By October 1916, with Stürmer and Protopopov occupying the key ministries of the Russian government, the Empress had apparently achieved what she had set out a year before to do. The ministers who signed the collective letter were gone; those in power fawned on Rasputin. “Stürmer and Protopopov both completely believe in our Friend’s wonderful, God-sent wisdom,” she wrote happily.
In fact, the entire arrangement—and with it, all Russia—was beginning to disintegrate. A new governmental scandal loomed up when Manuilov, Stürmer’s private secretary, was arrested for blackmailing a bank. Two episodes put the army’s loyalty in question. In Marseilles, a Russian brigade on its way from Archangel to fight in Greece suddenly mutinied and killed its colonel. French troops intervened and twenty Russian soldiers were executed. Far more serious, two infantry regiments in Petrograd, called out in October to disperse a crowd of striking workers, turned instead and fired on the police. Only when four regiments of Cossacks charged and drove the infantry back to their barracks at lance point was the mutiny subdued. This time, 150 soldiers went to the firing squad.
Worst of all was the growing economic breakdown. Nicholas, more perceptive than the Empress, had seen this coming for months. “Stürmer … is an excellent, honest man,” he wrote in June, “only, it seems to me, he cannot make up his mind to do what is necessary. The gravest and most urgent question just now is the question of fuels and metals—iron and copper for munitions—because with the shortage of metals, the factories cannot produce a sufficient quantity of cartridges and shells. It is the same with the railways…. These affairs are a regular curse…. But it is imperative to act energetically.” In August, he confessed that the load was becoming unbearable. “At times when I turn over in my mind the names of one person and another for appointments, and think how things will go, it seems that my head will burst. The greatest problem now is the question of supplies….” In September, as Alexandra was urging the appointment of Protopopov: “And whom am I to begin with? All these changes make my head go round. In my opinion, they are too frequent. In any case, they are not good for the internal situation of the country, as each new man brings with him alterations in the administration.” In November: “The eternal question of supplies troubles me most of all … prices are soaring and the people are beginning to starve. It is obvious where this situation may lead the country. Old Stürmer cannot overcome these difficulties…. It is the most damnable problem I have ever come across.”
Early in November, Nicholas, with Alexis, went to Kiev to inspect hospitals and to visit his mother, who was living away from Petrograd. On this visit, everyone noticed the change that had come over the Tsar. “I was shocked to see … Nicky so pale, thin and tired,” wrote his sister Grand Duchess Olga Alexandrovna, who was with her mother in Kiev. “My mother was worried about his excessive quiet.” Gilliard saw the same thing: “He had never seemed to me so worried before. He was usually very self-controlled, but on this occasion he showed himself nervous and irritable, and once or twice he spoke roughly to Alexis Nicolaievich.”
Under the pressure of his dual role as Tsar and Commander-in-Chief, Nicholas’s health and morale were beginning to suffer. Old friends such as Prince Vladimir Orlov had gone, driven away by their disapproval of Rasputin. Even old Count Fredericks managed to remain near the Tsar only by talking about the weather and other inconsequentia. In Kiev, Nicholas had thought to relax from the problems of war and government. Instead, in their first conversation Marie demanded that he dismiss Stürmer and push Rasputin away from the throne.
Although bowed by the cares of his office, Nicholas in Kiev made a graceful Imperial gesture. In the ward of the hospital where his sister worked, “we had a young, wounded deserter, court-martialed and condemned to death,” she wrote. “Two soldiers were guarding him. All of us felt very troubled about him—he looked such a decent boy. The doctor spoke of him to Nicky who at once made for that corner of the ward. I followed him, and I could see the young man was petrified with fear. Nicky put his hand on the boy’s shoulder and asked very quietly why he had deserted. The young man stammered that, having run out of ammunition, he had got frightened, turned and ran. We all waited, our breath held, and Nicky told him that he was free. The next moment the lad scrambled out of bed, fell on the floor, his arms around Nicky’s knees, and sobbed like a child. I believe all of us were in tears…. I have cherished the memory all down the years. I never saw Nicky again.”
