by H Schmidt
“Let me get to the point, General. As an American, I am interested in Russia staying in the war and honoring her commitments to the interests I represent.
But as someone married to the sister of the count for over ten years, and someone who has lived in Russia for fifteen years, I find it hard to watch the slide toward anarchy and socialism.”
“I understand.” The general paused for a moment, measuring what he wanted to say. “We share the same sentiments. You may be interested to know, Mr. Carson, that I am the son of a Cossack, a low-ranking officer. My family does not share the same titles as the count. What we share is our love for Russia. There is something that few acknowledge yet it is as clear as the noses on their faces. The old distinctions between nobles and commoners are disappearing now, and have been for the last one hundred years. I am a general in the Russian Army. Look at the officers’ corps, at some of the very best. Look at many of the wealthiest men in Russia. Look at the students at the universities. I do not want what has happened in the last one hundred years to stop happening because of the zealots who manipulate the Soviet and the Provisional Government at this moment.”
“Did you know, General, that you were followed here by Kerensky’s security police?”
“I am not surprised. We seem to watch each other more than the foreigners in our midst.”
Carson noticed that the general looked directly at him as he spoke. He let the remark slide by, mentally noting that the general needed some help with diplomacy. He noted also he would be a difficult man to purchase. He wondered if the Old Man knew that.
“General,” Carson decided to put his cards on the table, “we do not think Kerensky can stop the Bolsheviks. There is reason to believe he does not even see them as a threat. Most of the Soviet is made up of men and women who simply want a share of the power, and will leave Russia much as it is today. The Bolsheviks are different.”
“That is true.”
“Then I hope we can continue to talk. I will find a way to reach you.”
“Yes.” The general bowed to the count, then to Carson, turned and left. As he left Carson’s great house overlooking the river, a single, mounted Asian cavalryman waited, holding the reins of the general’s magnificent Arabian black. As the general mounted, his Turkoman Guard, which had waited several blocks down the street, moved forward and separated into two columns forming a narrow oval envelope with the general in its center. A crowd had gathered and waved at the general, who tipped his hat to acknowledge them. Carson had decided that they could count on the general to do his part. It was now a matter of preparing the way.
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“The Old Man is clear on this, Lieutenant. He wants Kornilov to take over the government until order is restored. Our job is to help the general in any way we can.”
Only Carson and Billy sat in the study where the meeting with Kornilov had taken place earlier that day. Carson had asked Billy to take a seat while he walked about the room, forcing Billy to turn his head to keep his eye on the older man. Billy had made a mental note early in their relationship that Carson seemed to have an unlimited amount of energy. Although this was the first time they had met in several months, he recalled the telephone calls to the embassy before light and after midnight. There were reports of contacts at such unusual hours from others.
“Mr. Carson, this is dangerous for Russia and for American interests. If Kornilov tries and fails, anything can happen.”
“You mean the Bolsheviks?” “Yes, sir.”
Carson looked at the young man. He recalled his history in Mexico. The inquiry. They had known he may well be a loose cannon, but it was the Old Man who insisted that he be the one to do the job. In his years in Russia, he had never seen an American who immersed himself into the life of Russia quite like the lieutenant.
“Lieutenant, this is not a matter to be decided, it already has been.” “I understand, sir.”
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The Foreign Office in Berlin was beginning to panic. The July putsch by the Bolsheviks had been a disaster. The careless work of the German Treasury and the German banks had resulted in information getting into the hands of the Russian Provisional Government of the payments made to the Bolsheviks. By luck and the naiveté of Kerensky and his cabinet, most of the conspirators had been set free. Still, the accusations by the Provisional Government had hurt the Bolsheviks and their popularity in Russia had plummeted.
With America now officially in the war, with its troops already in Europe, peace with Russia was Germany’s last hope. If a separate peace could be made with Russia, and raw materials begin to flow into Germany from the east, new life could be breathed into the German war effort. If the war continued in the east, Germany would collapse.
Fritz Wechsler has worked for the Foreign Office for fifteen years. In that time, he had one job, to keep track of the command changes in the Russian Government and prepare very dry reports on the changes, and as a reward for long service, to give his assessment of the effects they would have. Although the Germany military had its own intelligence service, and paid little attention to the work of the Foreign Office, that changed with the one-page report on General Lavr Kornilov dated August 5, 1917.
Memorandum to Special Assistant to the Chief, Foreign Office From: Russian Desk of Foreign Intelligence Division Reports in Ruskoe slovo that General Lavr Kornilov offered position of commander in chief of the Russian Army. Reliable report that Kornilov has refused to accept until internal reforms in army have been instituted. One such reform to rescind Order Number One, which grants power to Soviet to overrule Provisional Government on military matters and allows Soviet committees in army to override authority of officers. Rescission of Order Number One likely to increase effectiveness of army, increasing resistance in the east. Speculation that Kornilov prime candidate to lead an army coup, assuming power in place of Provisional Government.
Conclusion: Rescission of Order Number One would increase effectiveness of army. Successful coup would diminish chances of Bolsheviks to assume power, and likelihood of peace with Russia. Kornilov prime candidate to lead coup.
