Nicholas and Alexandra: The Tragic, Compelling Story of the Last Tsar and his Family

by Robert K. Massie

  Nicholas, disgusted by this experience, would have been happy to end the experiment in representative government. It was Stolypin who insisted that the Tsar’s signature on the October Manifesto constituted a solemn promise to the nation which must not be broken. Grudgingly, Nicholas abandoned his plans for eliminating the Duma altogether and gave permission for the election of a Second Duma.

  As the Second Duma met for the first time, in February 1907, the ceiling of the hall caved in over their heads. It was an appropriate beginning for a Duma session which, in every way, was worse than the first. The Leftist parties, including the Social Democrats and the Social Revolutionaries, which had boycotted the First Duma, had won two hundred seats in the Second, more than a third of the membership. Determined to defy the government in every way, they turned the Duma into a madhouse of shouts, insults and brawls. At the other extreme, the reactionaries were determined to discredit and abolish the Duma once and for all. Police plots were arranged to incriminate the Leftist members, accusations were hurled, debates became violent and meaningless. At one point, Stolypin stood up amid a torrent of abuse and thundered, “All your attacks are intended to cause a paralysis of will and thought in the government and the executive; all these attacks can be expressed in two words which you address to authority: ‘Hands up!’ Gentlemen, to these words the government, confident in its right, answers calmly with two other words: ‘Not afraid!’”

  Again, Nicholas waited impatiently to rid himself of the Duma. In two letters to Marie, he let his bitterness flow:

  “A grotesque deputation is coming from England [to see liberal members of the Duma]. Uncle Bertie informed us that they were very sorry but were unable to take action to stop their coming. Their famous ‘liberty,’ of course. How angry they would be if a deputation went from us to the Irish to wish them success in their struggle against their government.”

  A little later he wrote: “All would be well if everything said in the Duma remained within its walls. Every word spoken, however, comes out in the next day’s papers which are avidly read by everyone. In many places the populace is getting restive again. They begin to talk about land once more and are waiting to see what the Duma is going to say on the question. I am getting telegrams from everywhere, petitioning me to order a dissolution, but it is too early for that. One has to let them do something manifestly stupid or mean and then—slap! And they are gone!”

  Three months later, the moment came. A deputy named Zurabov rose in the Duma and, in insulting and occasionally profane language, accused the army of training its soldiers exclusively for repressing civilians. Zurabov directly appealed to the troops to revolt and join the people in overthrowing the government. This insult to the Russian army was more than enough for Nicholas. He issued a manifesto accusing the Duma of plotting against the sovereign, troops were brought into St. Petersburg and the Duma was dissolved. Thirty Social Democratic members were exiled to Siberia and most other Leftist members were placed under police surveillance.

  Stolypin followed this dissolution by publishing a new electoral law which abandoned all pretense of universal suffrage and concentrated elective power largely in the hands of the country gentry. As a result, the Third Duma, elected in the autumn of 1907, was a thoroughly conservative body; its membership even included forty-five Orthodox priests. With this carefully tailored representative body, Stolypin generally got along well. He did not share the innate dislike for any legislature expressed by Nicholas and by mqst of his fellow ministers. In debate in the Duma, Stolypin’s great voice allowed him to argue his policies effectively. Nevertheless, when the Duma remained hostile, Stolypin had no qualms about invoking Article 87 of the Fundamental Laws, which empowered the Tsar to issue “urgent and extraordinary” emergency decrees “during the recess of the State Duma.” Stolypin’s most famous legislative act, the change in peasant land tenure, was promulgated under Article 87.

  Despite its prevailing conservatism, the Third Duma remained an independent body. This time, however, the members proceeded cautiously. Instead of hurling themselves at the government, opposing parties within the Duma worked to develop the role of the body as a whole. In the classic manner of the British Parliament, the Duma reached for power by grasping for the national purse strings. The Duma had the right to question ministers behind closed doors as to their proposed expenditures. These sessions, endorsed by Stolypin, were educational for both sides, and, in time, mutual antagonism was replaced by mutual respect. Even in the sensitive area of military expenditures, where the October Manifesto clearly had reserved decisions to the throne, a Duma commission began to operate. Composed of aggressive patriots no less anxious than Nicholas to restore the fallen honor of Russian arms, the Duma commission frequently recommended expenditures even larger than those proposed.