While the Tsar was in Kiev, the Duma met and the storm began to break. Party lines no longer mattered: from extreme Right to revolutionary Left, every party opposed the government. Miliukov, the leader of the liberals, made a direct attack on Stürmer and Rasputin, and indirectly attacked the Empress. Stürmer he accused outright of being a German agent. One by one, as he ticked off his charges of inefficiency and corruption against the government, he asked after each accusation, “Is this stupidity or is it treason?” Miliukov was followed by Basil Maklakov, a Right-wing liberal, who declared, “The old regime and the interests of Russia have now parted company.” Quoting from Pushkin, he shouted, “Woe to that country where only the slave and the liar are close to the throne.”
By the time Nicholas had returned from Kiev to Headquarters, the outrage in the Duma could no longer be ignored. With his mother’s pleas ringing in his ears, the Tsar decided to dismiss Stürmer. The Empress was not entirely opposed, but she suggested a holiday rather than dismissal: “Protopopov … [and] our Friend both find for the quiet of the Duma, Stürmer ought to say he is ill and go for a rest for 3 weeks. It’s true … he is really quite unwell and broken by those vile assaults—and being the red flag for that madhouse, it’s better he should disappear a bit.”
Nicholas quickly agreed, and on November 8 (O.S.), he wrote, “All these days I have been thinking of old Stürmer. He, as you say rightly, acts as a red flag, not only to the Duma, but to the whole country, alas. I hear this from all sides; nobody believes in him and everyone is angry because we stand up for him. It is much worse than with Goremykin last year. I reproach him for his excessive prudence and his incapacity for taking on himself the responsibility of making them all work as they should. He is coming here tomorrow. I will give him leave for the present…. As to the future, we shall see; we will talk it over when you come here.”
Rasputin’s suggestion was that Stürmer give up one of his offices, the Ministry of Foreign Affairs, to appease the Duma, but not both: “Our Friend says Stürmer can remain still some time as President of Council of Ministers,” Alexandra reminded. But Nicholas, this time, had made up his mind. “I am receiving Stürmer in an hour,” he wrote on November 9 (O.S.), “and shall insist on his taking leave. Alas, I am afraid he will have to go altogether [i.e., give up the presidency of the Council of Ministers as well as the Ministry of Foreign Affairs]—nobody has confidence in him. I remember even Buchanan telling me at our last meeting the English consuls in their reports predict serious disturbances if he remains. And every day I hear more and more about it.”
The Empress was surprised at the Tsar’s decision. “It gave me a painful shock you also take away from him the Council of Ministers. I had a big lump in my throat—such a devoted, honest, sure man…. I regret because he likes our Friend and was so right in that way. Trepov [the new Premier], I personally do not like and can never have the same feeling for him as to old Goremykin and Stürmer—they were of the good old sort … those two loved me and came for every question that worried them, so as not to disturb you—this one [Trepov] I, alas, doubt caring for me and if he does not trust me and our Friend, things will be difficult. I too told Stürmer to tell him how to behave about Gregory and to safeguard him always.”
But Alexander Trepov, the new Prime Minister, already had decided how he would behave about Gregory. A former Minister of Communications, builder of the newly completed Murmansk railroad, Trepov was at once a conservative monarchist and a stern enemy of Rasputin. He was determined to purge the government of Rasputin’s influence.
As a first important step, he meant to evict Protopopov, Rasputin’s instrument. On accepting appointment to the premiership, he had won the Tsar’s promise that Protopopov would be dismissed. “I am sorry for Protopopov,” Nicholas wrote Alexandra, explaining his decision. “He is a good, honest man, but he jumps from one idea to another, and cannot make up his mind on anything. I noticed that from the beginning. They say that a few years ago he was not quite normal after a certain illness…. It is risky to leave the Ministry of Interior in such hands in these times.” Then, anticipating her reaction, he added significantly, “Only I beg, do not drag Our Friend into this. The responsibility is with me, and therefore I wish to be free in my choice.”
On hearing that both Stürmer and Protopopov were to be eliminated, Alexandra became desperate: “Forgive me, dear, believe me—I entreat you don’t go and change Protopopov now, he will be alright, give him the chance to get the food supply into his hands and, I assure you, all will go [well]…. Oh, Lovy, you can trust me. I may not be clever enough—but I have a strong feeling and that helps more than the brain often. Don’t change anybody until we meet, I entreat you, let’s speak it over quietly together….”