Recommendation: That effort be undertaken remove Kornilov from present position. That effort be supported by information that Kornilov planning counterrevolutionary coup.
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Anna Tsereteli stood looking at the water. The deep depression that covered her like a heavy canvas made her stare for the last half hour at the water as it swirled around the piers of the bridge. She hadn’t intended to stop on the bridge. She knew that Petrograd was a dangerous place, no place for a woman alone and at night.
Fedor had hit her again when she told him she had not yet met Lieutenant Housman. This time he had struck her in the stomach, causing her to lay contorted, struggling to breathe. He had stood over her, threatening her with worse if she ever disobeyed him again. How had this happened? How did her life, the beautiful daughter of Count Tsereteli, turn into this; being told she must become a prostitute in the name of Liberty and Land, the slogan in great red letters seen all over Petrograd?
As she looked down, the water seemed to draw her toward it. It would be so easy, simply to pull herself onto the railing and let go. It would be over. The sense of hopelessness. The shame. No one was around. No one would know.
Billy watched the girl from the end of the bridge. He stood in the shadows where she could not see him. When he first saw her, he started to go over to her. Something about the way she stood, the sagging shoulders and her stillness, made him pause to watch her. It seemed only Alexander Kerensky did not know that Anna was Riezler’s mistress. He hoped her father, as well. When he would visit the suite of offices where Kerensky worked, he would often say hello to Anna. He had seen situations where beautiful girls had been attracted by unlikely men, but why Riezler? The first time he had seen Riezler, he was speaking to a crowd of soldiers. Despite the dislike for him, he could not help but admire the way he spoke, the deep voice that carried over the crowd, the cadence that brought approving
shouts or shouts of hate when he demanded them. Perhaps, Riezler had the same effect on Anna. He could understand that it might.
As he watched, he saw her shoulders begin to bounce up and down. She was crying.
How to do this? He started to whistle a Scott Joplin tune loud enough to carry onto the bridge. Then he began to walk the thirty meters between them. He walked slowly, hoping she would have time to compose herself.
“Good evening, Mademoiselle Tsereteli. I see you are out at this late hour, as well. You heard that I learned my lesson about that. I wouldn’t want anything to happen to you.”
He didn’t know why he felt the need to talk. Perhaps because he was afraid Anna Tsereteli was about to unburden herself on him. That was something that had happened only a few times in his life, and he did not relish the thought of having it happen again.
The dark-haired girl turned toward Billy. He could see her eyes were red, her face swollen from crying. He stood looking at her for a moment, shifting from one foot to the other, trying to think what to say.
“May I walk you home, Mademoiselle?” He tried to offer her a comforting smile and hoped it helped. He reached out to take her hand. She hesitated for a moment, looking at the shy young man. She thought to herself; where is home? I do not want to return to Fedor, but I am afraid. I am ashamed to return to the family. Where can I go?
“Please leave me, Lieutenant. You cannot help.”
He looked at the girl who was the mistress of Fedor Riezler who had slept with Kerensky, certainly with the knowledge of and likely on the orders of Riezler. She might have been urged to do the same with me, he thought. But not now. No one could have known he would be on the bridge tonight. There was no pattern to his walks. What he saw was a young girl who needed help. He did not know if Riezler had thrown her out or she wanted to leave him; whatever the case, she needed help.
Walking up to her, he looked down at Anna. “Come with me, Anna. There is someone I want you to see.”
The walk took almost half an hour. At first, Anna Tsereteli said nothing, simply walked beside Billy, docilely staying in step. Then, she began to talk, the words flowing in a torrent, speaking of the great urge to be part of the revolution, of the guilt she felt, of how she had shamed her father and her family. By the time they reached the house, she seemed better, calmer. He knocked on the door.
When the servant opened the door, Billy asked, “May I speak to Elizaveta Voravskii, please.”
---
Billy remembered the electricity in the air when Lenin had arrived five months ago at the Finland Station. He could feel it at the Moscow State Conference as General Lavr Kornilov arrived at the Bolshoi Theatre to speak. He watched as members of the Duma and citizens of Moscow lifted the general aloft and carried him into the theatre. Inside the theatre, shouts of “Kornilov, Kornilov”, drowned out the member of the Duma who had come to introduce the general. As the wiry general walked onto the stage, men began to stamp their feet, alarming many in the boxes, as the building seemed to vibrate. Billy had heard about the crowds that would gather for United States senators, the president and other famous persons in America.
He had always believed that such receptions were spontaneous. Looking at the work done the previous four days on behalf of the general, he had been awakened to realpolitik.
Meetings with right wing and moderate newspaper editors had taken hours of the time of the small group Count Voravskii had assembled to work on letting the newspapers know of the accomplishments of General Kornilov, the demands made by the general that the Duma allow reforms of the military, the need for leadership to save Russia from the invading Germans. Editors on the fence were contacted by industrialists, sympathetic artists and writers, members of the church, or whoever might be able to beat the drums for the general. Editors might have noted that calls were surprisingly similar in their message, that the general wants nothing for himself; he is only concerned with saving the country as a soldier. A simple soldier, he had protested time and time again that he had no interest in being a politician, only in winning support for an army that could throw the Germans out of Russia.
