great Pronsk. One of the big issues that had powered the Sundering of the Rus was the concern that Pronsky power would become too dominant, overshadowing the other principalities. But while the devil is in the details, the concept of federalism was a clear solution to this problem.
The other issue was thornier in the philosophical sense, because it spoke directly to the idea of the new Russia, while the issue of Pronsk was more about technical detail. Was the new Russia to be an autocracy, or more consultative (the term is more appropriate than democratic in this context) in nature?
Consultative traditions are now quite strong throughout Russia. The influence of the Republic of Novgorod has had centuries to percolate throughout the land, and the regional Veches (assemblies) have been ruling Pronsk, Novgorod, Lithuania, and Scythia in their own right since the 1570s. Khazaria is somewhat of an exception, since the Laskarid line remained as Kings there after the Sundering, but they still had to deal with a Khazar Veche of some strength.
Still, there are arguments for other ways. The obvious example for governance and statecraft was the powerful Orthodox state to the south, rich in gold and years, and inspiration had certainly come from those shores. Yet Roman influence had not had things all its own way, and it had created tensions. The Zemsky Sobor of 1573-74 had chosen, after the extinction of the Shuisky dynasty, to bring in the Laskarids as a ruling family.
One argument had been that a foreign family, rather than playing favorites among the major houses of Russia, would help towards unity. Yet another thought was that Romans, with their experience of governance and statecraft, would be helpful in developing Russia, at that time humiliated by the disasters of the Great Northern War. But the Laskarids’s sympathy for a bureaucratic autocracy on the Roman model, at the expense of the regional Veches, had alienated and alarmed a great many Russians. The Sundering of the Rus initially had begun because of fears that the Laskarids were mounting a coup in order to force autocratic power. It was only later, after Laskarid efforts had been defeated, that concerns over Pronsky power filling the vacuum became a major issue.
The main argument for autocracy is that of efficiency. Committees are never known for their prompt decision-making; a wise autocrat consulting with pertinent advisors (in theory) would be much quicker. The obvious counter-argument is that assertion depends on the nature of the autocrat and advisors and is hardly guaranteed. Furthermore a speedy decision is hardly guaranteed to be a good decision.
Russians make those counter-arguments, but they also devise more nuanced ones as well. Stenka Razin argues that the idea of a universal mode of governance that is best for all people is utterly absurd. “People are different. They live in different societies and cultures, shaped by different geographies, climates, and histories, practicing different customs and creeds. It cannot even be agreed upon what are the best foods to nourish mankind. Milk, the great sustainer for so many, cannot even be consumed by a large portion of the human race. And this is regarding food, far more essential to the maintenance of life than governance. To argue that the great city of Novgorod, and the tribesmen of the Chukchi, should be governed by the same laws, and that those laws would be the best possible for both of them, despite their vast differences, is idiocy of the highest caliber.”
Arguments like these do not denigrate the Roman system of bureaucratic autocracy. Many who advance these arguments admire the efficiency and reach of the Roman government. (It must absolutely and unequivocally be stressed that these assessments are by the standards of the early/mid seventeenth century. The capabilities of industrial states vastly exceeds that of the pre-industrial Roman state.)
But while it is a good system for the Romans, it would not work for Russia. Rhomania is a maritime state, at least partially, centered primarily on the Aegean Basin. Six of the eleven themes border the Aegean, with two-thirds of the heartland’s population which produces nearly three-fourths of the Empire’s tax revenue. Thus power and control can be relatively easily and quickly be projected via the medium of sea transport, by far the best way of moving anything during the pre-industrial age.
But that is a function of the availability of sea travel, not governmental nature. A muddy quagmire masquerading as a road does not dry up for horsemen dispatched by an Emperor while remaining a marsh for riders sent by an Assembly. A bridge does not inquire as to the political apparatus before deciding whether or not to be washed out by the spring floods. In short, geography matters. By this argument, the nature of Roman government works because the maritime geography makes it work. Sharp-eyed Russians note that the Roman government’s reach and efficiency dissipates rather noticeably as one moves away from the cities and the sea into the interior.
Russia, obviously, does not have that maritime geography advantage, and thus a Roman model of centralized bureaucratic autocracy just wouldn’t work there. Orders and reports, officials and soldiers, would just take too long to get from the center to the provinces and back again. A centralized autocracy would thus be “a giant with feet of clay. A giant, because it would have the immense resources of this great land and people, but feet of clay, because it would be a clumsy, stupid giant. It would have to act on outdated information, with officials having much opportunity for corruption and vice, given the difficulties of surveillance.” (Those sharp-eyed Russians have also noticed that while Kephales in the interior of Anatolia may be junior in rank to their coastal counterparts, they have more practical autonomy because they are further away, in travel time, from the capital.)
Because of the geography, a centralized autocracy thus could not be an efficient and competent one in Russia. Efficient and competent governance would, the argument goes, necessitate local governance, where the tyranny of distance would be far more manageable, where information could be received and processed while still relevant, and officials supervised. The obvious solution therefore is some kind of federal union. The local regions manage themselves through the local assemblies, while pan-Russian issues such as foreign relations are managed by an assembly of all the Russians.
A major block to Russian reunification has been concerns about the Laskarids of Khazaria and their autocratic sympathies. But the King of Khazaria, Basil I Laskaris, is not like his father and grandfather, steeped in the autocratic traditions of Constantinople. He was born in Kazan, and the only time he was in Roman territory was when as a child he visited the enclave at Azov, a town that was Roman politically, but of which 85% of the population did not come from Roman lands. Given the difficulties of communication and control over his utterly vast and lightly-populated domains sprawling over Siberia, he is extremely sympathetic to the geographical arguments regarding the best proposed nature of Russia’s government. His father played a key role in the Sundering of the Rus, and Basil feels that as a blot, a shame, a disgrace on his and his family’s name. The wrong must be made right.
In early 1640 he publicly announces his support for the reunification of Russia, pledging to support limits on his power if “they be for the good of the Russian people and state. It is not right that the vanity and greed of one man, whatever his title, should take precedence over the welfare of a nation of thirty million souls.”
In 1642, the Zemsky Sobor again meets.