The next day, Alexandra’s letter rose in pitch: “Lovy, my angel … don’t change Protopopov. I had a long talk with him yesterday—the man is as sane as anyone … he is quiet and calm and utterly devoted which one can, alas, say of but few and he will succeed—already things are going better…. Change nobody now, otherwise the Duma will think it’s their doing and that they have succeeded in clearing everybody out…. Darling, remember that it does not lie in the man Protopopov or x.y.z. but it’s the question of monarchy and your prestige now, which must not be shattered in the time of the Duma. Don’t think they will stop at him, but will make all others leave who are devoted to you one by one—and then ourselves. Remember … the Tsar rules and not the Duma. Forgive my again writing but I am fighting for your reign and Baby’s future.”
Two days later, the Empress arrived at Headquarters on a visit already planned. Together, in the privacy of their room, they wrestled out the problem of Protopopov; the Empress won—and Protopopov remained in office. Nevertheless, the trial of strength was not easy for either of them. In Nicholas’s letter bidding farewell to the Empress at the end of her visit, there is evidence of the tension. It is, in fact, the only evidence in the whole of their correspondence of a serious personal quarrel. “Yes,” wrote the Tsar, “those days spent together were difficult, but only thanks to you have I spent them more or less calmly. You were so strong and steadfast—I admire you more than I can say. Forgive me if I was moody or unrestrained—sometime’s one’s temper must come out! … now I firmly believe that the most painful is behind us and that it will not be hard as it was before. And henceforth I intend to become sharp and bitter…. Sleep sweetly and calmly.”
Alexandra, sending her husband back to the front, could not help being pleased with her great triumph. Over the following days, a torrent of exhortation poured from her pen: “I am fully convinced that great and beautiful times are coming for your reign and Russia … we must give a strong country to Baby, and dare not be weak for his sake, else he will have a yet harder reign, setting our faults right and drawing the reins in tightly which you let loose. You have to suffer for faults in the reigns of your predecessors and God knows what hardships are yours. Let our legacy be a lighter one for Alexei. He has a strong will and mind of his own, don’t let things slip through your fingers and make him build all over again. Be firm … one wants to feel your hand—how long, years, people have told me the same ‘Russia loves to feel the whip’—it’s their nature—tender love and then the iron hand to punish and guide. How I wish I could pour my will into your veins…. Be Peter the Great, Ivan the Terrible, Emperor Paul—crush them all under you—now don’t you laugh, naughty one.”
Nicholas took these exhortations calmly. With a touch of acid, he replied: “My dear, Tender thanks for the severe scolding. I read it with a smile, because you speak to me as though I was a child…. Your ‘poor little weak-willed’ hubby, Nicky.” The immediate loser, however, was Trepov. Having failed to eliminate Protopopov, he tried to resign himself. Nicholas, freshly spurred by his wife’s letters, refused, telling him sternly, “Alexander Fedorovich, I order you to carry out your duties with the colleagues I have thought fit to give you.” Trepov, desperate, tried another way. He sent his brother-in-law, Mosolov, to call on Rasputin and offer him a handsome bribe. Rasputin was to get a house in Petrograd, all living expenses and a paid bodyguard, plus the equivalent of $95,000, if he would arrange Protopopov’s dismissal and then himself quit any further interference in government. As a sop, Trepov offered Rasputin a continued free hand with the clergy. Rasputin, already wielding immense power and having little use for wealth, simply laughed.
