34. Arrest of a police informer; informers were popularly known as “Pharaons.”
At this juncture Nicholas knew there was serious trouble in the capital city, but he did not yet realize its depth and intensity: like Louis XVI on July 14, 1789, he thought he was facing a rebellion, not a revolution. He believed that the disorder could be quelled by force. This is attested to by two decisions. Rejecting the Prime Minister’s request that he and his colleagues be allowed to turn over the reins of administration to a Duma cabinet, he ordered the cabinet to remain at its post.48 He accepted, however, Golitsyn’s recommendation to appoint a military dictator in charge of Petrograd security. He chose for this role sixty-six-year-old N. I. Ivanov, a general who had distinguished himself in the Galician campaign of 1914 and had long experience in the Corps of Gendarmes. During dinner that night, looking pale, sad, and worried,49 Nicholas drew Ivanov aside for a long talk. Ivanov was to proceed to Tsarskoe Selo at the head of loyal troops to ensure the safety of the Imperial family, and then, as newly-appointed head of the Petrograd Military District, assume command of the regiments ordered from the front to help him. All cabinet ministers were to be subordinated to him.50 At 9 p.m. Alekseev wired General Danilov, the chief of staff of the Northern Front in Pskov, to arrange for the dispatch of two cavalry and two infantry regiments composed of “the most stable [and] reliable” troops led by “bold” officers to join Ivanov.51 Similar orders went out to the headquarters of the Western Front.52 The size of the contingent—eight combat regiments augmented by machine-gun units—indicated that Nicholas and his generals envisaged a major operation to put down the mutiny.
35. Workers toppling the statue of Alexander III in the center of Moscow (1918).
Ivanov alerted the battalion of the Knights of St. George, composed of wounded veterans awarded the Cross of St. George for bravery in combat and assigned in Mogilev to guard headquarters. In conversation with friends, he seemed far from confident of the reliability of his men and the success of his mission.53 His contingent of eight hundred troops left Mogilev by train around 11 a.m., heading for Tsarskoe by the most direct route through Vitebsk and Dno. Ivanov himself followed two hours later.
One will never know whether, had Nicholas acted decisively in the days that followed, Ivanov would have succeeded, because his mission was aborted. But his prospects do not seem to have been as hopeless as the politicians and generals, under the politicians’ influence, seemed to believe. On February 27, only Petrograd was in rebellion: save for some sympathy strikes in Moscow, the rest of the country was quiet. Determined action by disciplined frontline troops might have suppressed a revolt that was still primarily a garrison mutiny. But the plan was given up because the politicians had persuaded themselves—mistakenly, as events were to show—that only the Duma was capable of restoring order. They, in turn, convinced the generals, who brought irresistible pressure to bear on Nicholas to give up power. In fact, when they were finally made, political concessions had the opposite effect of the one intended, transforming the Petrograd garrison mutiny into a national revolution.
That the Petrograd garrison had turned into rabble incapable of offering resistance is illustrated by an incident that occurred at the opening session of the newly formed Soviet on February 28. As recalled by Shliapnikov, after Chkheidze had opened the meeting and the Executive Committee given an account of its activity,
comments were heard on the report, a good many of them irrelevant. Soldiers spoke, representatives of regiments, bringing greetings and congratulations on the “people’s victory.” Owing to these speeches, the session of the Soviet quickly transformed itself from a businesslike meeting into a rally.… Near Taurida Palace resounded machine-gun fire. Sounds of the shooting penetrated the hall where the session was underway, reaching the keen ears of the soldiers. Instantly panic broke out. People rushed in a mob to the doors, filling Catherine’s Hall like a wave. Soldiers in that vast space also attempted to reach exits in various directions. Some broke windows to the garden to jump through the broken glass.
54
The Imperial train—blue with gold trim—left Mogilev at 5 a.m. on February 28, ahead of Ivanov and his troops, preceded by an escort train with staff and military guards. It did not take the most direct line to Tsarskoe, in order not to interfere with Ivanov’s mission.55 Instead, it followed a longer, circuitous route, heading initially east, in the direction of Moscow, then at Viazma changing directions northwest, toward Bologoe. This detour was to have grave consequences. Ivanov reached Tsarskoe on schedule, on March 1. Had the Imperial train followed the same route, Nicholas would have been with his wife on March 2, when he came under pressure to abdicate. The Empress was convinced that had she been at his side he would have resisted demands to give up the throne.