  Sir Bernard Pares, who was on the closest personal terms with many members of the Duma, looked back on the period with nostalgia: “May an Englishman, bred in the tradition of Gladstone, to whom the Duma was almost a home with many friends of all parties, recall that vanished past? At the bottom was a feeling of reassurance, and founded on it one saw a growing courage and initiative and a growing mutual understanding and goodwill. The Duma had the freshness of a school, with something of surprise at the simplicity with which differences that had seemed formidable could be removed. One could feel the pleasure with which the members were finding their way into common work for the good of the whole country…. Some seventy persons at least, forming the nucleus of the most important commissions, were learning in detail to understand both each other and the Government. One could see political competence growing day by day. And to a constant observer it was becoming more and more an open secret that the distinctions of party meant little, and that in the social warmth of their public work for Russia, all these men were becoming friends.”

  With the passage of time, Nicholas also began to have confidence in the Duma. “This Duma cannot be reproached with an attempt to seize power and there is no need at all to quarrel with it,” he said to Stolypin in 1909. In 1912, a Fourth Duma was elected with almost the same membership as the Third. “The Duma started too fast,” Nicholas explained to Pares in 1912. “Now it is slower, but better. And more lasting.”

  Despite Stolypin’s successes, there were influences constantly working to poison the relationship between the Tsar and his Prime Minister. Reactionaries, including such powerful men at court as Prince Vladimir Orlov, never tired of telling the Tsar that the very existence of the Duma was a blot on the autocracy. Stolypin, they whispered, was a traitor and a secret revolutionary who was conniving with the Duma to steal the prerogatives assigned the Tsar by God. Witte also engaged in constant intrigue against Stolypin. Although Stolypin had had nothing to do with Witte’s fall or with Nicholas’s contempt for Witte, the former Premier blamed the incumbent. Witte himself had written the 1905 Manifesto creating the Duma, but now, overflowing with spite, he allied himself with the reactionaries and worked a gradual corrosion on Stolypin’s power.

  Unfortunately, without intending it, Stolypin also had angered the Empress. Early in 1911, alarmed that a man such as Rasputin should have influence at the palace, Stolypin ordered an investigation and presented a report to the Tsar. Nicholas read it, but did nothing. Stolypin, on his own authority, then commanded Rasputin to leave St. Petersburg. Alexandra protested vehemently, but Nicholas refused to overrule his Prime Minister. Rasputin departed on a long pilgrimage to Jerusalem, during which he scrawled lengthy, flowery and mystical letters to the Empress.

  Stolypin’s banishing of Rasputin was still another example of the tragic isolation and lack of understanding which surrounded the Imperial family. Stolypin was not a heartless man. Had he once been present when the Tsarevich lay in pain and observed the relief which Rasputin brought to mother and child, he would not have ordered this forcible separation. Yet, in political terms, the abrupt purging of this dangerous influence from the palace must have seemed the essence of wisdom. To Alexandr
a, however, it seemed that Stolypin had deliberately severed the bond on which her son depended for life, and for this she hated the Prime Minister.

  Stolypin, meanwhile, was beginning to weary in office. Attempting to overturn the traditions of centuries in five years was more than even so robust a figure as Stolypin could manage. His health waned in repeated attacks of grippe and he became constantly irritable. For a man who preferred clear, decisive action, working with a sovereign who believed in fatalism and mysticism was frustrating. As an example, Nicholas once returned to Stolypin a document unsigned with the note: “Despite most convincing arguments in favor of adopting a positive decision in this matter, an inner voice keeps on insisting more and more that I do not accept responsibility for it. So far my conscience has not deceived me. Therefore, I intend in this case to follow its dictates. I know that you, too, believe that ‘a Tsar’s heart is in God’s hands.’ Let it be so. For all laws established by me I bear a great responsibility before God, and I am ready to answer for my decision at any time.”

