Krivoshein: The propagation of revolutionary sentiments is more helpful to the enemy than all the other misdemeanors of the press. What recommendations can we make to the military censors—except to use their common sense and behave patriotically? Not one of us has ever been a censor, but everybody understands what is impermissible in the destructive work of the contemporary press.
Meanwhile the tone of the State Duma had become extremely aggressive. For instance:
Kerensky: The catastrophe which is upon us can be averted only by changing the executive immediately. To those now carrying the banner, with no right to do so, we must say, “Depart! You are destroying the country! We want to save it! Let us govern the country or it will perish!”
This had a brave ring in the Duma. But what the cabinet saw was:
Krivoshein: … something between the Convention and the Committee of Public Safety. Under cover of patriotic alarm they are trying to introduce a sort of second government. It’s an insolent assault on the government and yet another excuse to shout about the frustration of self-sacrificing public initiatives. We cannot keep backing down—if we do, there will be no limit to their demands. The Duma is getting too big for its boots, it’s practically converting itself into a Constituent Assembly and trying to create a Russian legislature that ignores the executive. It’s some sort of psychosis, a disorder of the senses.
Kharitonov: This is the kind of absurdity into which partisan political ambitions can lead people. All these gentlemen should be made to sit for a while around the cabinet table and see what it’s like hour after hour in the ministerial frying pan. Many of them would soon find their dreams of tempting portfolios fading.
But those dreams were very stubborn. And government in Russia seemed so nearly extinct that, on 26 August, Ryabushinsky, rudely as ever, blurted out in his Morning Russia a proposal to set up a new government, with Rodzyanko as Prime Minister, Guchkov as Minister of the Interior, Milyukov at Foreign Affairs, Shingarev at Finance, and V. Maklakov at Justice. Of the bureaucrats only the two most acceptable to the public were retained: Polivanov as Minister of War and Krivoshein as Minister of Agriculture.
Conscious of his special position as a bureaucrat not anathematized by the public, Krivoshein undertook to look for a way out. As the Duma session was extended into August, and its members grew louder and shriller, some form of collaboration had to be sought. (As a start he obtained a vice presidency of the Duma for the amenable Prince Volkonsky.) He had in mind the example of Stolypin, who had succeeded in avoiding conflict with the Duma and controlling it, with the support of a majority, without being responsible to it. In the Fourth Duma, however, there was no majority, merely a number of distinct factions. Krivoshein was the first to think of creating a majority by welding as many of the factions as possible into a single bloc on which the Prime Minister could openly rely, ignoring the Tsar’s vacillations and his zigzag changes of mood. For there were only two paths the government could follow: it could show that governmental authority still existed in Russia by introducing an iron dictatorship (but the conditions for this did not exist, given the general indiscipline, nor was there anyone in sight who could assume dictatorial power), or else it could make concessions to the public and rule in agreement with it.
Members of the Duma adopted the idea. During that August so-called progressive personalities began meeting in the Duma lobbies and in private apartments, and the required majority began to take shape under the name of the Progressive Bloc, including Kadets, Octobrists, who were supposed to be quite incompatible with them, and Nationalists. Only the extreme right and the extreme left were excluded. Milyukov, with his usual foresight and industry, kept a brief record of those secret negotiations.
Shulgin (Nationalist): Since the Kadets have become semi-patriots, we patriots have become semi-Kadets. We start with the assumption that the government is quite useless. We must bring the pressure of a bloc three hundred strong to bear on it.
A. D. Obolensky (centrist): On the contrary, if we do not join in solidarity with the government the Germans will defeat us.
The Bloc was created, but seemed not altogether well disposed toward a moderate government. The metaphor in vogue with members of the Bloc was:
We and the government are fellow travelers, seated alas in the same compartment, but refusing to make each other’s acquaintance.
A clever comparison. But who, if anybody, was the engine driver?
Krupensky (centrist): The legislative chambers have a harmful influence on the masses with their speechifying.