The Imperial entourage traveled all of February 28 without incident. But around 1 a.m., as the escort train pulled into Malaia Vishera, 170 kilometers southeast of the capital, an officer came aboard to say that the tracks ahead were under the control of “unfriendly” troops. When the Imperial car reached Malaia Vishera somewhat later, the Tsar was awakened. After a brief consultation, it was decided to return to Bologoe and from there proceed to Pskov, headquarters of the Northern Front, commanded by General N. V. Ruzskii, and the nearest point with a Hughes telegraph. Voeikov, who witnessed this episode, says that Nicholas maintained perfect composure throughout.56 The Imperial train pulled into Pskov at 7:05 p.m. on March 1.
On arrival, Nicholas was welcomed by the governor, but to everyone’s surprise and consternation, Ruzskii was missing. He appeared a few minutes later, “stooping, gray, and old, in rubber galoshes … his face pale and sickly, an unfriendly gleam from under his eyeglasses.”57 Ruzskii, who was to play a critical role in the events that unfolded, second only to that of Alekseev, was probably the most politicized of the commanding generals. He had often crossed swords with Protopopov over the latter’s handling of food supplies as well as his decision to withdraw the Petrograd Military District from Ruzskii’s command. His sympathies lay wholly with the Duma opposition. He disliked Nicholas and thought the institution of tsarism anachronistic. “Nicholas thus [would spend] the most crucial two days of his life under the influence of the military commander who was most decisively against [him].”58 From the moment of the Tsar’s arrival he sought to influence him first to grant concessions to the Duma and then to abdicate.*
Rodzianko was expected in Pskov that evening with a detailed report on the situation in the capital, but the Soviet prevented him from leaving. At 8:41 p.m. Pskov was informed of the fact.59
Nicholas had no inkling that he had become irrelevant, as events in the capital were moving under their own momentum. His civil and military officials there had lost all control over the situation. On March 1, the political conflict no longer pitted the Tsar against the Duma, but the Duma against a new contender for power, the Petrograd Soviet.
After the rioters had done their work, the center of attention shifted to Taurida. The Duma leaders had learned the previous night that the Tsar had ordered them to adjourn. Under the pressure of radical deputies, Rodzianko reluctantly scheduled for the following morning a session of the Progressive Bloc and the Council of Elders (Sen’oren Konvent), composed of representatives of the Duma parties.60 Now was the chance for the Duma to show its mettle by defying the Tsar’s order and reconvening as a revolutionary assembly. The Duma had so long stood in the forefront of the opposition to tsarism that as chaos spread in the city people’s eyes intuitively turned to it for leadership. The expectation was that it would proceed at once to form a cabinet and take charge of the country’s administration.
But now that it had, at long last, the opportunity to do so, the Duma took refuge in legalities. Nicholas was still sovereign: after he had ordered the Duma adjourned, it no longer had legal existence. Some deputies, from the left and right, urged that the Tsar’s wishes be ignored, but Rodzianko refused: instead, he cabled Nicholas asking authorization for the Duma
to form a cabinet. In the early afternoon Rodzianko consented to the Council of Elders deciding on the course of action. The senior statesmen of the Duma were very nervous. They did not want to inflame popular passions and contribute to anarchy by defying the Tsar. At the same time, they thought it impossible to do nothing because mobs were converging on the Duma building, demanding action. On February 27, a crowd of 25,000 filled the space in front of Taurida; some of the demonstrators penetrated the building.
