To command his army was his most cherished dream. He was summoned to that destiny by an inner voice, by his duty as Anointed Sovereign, whether in victory or in defeat. His conscience could not deceive him!
Nor did the Empress’s voice flag in support.
They are too accustomed to your gentle, all-forgiving goodness. They must learn to tremble before your courage and your will. I know how dearly it costs you, but to be firm is your only salvation. Your reign will be glorious when you stand firm against the general wish. Pay less attention to the advice of others. When, oh, when will you finally bang the table and cry out that they are acting wrongly. They are not afraid of you. You must frighten them, or everybody will ride roughshod over you. If your ministers feared you, everything would go better. It maddens me that the ministers quarrel among themselves—they’re supposed to be a government. You are too gentle. Things cannot go on like this. All those who love you want you to be sterner. Please, please, my little boy, make them tremble before you!
For his part, he had made up his mind irrevocably, and all those weeks of vexatious delays were caused by his ministers with their vacillations and excuses. (And he did like the wording which would in the future appear at the foot of orders: “His Majesty’s GHQ.”) But now he had to face another collision with them—and the Emperor, conscious of his tendency to give way, was afraid that they would dissuade him. So before going out to see them he combed his hair with a magic comb, which, so Grigori assured him, would help to stiffen his resolve. He knew too that the Empress and Anya Vyrubova would stand outside the lighted room, on the balcony, to look at him, pray, and admire him.
The Tsar found that excruciating session an extraordinary strain. Great drops of sweat stood out on his brow, as he listened to their fervent urgings and objections, some coherent, some chaotic—and still he did not give in! He held his own! With a supreme effort, summoning up all his willpower, he retorted: Yes, yes, and yes! I am taking the Supreme Command and leaving for GHQ without delay, so that discussion of this question is closed.
In any case, now that the whole country knew, how could he possibly withdraw? How could he present Nikolasha with such a triumph? (He had written saying, “I forgive you”—meaning both Nikolasha and Yanushkevich—"your sins.” Plots included.)
Since he had, uncharacteristically, not given in to the chorus of ministers, he forgave them too—forgave their impertinent opposition, because he had proved more certain of himself than they had. Having triumphed over them, he looked on them complacently. (Whereas, if he had given in, he would have found defeat so intolerable an hour later that he would have felt bound to dismiss them all, to rid himself of them.) He therefore kindly agreed to their other request: on 4 September, he would graciously and solemnly open the Special Conference on Defense, dealing with military supplies, fuel, and transport. The conference would now admit Duma deputies and other members of the public to work with ministers.
The cabinet, extremely perturbed by its failure, met again on 3 September at the Elagin Palace. Sazonov and Polivanov were provoked beyond endurance. The tone they now took was what you would expect from the Duma opposition rather than from members of the government. Krivoshein absented himself, preferring not to waste any more time there. The oppositionist ministers had met secretly on the eve of the Tsarskoye Selo session, and were to have met secretly again on 3 September, but now, in Goremykin’s presence, with their minds on two things at once, they found themselves letting out some of their secrets. Still, this meeting too was supposed to be secret.
They saw that although they had spent the whole of the previous evening reasoning with the Emperor, nothing had been decided about the future course of internal policy. Was it to be dictatorship or concessions to the public? And what reply should they give to the Moscow Duma?
Goremykin proposed a message of gratitude for the loyal sentiments expressed. Others objected that this would sound ironical, seeing that the Moscow telegram was written in the blood of people suffering agonies of anxiety for their homeland. The best thing would be to carry out all the wishes of the Moscow Duma. (What? And reopen the question of the Grand Duke?)
Shcherbatov: And what if hundreds of similar telegrams pour in from towns everywhere? We cannot declare them revolutionary. The answer to Moscow will determine the course of internal policy.
Polivanov: Russia must be able to see in that reply what awaits her in the near future.
Grigorovich: In such a critical situation we can’t play hide-and-seek. We have been marking time for a whole month now.
The Emperor had declared the day before that he had confidence in the Grand Duke. But …
Sazonov: What person could reconcile “confidence in the Grand Duke” with his relegation to the Caucasus. People will start saying that we have a Tsar who does not keep his word.
So no final decision had yet been taken about the Grand Duke either?
Grigorovich: It is our duty to make one final attempt. We must make a written submission to His Imperial Majesty on the dangers to the dynasty, and urge him as loyal subjects not to take an irrevocable step, not to touch the Grand Duke!
Goremykin: The Sovereign Emperor said quite definitely yesterday that he would leave for Mogilev in a matter of days and make known his will there. What submissions can we possibly make? It is unthinkable for the Council of Ministers to trouble the Tsar at this historic hour in his life, and to trouble an infinitely harassed man to no purpose.
Sazonov: Our duty at this critical moment is to tell the Tsar frankly that in the circumstances which have arisen we are unable to govern the country, powerless to serve with a good conscience.