Vl. Gurko (rightist): You could grant the country all kinds of freedoms and still be defeated in war. We need to organize for victory.
D. Olsufiev: But we must prepare the country even for possible defeat, so that failure will not bring in its train an internal upheaval.
The thoroughgoing Milyukov suggested drawing up a program acceptable to all of them.
Efremov (leader of the Progressists, formerly left Octobrists): What do you mean, program! What we want is not a program but a change of government!
Nonetheless they began discussing a program. It was complicated. Every natural demand—class equality, the introduction of rural district zemstvos in the East, cooperatives, the indefinite extension of prohibition in Russia—looked like a long-term peacetime objective. What were the immediate nonnegotiable issues which simply could not be postponed? All the ethnic problems and above all that of the Jews.
Obolensky: The Jewish question is three times as important as the rest of the program. It is essential to our credit, to the standing of Russia. The Americans are making free access of American Jews to our country a condition.
Krupensky: I am a born anti-Semite, but I have come to the conclusion that we must make concessions for the good of our motherland. The Jews are a great international force, and the support of our allies depends on them.
Second in importance was the question of the amnesty, which had been over two years in coming.
Obolensky: Until the government grants an amnesty we can have no trust in it.
Milyukov: And remember that we must demand an amnesty for all political prisoners, including terrorists.
Shingarev: The program must be an ultimatum to the government, not just good advice.
All sorts of things were smuggled into the program—most important:
Only a government of people enjoying the trust of the country can lead our fatherland to victory.
Olsufiev: In fact, we are demanding parliamentary government.
M. Kovalevsky: We will be the winners if it gets into the press that the Bloc wanted to create a government of national defense and the Duma was then sent packing.
A “government of trust” meant one trusted by the three hundred members of the Progressive Bloc, and hence by the people as a whole. But who were these persons? That old question. Can’t you see that we are, the Duma orators, known to everybody. Only
V. Maklakov: People popular in the Duma will soon cease to shine in government.
Come, come! Surely we can’t manage worse than the Tsar’s obtuse bureaucrats!
Gurko: Yes, everything hinges on personalities, or rather on a single personality who can take full responsibility and choose others to suit himself. We must put the right man at the rudder.
Secretly many hearts beat faster: can I be the one?
To think how readily they had rejected Witte when he offered ministerial posts to the Kadets! How quick they had been to refuse power in 1905 … and since then no one had renewed the offer.
Then Milyukov proposed that they draw up a list of the most suitable candidates, provoking a horrified reaction.
Vl. Bobrinsky: Any discussion of names will get into the press. It will be used against us! And if we single out one man it will be so much the worse: the powers that be will destroy that candidate!
A leak occurred in one of Ryabushinsky’s publications. A very unwelcome disclosure.
Still and all … they had to na
me a Prime Minister.
Unexpectedly, they started mentioning Krivoshein! That’s how timid Russians can be—even the most prominent of them! Timid enough to choose a bureaucrat, when there were progressive public figures on hand.
Milyukov: This changes the whole political purpose of our coalition.
They lacked courage—as they might lack air climbing a mountain. It was after all a frightening step to take—from coining slogans to naming names. To say, “We are your normal rulers, not they.” Guchkov was nominated, and Milyukov said, “That doesn’t suit us.” Perhaps, though, it really was too soon to name a Prime Minister? Goremykin, the experienced, worldly-wise, in fact rather blasé courtier with the tired eyes, fluffy mustache, and long sideburns like two beards, took his surreptitious little trips from Petrograd to Tsarkoye Selo and back, but would not enter into negotiations with the bloc. He put a cynical interpretation on the statesmanlike preoccupations of the liberals: they couldn’t wait to exchange their rented apartments for ministerial accommodations at public expense, ministerial salaries, and official cars.
Goremykin dawdled through his duties completely indifferent to the post he occupied. He made no move to reach an accommodation with the Duma, he was too old to fear terrorists and too experienced to fear a ministerial revolt, and whereas he might once have feared royal anger he now felt only pity for the Tsar.