Faced with this predicament, the Elders settled on a weak compromise. Deferring to the Tsar’s wishes, they asked the deputies to assemble at 2:30 p.m. in another chamber of Taurida—the so-called Semicircular Hall—as a “private body.” Present were most members of the Progressive Bloc, with the addition of socialists, but without the conservatives. This is how Shulgin describes the scene:
The room barely accommodated us: the entire Duma was on hand. Rodzianko and the Elders sat behind a table. Around them sat and stood, crowding, the others in a dense mob. Frightened, excited, somehow spiritually clinging to one another. Even enemies of Jong standing suddenly sensed that there was something which was equally dangerous, threatening, repulsive to them all. That something was the street, the street mob.… One could feel its hot breath.… With the street approached She to whom very few then gave any thought, but whom, certainly, very many unconsciously sensed. That is why they were pale, their hearts secretly constricted. Surrounded by a crowd of many thousands, on the street stalked Death …
61
After a chaotic discussion, in the course of which proponents of immediate assumption of power by the Elders clashed with the more cautious adherents of legitimacy, it was decided to form an executive of twelve Duma members, still of a “private” nature, to be known as the “Provisional Committee of Duma Members for the Restoration of Order in the Capital and the Establishment of Relations with Individuals and Institutions.” Chaired by Rodzianko, it initially consisted of representatives of the Progressive Bloc with the addition of two socialists (Kerensky and Chkheidze)—a coalition that extended from the moderate Nationalists to the Mensheviks. The ludicrously cumbersome name given the organization reflected the timidity of its organizers. The revolutionary upheaval which they had so long anticipated had caught them unprepared: experienced at dueling with ministers they had no idea how to handle raging mobs. They did not even know how to claim power. The writer Zinaida Gippius, observing the timidity of the Duma leaders and contrasting it with the resolute behavior of the radical intelligentsia in the Soviet, remarked in her diary on the psychological inhibition that held them back:
36. Provisional Committee of the Duma. Sitting on extreme left, V. N. Lvov, and on extreme right, M. Rodzianko. Standing on extreme left, V. V. Shulgin, and second from right, A. F. Kerensky.
They could only ask “legitimate authority.” The Revolution has abolished this authority without their participation. They did not overthrow it: they have only mechanically remained on the surface, on top—passively, without a prior arrangement. But they are
naturally
powerless because they cannot
take
power—it must be given to them and given from above. Until they feel
invested
with power, they cannot exercise it.
62
It has been argued63 that the failure of the Duma to proclaim at once, in an unequivocal manner, the assumption of power had disastrous consequences because it deprived the Provisional Government which issued from it of legitimacy. However, such importance as one can attach to this fact derives less from the legal aspects of sovereignty, which the population at large did not care about, than from the mentality which it revealed—namely, a dread of responsibility. An eyewitness says that the Duma group decided to constitute its Provisional Committee in an atmosphere not unlike that in which, in normal times, the Duma might have appointed a Fisheries Committee.64 The onetime head of the Petrograd Okhrana, A. V. Gerasimov, thought that in adhering to the fiction that it was not taking power, but forming a private body to deal with the disorders, the Duma leaders wanted also to protect themselves against criminal prosecution in the event that the crown succeeded in suppressing the rebellion—for in the course of the day they were apprised of the approach of General Ivanov’s punitive expedition.65
A Polish proverb has it that where there are no fish crayfish will do. In the eyes of the Petrograd mob, the Duma was the government, and from February 27 to March 1 numerous deputations made their way to Taurida to pledge support and loyalty. Among them were not only workers, soldiers, and intellectuals but also thousands of officers, the military units guarding the Imperial palaces, and, strangest sight of all, a detachment of the Corps of Gendarmes, which marched to Taurida to the strains of the “Marseillaise” bearing red flags.66 On March 1, Grand Duke Cyril Vladimirovich, the commandant of the Palace Guard at Tsarskoe Selo and a cousin of Nicholas, announced that he and his men acknowledged the authority of the Provisional Government.* 67
The sudden shift of sentiment on the part of the most illiberal elements of Petrograd society—right-wing officers, gendarmes, policemen—who only a few days before were pillars of the monarchy, can only be explained by one factor: fear. Shulgin, who was in the thick of events, had no doubt that the officers in particular were paralyzed with it and sought the protection of the Duma to save their lives from the mutinous troops.68
The Provisional Committee sent cables to the commanders of the armed forces informing them that to put an end to the crisis of authority it had assumed power from the old cabinet. Order would soon be restored.69