Goremykin had begun to realize that the ministers had reached an agreement behind his back:
Putting it simply, you want to present the Tsar with an ultimatum?
Sazonov: Only loyal entreaties are open to us. Let us not quarrel about words. It’s not a question of ultimatums but of making one last attempt to point out the full extent of the risk to Russia, and warn him of the deadly danger.
Shcherbatov: A government which has the confidence neither of the Emperor, nor of the army, nor of the cities, nor of the zemstvos, nor of the merchants, nor of the workers cannot exist for long. We have pleaded with him orally, let us try one last plea in writing. If the Emperor and the army and the people are not willing to respect our opinions it is our duty to go.
Shakhovskoy: In drafting our submission we must avoid the slightest suggestion of what might be thought of as a ministerial strike. The Emperor came out with that word yesterday.
Ignatiev: We must avert the reproach that we kept silent at a moment of the greatest danger to Russia.
Samarin: Russia’s whole future is in question, and we are participants in a great tragedy. In the voice of the country at large we can hear a healthy and justified sentiment inspired by anxiety for the motherland.
Goremykin: This exaggerated belief in the Grand Duke, and all this shouting of his name, is nothing but a political assault on the Tsar. What they’re after is limitation of the monarch’s powers. Leftist politicians want to create difficulties for the monarchy, and are exploiting Russia’s present misfortune to that end.
Sazonov: We categorically reject any such interpretation of society’s initiatives. They are not the result of intrigue, they are an outcry in self-defense. We ourselves should add our voices to that cry.
Goremykin: I earnestly beg you all to inform the Emperor of my unfitness for my post and the need to replace me. I shall be grateful from the bottom of my heart for that service. I will bow low to the man who replaces me. But I shall not myself tender my resignation. I shall stand by the Tsar until he finds it necessary to dismiss me.
Not one of them had expected such outspoken obstinacy from that tediously circumspect old man. But there was nothing personal in the quarrel; it became more and more an argument about different conceptions of the monarchy in its hour of difficulty. Sazonov, who was more to blame for the origins of t
his war than anyone else present, said:
When the motherland is in danger a chivalrous attitude toward the monarch is admirable, but it can also do harm in an infinitely broader context. We want to warn the Tsar against a fatal step, while you would lead yourself and Russia to destruction. Our patriotic duty does not permit us to assist you. Find yourselves other collaborators. For our part, we must explain to the Tsar that only a conciliatory policy toward society can save the situation.
Goremykin: My conscience tells me that the Sovereign Emperor is God’s Anointed. He personifies Russia. He is forty-seven years old, and has been responsible for Russia’s fortunes for many a long day. When the will of such a man has been made manifest, loyal subjects must submit to it, whatever the consequences. It is too late for me, on the brink of the grave, to change my convictions. I cannot retreat from my own conception of service to the Tsar.
Shcherbatov: Both Samarin and I are former provincial marshals of the gentry. Nobody has ever yet regarded us as leftists. But neither of us can understand a juncture in the affairs of the state at which the monarch and his government have views radically at odds with those of all reasonable members of society. (There is no need to talk about revolutionary intrigues.) It is our duty to tell the Emperor that in order to save the state from the greatest disaster he must move either to the right or to the left. The situation does not allow him to sit on the fence.
The ministers talked of resolute action in one direction or another, but what they in fact resolved on was concessions.
Sazonov: The Emperor is not the Lord God. He can make mistakes.
Goremykin: Even if the Tsar should be mistaken, I cannot desert him at a moment of danger. I cannot ask to be released at a moment when all must close ranks around the throne and defend the Emperor. This whole matter of the Supreme Command has been deliberately blown out of proportion. For the Emperor to back down from his decision now would be fraught with much graver consequences.
Samarin: I too love my Tsar, I am deeply devoted to the monarchy and I have proved that by my whole career. But if the Tsar moves to harm Russia I cannot humbly follow along behind him.
Kharitonov: If the Tsar’s will threatens Russia with serious upheavals we must refuse to carry out his will and resign. We serve not just the Tsar but Russia also.
Goremykin: In my way of looking at it those concepts are inseparable.
Kharitonov: Unlike you, we consider that subordination must be open-eyed. We cannot join in something which we see to be the beginning of our motherland’s destruction.
Sazonov: It would be difficult, given the way people feel today, to prove that the will of Russia and that of the Tsar coincide. It’s just the opposite.
Samarin: The Tsar of Russia needs servants with minds of their own, not people who slavishly carry out orders. The Tsar can send us to the gallows, but we are still obliged to tell him the truth. We should respond to society’s spontaneous gesture with a show of goodwill.
Goremykin: No Russian can abandon his Tsar at the parting of the ways. That is what I think and I shall die in the same persuasion.