Remembering the film The Life of Pancho Villa, Billy had arranged for the only filming crew in Moscow to travel to Kornilov’s headquarters and quickly assemble clips of the general commanding his troops. The marquees of the theatres in Moscow all contained mention of the general. Inside, they were treated to a one-minute of the self-conscious general. One of the clips showed the general speaking to his troops. Under the picture, the caption, We Will Drive the Germans Back to Berlin. Billy was pleased when he heard crowds in the theatres stood and cheered.
Government officials made arrangements to allow workers to take the day off on the fourteenth to welcome the general to Moscow. Billy had let it be known that American dollars were available to small businesses, banks, fraternal organization, and service organizations to create demonstrations of support for the general. Thousands of pictures were printed and distributed to those who wanted to display pictures of the man who was working mightily to save Russia.
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Two hours before, Kerensky read the editorial of the right wing Novoe vremia. He cursed under his breath at the editor who wrote that Russia could only be saved if he submitted to the authority of the general. Now, after examining all the pitfalls and opportunities before him, he felt better. It was time to act.
“Nicolai Vissaronovich, please come into my office.” When the young assistant saw the minister, he was surprised at his placid demeanor. He knew of the attacks by the press and the reports of growing support expressed openly for Kornilov. Before the state conference, he had seen and heard his master go into fits of rage when talking about Kornilov and the game the general was playing. Before the conference, he had called the general to Petrograd to advise him of the matters he was allowed to discuss. Only matters of a military nature. When the general had quickly agreed, it only made him angrier, convinced that the general would not openly seek the leadership of Russia, but would wait to have it thrust upon him.
Nekrasov had watched the adoring crowds lift the general on their shoulders, and carry him into the Bolshoi Theatre. He winced as Kerensky was shuttled into the background, a stage prop for Kornilov.
“I have received distressing news, Nicolai Vissaronovich.” Then why did he not seem distressed? “It seems the Bolsheviks are planning another putsch in ten days. We will need to consult our general.”
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General Kornilov arranged to meet Dmitri Turgenev privately in the house of the mayor in the small village near Pskov. He had been asked that the matter to be discussed in greatest secrecy.
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The money, over two hundred fifty thousand German marks, had been transferred to the Swedish Bank. Twenty-four hours later it resided in the new account of Boris Kalunin in the Siberian Bank in Petrograd. Acting as a conduit to the Bolsheviks, Kalunin had begun withdrawals to finance the campaign to destroy Kornilov. In the first issues of Pravda sent to all Soviet committees in army battalions and companies and to every ship in the navy, little mention was made of Kornilov. The articles spoke instead of the efforts by counterrevolutionaries to rescind Order Number One, to abolish all military Soviet committees. This was to allow the generals and their junior officers to send the soldiers and sailors of Russia into battle for the benefit of nobles and the rich who profit from the war.
Pravda renewed its attacks on the war, blaming again the counterrevolutionaries who cared nothing about soldiers and workers. It called upon the Soviet committees to reach out to their brothers in the German and Austrian armies, to refuse to fight against each other. Turn their wrath instead on the officers and their masters.
Billy read the editions of Pravda with concern. For a week, the editions focused on saving the military Soviet committees against counterrevolutionaries and demanding peace with the Germans. He had listened to Carson and Count Voravskii curse Kerensky for allowing Pravda to start their presses again. All tha
t was done in the first half of August was now being undone.
It was his job to read what this attack meant. The attack on efforts to rescind Order Number One was not surprising. Certainly, any attack on Ispolkom’s and the Bolshevik’s power would produce a counter attack. He was troubled by two other pieces of news, unconfirmed, that fit with the attack. One, there was a rumor that the Bolsheviks were planning something. Shipments of arms from the Allies had been intercepted near Murmansk and disappeared three days ago.
The second piece of information, still only a rumor, was that Kornilov had met with Dmitri Turgenev the previous evening. Billy never allowed himself to formulate conclusions too quickly. Instead, he had taught himself to take pieces of information and construct scenarios, the more bizarre the better. He would often lay out pieces of paper on his desk with all the possible scenarios, then do what he called plausibility tests on them. He would dissect each piece of a scenario, asking himself the question: was this possible?
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It had been a shock to Elizaveta Voravskii that Anna Tsereteli, the daughter of the renegade Count Tsereteli, had slept with Fedor Riezler. For the first few days, Elizaveta had comforted the girl, seeing that something had crushed her spirit. It was when Anna had finally confided in her about her life with Riezler, that she was tested in her dedication to charity. She had remembered how she wanted to scream at the foolish woman that Riezler had murdered her father and to throw her out of their house. Instead, she kept her promise to Billy. She would try to help the wretched girl.
“My uncle has told me what is happening, Lieutenant.” They were walking beside the river when Elizaveta spoke. The news had caused him to stop and turn to Elizaveta. Why had the count brought this gentle girl into this? Then he considered his first thought and answered himself; because she had that right.