In the evening, Rodzianko visited Prime Minister Golitsyn to inquire whether the Tsar would consent to the formation of a Duma ministry. Golitsyn told him of Nicholas’s negative answer. When Rodzianko returned with this information to Taurida at 10 p.m. there followed lengthy discussions in the Provisional Committee which led to the inexorable conclusion that there was no choice but to assume de facto governmental authority. The alternative was either the complete collapse of order or the assumption of power by a rival and radical body, the Petrograd Soviet, which had come into existence the very same day.70
The revival of the Petrograd Soviet was first discussed by the Mensheviks on February 25, but the initiative came from two members of the Central Workers’ Group, who, having been jailed in January on orders of Protopopov, were freed by the insurgent mob on the morning of February 27: K. A. Gvozdev, its chairman, and B. O. Bogdanov, its secretary, both Mensheviks. An appeal was issued to the soldiers, workers, and other inhabitants of Petrograd to elect representatives to an organizing meeting of the Soviet that evening at Taurida. It was signed: “The Provisional Executive Committee of the Soviet of Worker Deputies.”71 This allowed almost no time for elections, and when the meeting opened that night few elected representatives were on hand. Although according to some accounts as many as 250 people showed up, most were onlookers; only forty to fifty were considered eligible to vote.72 The meeting chose a Provisional Executive Committee, or Ispolkom, of eight or nine persons, mostly Mensheviks: Chkheidze took over as chairman, with Kerensky and M. I. Skobelev as deputies. Since no protocols were kept, it cannot be established exactly what transpired. Some soldiers spoke and it was decided to admit soldiers into the Soviet in a separate section. There followed discussions of the food problem, of the need to create a militia to maintain order. It was resolved to publish Izvestiia as the official organ of the Soviet and to ask the Provisional Committee to withhold funds from the Imperial authorities by taking charge of the State Bank and other fiscal institutions.73
37. Troops of the Petrograd garrison assembling in front of the Winter Palace to swear loyalty to the Provisional Government.
38. A sailor removing an officer’s epaulettes.
On February 28 the factories and military units elected representatives to the Soviet. They chose overwhelmingly moderate socialists: the extremist parties (Bolsheviks, SR Maximalists, and Mezhraiontsy) receiv
ed between them less than 10 percent of the votes.74 Voting procedures were chaotic: they followed the traditional practices of Russian popular assemblies, which strove to secure not a mathematically accurate representation of individual opinions but a sense of the collective will. Small shops sent as many representatives as large factories, army units from regiments down to companies did likewise, with the result that the Soviet was overwhelmed by delegates from small enterprises and the garrison. In the second week of its existence, of the Soviet’s 3,000 deputies more than 2,000 were soldiers75—this in a city in which industrial workers outnumbered soldiers two or three times. In photographs of the Soviet, military uniforms dominate.
The plenary sessions of the Soviet, the first of which took place on February 28, resembled a giant village assembly: it was as if the factories and barracks had sent their bol’shaki They lacked agendas as well as procedures for arriving at decisions: the practice was through open discussion at which everyone who wished to speak had his say to reach a unanimous verdict. Like a village assembly, the Soviet at this stage resembled a school of fish capable of instantly reversing direction in response to an invisible command. Sukhanov thus describes these early gatherings:
“And what’s going on in the Soviet?” I remember asking someone who had come in from beyond the curtain. He waved his hand in a hopeless gesture: “A palaver! Anyone who wants gets up and says whatever he likes …”
I had several occasions to pass through the meeting hall. At first it looked as it had the night before: deputies were sitting on chairs and benches, at the table inside the room, and along the walls; among those in the seats and the aisles, and at each end of the hall, stood people of every description, creating confusion and disrupting the meeting. Then the crowds of standing people became so dense that it was difficult to get through, and they filled up the room to such an extent that those who had chairs also abandoned them, and the entire hall, except for the first rows, became one confused mass of standing people craning their necks.… A few hours later the chairs had completely vanished from the hall, so as not to take up space, and people, dripping with sweat, stood tightly squeezed together. The “Presidium” itself stood on the table, while a whole crowd of enterprising people who had climbed on the table hovered over the chairman’s shoulders, preventing him from running the meeting. The next day or the day after, the tables too had vanished, except for the chairman’s, and the assembly finally acquired the look of a mass meeting in a riding school.
The Russian Revolution Page 46