By the autumn of 1916, Petrograd society mingled a deep loathing of Rasputin with a blithe indifference to the war. At the Astoria and the Europa, the two best hotels in Petrograd, the crowds drinking champagne in bars and salons included many officers who should have been at the front; now there was no disgrace in taking extended leave and shirking the trenches. Late in September, the season began when society appeared at the Maryinsky Theatre to watch Karsavina dance in Sylvia and The Water Lily. Paléologue, taking his seat in the sumptuous blue-and-gold hall, was struck by the unreality of the scene: “From the stalls to the back row of the highest circle, I could see nothing but a sea of cheery, smiling faces … sinister visions of war … vanished as if by magic the moment the orchestra struck up.” Through the autumn, the splendid evenings continued. At the Narodny Dom, the matchless basso Fedor Chaliapin sang his great roles, Boris Godunov and Don Quixote. At the Maryinsky, a series of gorgeous ballets, Nuits Egyptiennes, Islamey and Eros, wrapped the audience in fairy tales and enchantment. Mathilde Kschessinska, the prima ballerina assoluta of the Imperial Ballet, danced her famous role in Pharaoh’s Daughter. In the treetops high above the ballerina’s head, a twelve-year-old student playing the part of a monkey jumped from branch to branch while Kschessinska tried to shoot him down with a bow and arrow. After the performance on December 6, the student, George Balanchine, was taken to the Imperial box to be presented to the Tsar and the Empress. Nicholas gave the boy a gentle smile, patted him on the shoulder and handed him a silver box filled with chocolates.*
To most of Russia, however, the Empress was an object of contempt and hatred. The German-spy mania was now flowering to its fullest, ugliest growth. Most Russians firmly believed in the existence of a secret pro-German cabal which was systematically betraying them from the top. The Tsar was not included in its supposed membership; whenever the subject of reconciliation with Germany came up, Nicholas always said bluntly that those who said he would make peace separately from his allies or while German soldiers stood on Russian land were traitors. But the unpopular Empress, along with Stürmer, a reactionary with a German name, and Protopopov, who had met a German agent in Stockholm, were widely and loudly accused. After the abdication, the entire Alexander Palace at Tsarskoe Selo was searched for the clandestine wireless stations through which these plotters were supposed to have been in secret communication with the enemy.
Rasputin, everyone assumed, was a paid German spy. In all the years since 1916, however, no evidence of any kind has ever been offered from either the German or the Russian side that this was so. On balance, it seems unlikely. For the same reason that Rasputin rejected Trepov’s bribe, he would have refused money. No foreigner could offer him more power than he already possessed; besides, he disliked foreigners, especially the English and Germans. What is more likely is that Rasputin was used and drained of the information he acquired by others who were German agents. In this sense, Kerensky argues, “it would have been inexplicable if the German General Staff had not made use of him [Rasputin].” It was not difficult to infiltrate Rasputin’s circle. He hated the war and did not avoid people who spoke against it. His entourage already was filled with so
wide a variety of people, many of them shady and disreputable, that a few additional faces would scarcely have been noticed. Rasputin was loud and boastful; all an agent would have had to do was sit and listen carefully.
There is some evidence that this is exactly what happened. Every Wednesday night, Rasputin was invited to dinner by Manus, a Petrograd banker. A number of charming and attractive ladies always were on hand. Everybody drank a great deal and Rasputin talked indiscriminately. Manus, Rasputin’s host for these evenings, was openly in favor of reconciliation with Germany. Paléologue, whose own local intelligence service was efficient, believed that Manus was the leading German agent in Russia.
On far flimsier evidence, the Empress was accused of treason. When Alexandra sent prayerbooks to wounded German officers in Russian hospitals, it was taken as evidence of collusion. Knox, at the front, met a Russian artillery general who shrugged his shoulders and said, “What can we do? We have Germans everywhere. The Empress is a German.” Even at Headquarters, Admiral Nilov, the Tsar’s devoted flag captain, cursed the Empress in violent language. “I cannot believe she is a traitoress,” he cried, “but it is evident she is in sympathy with them.”
Alexandra’s support of Rasputin seemed to confirm the worst. Most people took it for granted that the connection was sexual. In society drawing rooms, municipal council meetings, trade-union conferences and in the trenches, the Empress was openly described as Rasputin’s mistress. Alexeiev even mentioned the prevalence of this gossip to the Tsar, warning him that censorship of the soldiers’ letters revealed that they were writing continuously of his wife and Rasputin. As these rumors flew and feeling against Alexandra rose higher, many of the outward signs of respect in her presence were discarded. In the summer and fall of 1916, in hospital wards she was treated by some surgeons and wounded officers with careless disrespect and sometimes with open rudeness. Behind her back, she was referred to everywhere simply as Nemka (the German woman), just as the hated Marie Antoinette had been known to the people of France as L’Autrichienne (the Austrian woman). The Tsar’s brother-in-law Grand Duke Alexander, trying at this time to locate the source of some of these “incomprehensible libels” on the Empress, talked to a member of the Duma. Bitingly, the member asked, “If the young Tsarina is such a great Russian patriot, why does she tolerate the presence of that drunken beast who is openly seen around the capital in the company of German spies and sympathizers?” Try as he could, the Grand Duke could not supply an answer.
Nicholas and Alexandra: The Tragic, Compelling Story of the Last Tsar and his Family Page 46