“Morozof was resolute. ‘I accept the new post, to which the Tsar has appointed me. It was not fit for Boyard Morozof to sit at table with a Godunov—but the court fool may keep company even with such as the Basmanovs. Make way for the new jester, and listen, all of you, how he will amuse Ivan Vasilievich!’ He made a gesture of command: the opritchniks stood aside, and with his bells tinkling, the fine old man marched up the room and seated himself on the stool before the Tsar, but with such dignity that he seemed to be wearing the royal purple instead of the motley of the court fool.
“ ‘How shall I amuse you, Tsar?’ and putting his elbows on the table, he leant forward and looked directly into the eyes of his sovereign. ‘It is not easy to find a fresh diversion for you; there have been so many jests in Russia since you began to reign. You rode your horse over the helpless in the streets once-upon-a-time; you have thrown your companions to dogs, you poured burning pitch over the heads of those who humbly petitioned you! But those were childish freaks. You soon tired of such simple cruelties. You began to imprison your nobles, in order to fill your rooms with their wives and daughters, but of this also you have tired. You next chose your most faithful servants for the torture; then you found it wearied you to mock the people and the nobles, so you began to scoff at the Church of God. You picked out the lowest rabble, decked them out as monks, and yourself became the abbot! In daylight you commit murders; at night sing psalms! Your favourite amusement, this! None had thought of it before. You are covered with blood, yet you chant and ring the holy bells and would like to perform the mass. What else shall I say to amuse you, Tsar? This: whilst you are masquerading thus with your opritchniks, wallowing in blood, Sigismund with his Poles will fall on you in the west, and from the east will come the Khan, and you will have left none alive to defend Moscow. The holy churches of God will be entered and burned by the infidel, all the holy relics will be taken: you,—you—the Tsar of all the Russias, will have to kneel at the feet of the Khan, and ask leave to kiss his stirrup!’ Morozof ceased. None dared interrupt; all held their breath in agonising suspense. Ivan, pale, with flashing eyes, and foaming with rage, listened to all attentively, bent forward, as though fearing to lose a single word. Morozof gazed proudly around him. ‘Do you want me to divert you further, Tsar? I will. One faithful subject, of high birth, still remained to you. You had not yet thought of killing him, because—perhaps—perhaps you feared the anger of God; and perhaps only because you could think of no torture or infamous death worthy of him. He lived in disgrace far from you; you exiled him; you might have forgotten him—but you never forget, do you, Tsar? You sent your cursed favourite, Viasemski, to burn his house and carry off his wife. When he came to you for redress for these wrongs, you sent him to combat for the right, in the hope that your young courtier would kill the old boyard. God did not allow you that joy, Tsar. He gave the other the victory. What did you do then, Tsar?’ the bells on the cap tinkled as the old man’s head shook with his emotion. ‘Why, then you dishonoured him by an unheard-of outrage. Then, Tsar,’ he pushed back the table in his indignation, and sprang to his feet—‘then you ordered the boyard, Morozof, to wear the fool’s cap! You forced the man, who had saved Tula and Moscow, to play the fool to amuse you and your idle courtiers!’
“The look of the old warrior was fierce; the absurdity of his dress disappeared. His eyes flashed fire, his white beard fell on a chest scarred with many wounds now hidden beneath a jester’s cloak. So much dignity was there in him that by his side the Tsar looked mean.
“Tsar, your new fool stands before you. Listen to his last jest. While you live the people dare not speak, but when your hateful reign is over your name will be cursed from generation to generation, until, on the day of judgment, the hundreds and thousands you have murdered—men, women and little children, all of whom you have tortured and killed, all will stand before God appealing against you, their murderer. On that dreadful day I, too, shall appear in this same dress before the Great Judge, and will ask for that honour you took from me on earth. You will have no body-guard then to defend you; the Judge will hear us, and you will go into that everlasting fire prepared for the devil and his angels.’
“Casting a disdainful look upon the courtiers, Morozof turned round and slowly withdrew. None dared to stop him. He passed through the hall with great dignity, and not until the jingle of his bells ceased did any speak.”—Alexis Tolstoi.
His son, the Tsarevich Ivan, wished to lead an army against his father’s enemies in Lithuania. In this offer the jealous Tsar saw an attempt to gain popularity. He turned on Ivan savagely and struck him repeatedly with the iron-shod “sceptre” he always carried; the last blow knocked the young man senseless. He fell to the ground, and the Tsar, now frightened, did his utmost to save him, but he was injured too severely and died four days later.
There still exists in the monastery of St Cyril, Moscow, a synodal letter, in which are specified a number of victims for whom Ivan solicited the prayers of the Church. The souls of 3,470 in all are to be prayed for; 986 of these are mentioned by name, the others are cited as—“with his wife,” “with sons,” “with wife and children,” “Kazarim Dubrovski and his two sons and the ten men who came to their defence,” “twenty men of the village of Kolomensko,” “eighty of Matveche,” “Remember, Lord, the souls of thy servants to the number of 1,505 Novgorodians.”
In the number of wives recognised by the Church as more or less legitimately joined with him he beat Henry VIII. by only one, but in the number of mistresses he can be compared with Solomon alone. Anastasia Romanof died in 1560; in the same year he married Mary Tangrak, either a Cheremiss or Tartar. His next wife was chosen out of all the most eligible maids in Russia. Her name was Marfa Sabakina of Novgorod. The marriage took place on October 28, 1571, and on November 13 of the same year she died. Her brother, Michael, the Tsar impaled shortly afterwards. Ivan’s marriage with Natalia Bulkatov was not recognised by the Church. Anna Koltoski he took next, but he forced her into a nunnery later, where she lived until 1626. Anna Vasilichekov and one Mstislavski succeeded, but only one was recognised,—which one is disputed. Vassilissa Melentief, a great beauty, was his next choice, but the Church recognised only Maria Nagoi, the mother of the murdered Dmitri, whom he married in 1580. When but a few months wed, he informed Queen Elizabeth that he would put aside his wife, who was shortly to become a mother, if he could find a suitable partner for himself in England. Poor Lady Mary Hastings, learning something of his character, begged her sovereign not to mate her with such a barbarian. His harem was that of a Turk.
He was prematurely worn out with his excesses. He could obtain little peace. Superstitious, he sent for wizards and prognosticators; Finns who certainly foretold the day, if not the hour, of his death. The appearance of a comet greatly terrified him—the once mighty Tsar lost his strength. Like Herod of old he died a fearful death, and he left his country in a worse plight than he found it.
He was received into the Church before his demise, but he is officially known as Yoanna and familiarly as “Groznoi” (the Terrible). His evil deeds are forgotten by the people, whilst the enrichment of his country by others of his day is counted to his credit. He was the first “Tsar” of Russia, and not in name only; he was its first ruler to become an absolute autocrat.