Krivoshein himself, after refusing the premiership so often, in the assurance that he could always take over from the aged Goremykin, now found to his astonishment that he could not take over. Times had changed. Goremykin had stopped being amenable and docile and was stubborn beyond all reason in his loyalty to the Tsar, especially in this accursed matter of the Supreme Command. He was a millstone around the necks of the more liberal ministers, he ruined relations with the Duma, he must be removed right now!
True, in the eyes of the Emperor, Krivoshein had remained Goremykin’s agreed-upon successor, but Goremykin showed no signs of retiring.
But if we look deeper we can see that every man has limits he cannot overstep. Now, as in the past, Krivoshein could not have brought himself to assume prime ministerial responsibility. He was, and always had been, one of nature’s number twos.
Nearly all the ministers, except Goremykin and old Khvostov, held frequent secret meetings to ply their intrigue, on the banks of the Bolshaya Nevka, in the Botanical Gardens on Aptekarsky Island, or at Krivoshein’s villa, since the capital was so airless in summer. In these secret conferences the fate of the government was up for decision. Who should replace Goremykin? They settled on Polivanov. Polivanov was Guchkov’s man, Krivoshein could get along with him, the Duma would welcome him (he flattered it in every public statement he made), and the Emperor himself ought to be pleased with the idea of promoting the War Minister to the premiership in time of war.
Krivoshein did in fact put the idea to the Emperor, who liked it, although he was not fond of Polivanov. Krivoshein then grew even bolder and proposed that Guchkov should join the government.
The Emperor’s face clouded over and he immediately withdrew into himself. He regarded Guchkov as his inveterate personal enemy.
He immediately saw the whole proposal as a conspiracy (which indeed it was).
And by reflex reaction he turned against Krivoshein, for the first time in many years. The change of the Supreme Command had begun to look like a dormant, successfully bypassed question, but suddenly it was explosively touched off by the Moscow City Duma. On 31 August, that body adopted three resolutions: to send the Grand Duke an enthusiastic telegram, to call for a “government of trust,” and to demand, though in respectful terms, that the Emperor receive its own representatives. This was not the business of any City Duma, but that of Moscow was regarded as the flag-bearer of Russian educated society, its preferred spokesman and its center.
On 1 September, the Council of Ministers, fearful and helpless, was in a whirl. They interrupted and contradicted each other without listening.
Shcherbatov: The Moscow Duma’s request for an audience with the Emperor is unacceptable in form and substance. Discussions with the Tsar cannot be conducted behind the backs of the government and the legislative institutions. Either we have a government or we do not. Other cities will fall in behind Moscow, and the Emperor will be overwhelmed with hundreds of petitions.
Goremykin: The easiest thing is not to answer all these loudmouths and to pay no attention to them once they trespass on things which are none of their business. We must support our Sovereign Emperor in these difficult times and find the answer that will make his position easier. These so-called public figures are entering upon a line of activity on which they must be firmly resisted.
Kharitonov: A matter fraught with consequences. We must not forget that the Muscovites speak under the flag of loyalist feelings. Their address to the Grand Duke is a warning—and one we cannot ignore.
Polivanov: I cannot consent to oversimplified solutions of matters of the greatest political importance. After the Moscow resolution the change of Supreme Commander will have a demoralizing effect and will be interpreted as an act of defiance. What is so very revolutionary in their resolution? A government relying on the confidence of the population—that’s normal in any state.
Sazonov: What has happened in Moscow convinces me that the question of the Supreme Command must at all costs be postponed.
Samarin: The mood in Moscow is a quick and vivid confirmation of what I have been saying. A change of command threatens our motherland with the gravest consequences. Nor can the mayor of Moscow be denied a hearing—that would be a gratuitous affront to the senior capital. Indeed, his reception must be particularly gracious and welcoming; they must make a big fuss over him.
Just a few days ago they had all been reconciled to the change of Supreme Commander, and busy thinking up emollient phrases for the imperial rescript, but now the Moscow Duma had revived their old objections.