Only one member of the government, the Minister of Justice, supported the Prime Minister. Old Khvostov was
not convinced by an analysis of the situation according to which we are dealing with a disinterested patriotic movement. All sorts of dubious characters adopt its coloring and exploit it to achieve partisan objectives. The fiercest patriots and enthusiasts for oppositionist demands have appealed to the Moscow workers for support, but have been disappointed: the answer from the factories was that they would work on to final victory. Appeals of that kind are not a patriotic act but one punishable under the law. Demands for change in the state system are made not because such changes are necessary for victory, but because military setbacks have weakened the position of the regime, so that pressure can be put upon it, a knife held to its throat. In my view, a policy of concessions is always wrong, and in wartime is unthinkable. Nowhere in the world has such a policy led to anything good, it has always drawn the country down the slippery slope. The slogans emanating from Guchkov, the left-wing parties in the Duma, and Konovalov’s Congress are intended to bring about a coup d’état. That would result in the destruction of the fatherland.
Sazonov: You have no faith even in the State Duma! And for their part they have no faith in us. We, however, are of the opinion that the way out lies in conciliation, in the creation of a cabinet which …
So then the debate returned over and over again to the main question. What mattered was not the Grand Duke, but a ministry in which the public could have confidence. The Duma did not want the existing government—and the ministers themselves did not want to be where they were. They raged out of control, without fully understanding what they were about.
Goremykin: Concessions will get you nowhere. All parties favoring a coup exploit our military setbacks to intensify their pressure on the regime so as to limit the monarchic power.
That very evening there was a gathering in Sazonov’s office, on Palace Square, by the Pevchesky Bridge, of eight ministers. (It would have been ten, except that military protocol made it impossible for the War Minister and Navy Minister to take part. Not counting Frederiks, there were thirteen ministers in the cabinet.) The eight signed a collective letter to the Emperor, giving notice of their resignation en masse because of policy differences. It was, in effect, an ultimatum—something unprecedented in the history of imperial Russia. (But they assumed that the Emperor could not part with eight ministers at once.) The author of this move was Samarin, and he too drafted the original text, which was then finalized by Krivoshein and Kharitonov and copied out in his elegant handwriting by Bark. It was passed to the Emperor via an aide-decamp.
Do not hold our bold and frank appeal against us. Yesterday we laid before you our unanimous request that Grand Duke Nikolai Nikolaevich should not be removed. But we fear that Your Majesty was not pleased to accede to our plea, which we venture to think was also that of all loyal Russia … It is becoming impossible for us to feel that our service can be of any use to you and to our motherland.
The following day, on 4 September, the official opening of the Special Conference on Defense took place, following the procedure previously agreed on, and all the ministers had to attend and dazzle with their decorations. The objective was the official involvement of the legislative organs and the commercial and industrial class in matters affecting the conduct of the war. The Emperor delivered a speech written for him by Polivanov and Krivoshein, then graciously moved among the company. (The Empress and the Crown Prince also appeared. The little boy, looking sickly even in his soldier’s tunic, was a depressing sight.) There were fears that the crazy Rodzyanko would produce one of his embarrassing homilies, but all went well. Both sides glowed with satisfaction. The ministers watched the Emperor anxiously, surprised to find that his manner toward them was unchanged. (It was just that he had not yet received their ultimatum.)
The country was convulsed by what might be its death throes, but the ceremony in the Winter Palace was peaceful, dignified, and cordial.
That same evening, the Tsar left for Mogilev, to take over from the Grand Duke, abandoning his ministers to uncertainty about the fate of their ultimatum.
I have today taken upon myself the command of all land and sea forces within the theater of military operations.
And that very day another important event was announced—the formation of the Progressive Bloc.
But the more resolute the ministers became in their dealings with the sovereign, the more dependent they were on a rapprochement with the Duma. They forgot all about Shakhovskoy’s advice—to lay before the Duma a loaded bill which would cause dissension among the diverse parties in the Bloc. Instead, Krivoshein’s group sought support for the government from the Bloc, and tried to reach an agreement on a joint plan of action. The Duma’s slogans pierced the government’s protective cover and lodged in the hearts of ministers seductive slogans like “u
nion with society” (didn’t the ministers consider themselves part of “society”?), “union with the people” … and they themselves, of course, might be invited to join such a government; they would no longer have to sit in conference with Goremykin’s intransigent coonskin coat, but would lead Russia secure in the full powers bestowed by the people. The Bloc, however, did not represent the arithmetical average of the parties united in it, it moved further left, became more hostile to the government, and did not conceal the fact that it was interested above all in a change of personnel, not a program: removing Goremykin first of all, then squeezing out others. The leaders of the Bloc were in session with other progressive figures daily.
Chelnokov: The conditions put forward by the Bloc must not take the form of an ultimatum. The Bloc too can make concessions. Society can still influence the government by means of a campaign of demonstrations.
Konovalov: Negotiations with the government are futile. The lower orders are near to despair.
(As a factory owner I should know.)
Prince G. Lvov: The government is driving society to despair. We must save it from anarchy.
November 1916 Page 40