  In March 1911, Stolypin lost his temper when the State Council rejected a bill which Stolypin had ushered through the Duma. Stolypin concluded erroneously that the Council had acted as it did because Nicholas had been maneuvering behind his back. In a fit of anger, stating that he obviously no longer commanded the Imperial confidence, he asked to be relieved of his office. The move was unprecedented. Two years before, when Stolypin had casually mentioned resigning, Nicholas had written: “This is not a question of confidence or lack of it; it is my will. Remember that we live in Russia, not abroad … and therefore I shall not consider the possibility of any resignation.”

  In the interim, Nicholas had not softened these views, and when Stolypin insisted, a heated argument took place. It was the Tsar who backed away. “I cannot accept your resignation,” he said to Stolypin, “and I hope that you will not insist upon it, for you must perceive that in accepting your resignation I not only should lose you but also should create a precedent. What would become of a government responsible to me if ministers came and went, today, because of a conflict with the Council, tomorrow, because of a conflict with the Duma? Think of some other way out and let me hear it.”

  At this moment of impasse, the Dowager Empress sent for Kokovtsov to get his impressions. She took Stolypin’s part. “Unfortunately, my son is too kind,” she said. “I can well understand that Stolypin is almost in despair and is losing confidence in his ability to conduct the affairs of state.” Then Marie began a frank discussion of Nicholas’s problems: “I am perfectly sure that the Tsar cannot part with Stolypin…. If Stolypin were to insist, I have not the slightest doubt that in the end the Tsar would give in. He has not given his answer because he is trying to find some other way out of the situation. He seeks advice from no one. He has too much pride and, with the Empress, goes through such crises without letting anyone see that he is agitated. … As time goes by, the Tsar will become more and more rooted in his displeasure with Stolypin. I feel sure that Stolypin will win for the present but for a short time only; he will soon be removed which would be a great pity both for the Tsar and for Russia…. My poor son has so little luck with people.”

  Marie’s prophecy was accurate. Nicholas arranged for Stolypin to stay by permitting him to suspend sittings of the Duma for three days to enact his law by decree in the interim. But a coolness sprang up between the two men. Stolypin, knowing how much encouragement the episode had given his enemies, lived in expectation of dismissal. He complained to his friends that he was being ignored at court, that petty slights such as forgetting to assign him a carriage or a place on an Imperial boat were being administered.

  In September 1911, Stolypin and Kokovtsov accompanied Nicholas to Kiev to unveil a statue of Alexander III. As the procession wound through the streets, the Tsar was surrounded by guards and police, but the carriage in which the two ministers were riding was completely unprotected. “You see, we are superfluous,” Stolypin said to Kokovtsov.

  By a startling but purely coincidental meshing of fates, Rasputin was in Kiev that day, standing in the crowd, observing the procession. As Stolypin’s carriage clattered past, Rasputin became agitated and began to mumble. Suddenly, he called out in a dramatic voice, “Death is after him! Death is driving behind him!” For the rest of the night, Rasputin continued muttering about Stolypin’s death.

  The following day, before the eyes of the Tsar, Peter Stolypin was assassinated. The Imperial party was attending a performance of Rimsky-Korsakov’s opera Tsar Sultan at the Kiev Opera House. Nicholas was sitting with his two eldest daughters in a box overlooking the stage, while Stolypin and other officials were seated in the first row of the orchestra. During the second intermission, Stolypin rose and stood with his back to the stage. As he did so, a young man in evening clothes walked down the aisle from the rear of the house. The Prime Minister looked at him questioningly. In response, the man drew a Browning revolver and fired two shots which struck Stolypin in the chest.

  From his box, Nicholas saw what happened next. He described the lurid scene in a letter to the Dowager Empress:

  “Olga and Tatiana were with me at the time. During the second interval, we had just left the box as it was so hot, when we heard two sounds as if something was dropped. I thought an opera glass might have fallen on somebody’s head and ran back into the box to look. To the right I saw a group of officers and other people. They seemed to be dragging someone along. Women were shrieking and directly in front of me in the stalls Stolypin was standing. He slowly turned his face towards me and with his left hand made the sign of the Cross in the air. Only then did I notice that he was very pale and that his right hand and uniform were bloodstained. He slowly sank into his chair and began to unbutton his tunic. Fredericks … helped him. Olga and Tatiana … saw what happened.