Krivoshein: That agrees with what I myself hear from Moscow: feelings there are running very high, and could create a situation in which we would be unable to continue the war. We must avoid exacerbating the public’s irritation. The question confronting us is much broader and more crucial. Where will we be if the whole organized public begins to demand a government invested with the confidence of the country? This sort of situation cannot long continue. We must speak frankly about this to the Emperor, who is unaware of what is going on around him and does not realize the situation in which his government and the whole state machine find themselves. We must open our sovereign’s eyes to the critical nature of the present moment. And tell him that he must either react forcefully and with confidence in his own might
(he mentioned this possibility for form’s sake, nobody still believed in that possibility)
or openly seek to win public confidence for the regime. The golden mean infuriates everybody. There must be either military dictatorship or reconciliation with society. Our cabinet does not measure up to public expectations, and must make way for another in which the country can have confidence.
(Though he himself certainly expected to survive in the new cabinet.)
The Emperor’s decision to take over the Supreme Command, which is now universally known, is disastrous. It may have the gravest consequences for Russia and for the outcome of the war. And that is a risk for the dynasty. We must ask the Emperor to summon us all together so that we can implore him to give up his intention of replacing the Grand Duke and at the same time radically revise the character of his policy on the home front. I hesitated for a long time before finally coming to this conclusion but now every day is like a year. It isn’t a question of revolution, but of the population’s boundless fear for the future. The dismissal of the Grand Duke is unthinkable, but all the same a complete retraction would affect the authority of the monarch. A compromise is necessary: he should make the Grand Duke his aide. We must be firm with the Emperor, we must not just ask, we must demand. Let the Tsar cut off our heads, let him banish
us to remote places (that, alas, he would not do), but if he rejects our representations we must announce that we are no longer able to serve him loyally.
Shakhovskoy: We are at a turning point on which the whole future depends. While the public’s aspirations are still moderate it would be dangerous to reject them outright.
Polivanov: According to rumors reaching the War Ministry, soldiers in the trenches are saying that their last protector, the only one who keeps the generals and officers in check, may be taken from them.
Ignatiev (Minister of Education): There is a ferment among student youth, ostensibly caused by sympathy for the Grand Duke. The student body may mount demonstrations and protests …
Samarin: And what sort of impression will it make on worshippers when the Grand Duke, mentioned by name in prayers for the Supreme Commander for a year past, ceases to be named in the liturgy? This is another detail to which the Emperor’s attention must be drawn. Surely the Council of Ministers is not so impotent that it cannot get the Emperor to accept a salutary compromise?
So a wall of bold ministers was formed, and Goremykin agreed not to obstruct their last attempt, although he himself believed the Emperor’s decision to be immutable. He did, however, urge them to take great care not to speak of the Grand Duke’s prestige as a military leader in conversation with the Emperor.
He asked for an audience immediately, and they were summoned to Tsarskoye Selo for the evening of 2 September. The Tsar was astonished. His cabinet as turbulent as the left wing of the Duma? Had the storm waves risen so high? On any other question he would have tolerated their opposition and listened to their advice. But how dare they intrude upon his deepest and most sacred feelings, his sense of duty to the country and of oneness with his people? His imperial vocation as the instrument of Divine Providence? Why were they invading a place where only a reverent hush and the Tsar’s prayers should be heard? And anyway, what did they know of military matters? Which of them had ever served in a line regiment? Or even taken part in maneuvers? Could they appreciate how insolently Nikolasha had conducted himself—as though he was Russia’s lord and master? He had exploited his post in such a way that he really might attempt to usurp supreme power. And why should the appointment of a Supreme Commander be a matter not for the Tsar but for the Moscow Duma, for a lot of lawyers and journalists? Or, for that matter, ministers? And wasn’t it angry public criticism of GHQ that had first prompted the Tsar to think about the change? What remained of the monarchy? For a whole year the Tsar had looked inert and impassive and everybody was unhappy about it. Now he had finally decided to show what he was made of—and everybody was unhappier still.
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