  “While Stolypin was being helped out of the theatre, there was a great noise in the corridor near our box; people were trying to lynch the assassin. I am sorry to say the police rescued him from the crowd and took him to an isolated room for his first examination…. Two of his front teeth were knocked out. The theatre filled up again, the national anthem was sung and I left with the girls at 11. You can imagine with what emotions…. Tatiana was very upset and she cried a lot…. Poor Stolypin had a bad night.”

  The plot against Stolypin was intricate and sordid. The assassin, Mordka Bogrov, was a revolutionary and, at the same time, a police informer. Allowed to continue his underground work while making regular reports to the police, Bogrov apparently gave his primary allegiance to the revolution. The commonly accepted and most likely version of the plot is that Bogrov used his police connections to achieve a revolutionary goal. Before the Tsar and Stolypin arrived in Kiev, Bogrov had given the police detailed information about a plot against Stolypin’s life. The police followed the trail and discovered, too late, that it was false. Meanwhile, Bogrov, using a police ticket to gain admittance, was striding into the opera, where his mission, supposedly, was to guard Stolypin by spotting and pointing out potential “assassins” who might have slipped through the police net. Inside, Bogrov drew a revolver from under his cape and fired.

  This was the official version and the one accepted by all of the Imperial family. “I cannot say how distressed and indignant I am about the murder of Stolypin,” wrote Empress Marie. “It is horrible and scandalous and one can say nothing good of the police whose choice fell upon such a swine as that revolutionary to act as informer and as guard to Stolypin. It exceeds all bounds and shows the stupidity of the people at the top.” Nevertheless, a question remains which this account does not answer: Why, if Nicholas was also present, did the assassin shoot the Prime Minister and not the Tsar? Although Bogrov was hanged and four officials of the police were suspended for negligence, the suspicion has always remained that Stolypin’s murder was the work of powerful reactionaries who had connections with the police.

  Nicholas’s shock over the murder of his Prime Minister was genuine. Stol
ypin lived for five days after the shooting, and the Tsar, although urged by palace security officials to leave Kiev immediately for the safety of Livadia, remained in the vicinity. “I returned to Kiev in the evening of September 3rd, called at the nursing home where Stolypin was lying, and met his wife who would not let me see him,” he wrote to Marie. Nicholas continued his program, making a short trip down the Dnieper. “On September 6th at 9 A.M. I returned to Kiev. Here on the pier I heard from Kokovtsov that Stolypin had died. I went at once to the nursing home, and a memorial service was afterwards held in my presence. The poor widow stood as though turned to stone and was unable to weep.”

  It was Kokovtsov who, on the night of the assassination, took the reins of government and averted a second disaster. Because Bogrov was a Jew, the Orthodox population of Kiev was noisily preparing for a retaliatory pogrom. Frantic with fear, the city’s Jewish population spent the night packing their belongings. The first light of the following day found the square before the railway station jammed with carts and people trying to squeeze themselves onto departing trains. Even as they waited, the terrified people heard the clatter of hoofs. An endless stream of Cossacks, their long lances dark against the dawn sky, rode past. On his own, Kokovtsov had ordered three full regiments of Cossacks into the city to prevent violence. Asked on what authority he had issued the command, Kokovtsov replied, “As head of the government.” Later, a local official came up to the Finance Minister to complain, “Well, Your Excellency, by calling in the troops you have missed a fine chance to answer Bogrov’s shot with a nice Jewish pogrom.” Kokovtsov was indignant, but, he added, “his sally suggested to me that the measures I had taken at Kiev were not sufficient … therefore I sent an open telegram to all governors of the region demanding that they use every possible means—force if necessary—to prevent possible pogroms. When I submitted this telegram to the Tsar, he expressed his approval of it and of the measure I had taken in Kiev.”