What a strange twist of fate! The liberals were now the patriots, and only they could save Russia from an unpatriotic Tsarist regime!
But what exactly should they do? What should their tactics be? Why, they must do the very opposite of what the Black Bloc was doing: they must restrain Russia, prevent disturbances on the home front! (The workers must not strike, the trams must run.) When permission was given, the Duma would resume its deliberations pacifically, so that it would have a platform for public denunciations. And, little by little, it would create a “government of trust.”
Strictly speaking, the Congresses should have been organizing help for the armies in the field. But learning that the motherland was on the brink of destruction, both of them, separately and jointly, began discussing “the current situation.”
M. Fyodorov: This is no time to be discussing technicalities. We are obviously on the eve of an armed uprising!
(Oh, how they had longed for its coming, in its mystic purple vestments!)
The time is not far distant when bayonets will be turned away from the front and on Petrograd. It is our duty to save Russia!
Shingarev: Every one of our wars ends in victory for society and the collapse of reaction. After 1812—the Decembrists! After Sevastopol—the liberation of the peasants! After the Japanese war—the victory of the Liberation movement! The decisive moment is at hand: for a bright future we must make one last great push, and we shall achieve what Russia’s best people have always dreamt of!
(Shingarev’s remarks in private were also reported by secret police informers.
Frankly, the dissolution of the Duma has got us out of a serious difficulty. Everything having to do with the war had been settled, and the Duma would have had to go on to social questions. If they had been discussed the Bloc would have collapsed. As it is, we can make a show of unity.)
Astrov then “read out from an exercise book a lethal critique of all the government’s measures.”
But we have reached a fateful divide, beyond which constitutionalist society cannot go. We cannot become revolutionaries.
Guchkov: Like the Bloc, we all must unite and organize, not for revolution but simply to defend our motherland against anarchy and revolution. We must make a last attempt to open the eyes of the Supreme Power to what is going on in Russia.
At both Congresses there was growing support for the idea of a deputation to inform the Emperor of the mood of Russian society at large (as they had in 1905). And if that did not help, “we know what we must do.”
The lawyer Margulis, however, objected strongly to the idea of a deputation, considering it useless and humiliating to “society” and arguing that they knew the answer in advance.
The time for petitions is over. The time has come to demand, not ask! And back up our demands with force!
The left wing of the Congress of Towns demanded an appeal not to the Tsar but directly to the people!
But it was a deputation to the Tsar that a majority at both Congresses elected, with instructions to open his eyes to the fact that the government was misleading him and had no wish to carry the war to a victorious conclusion. They voted for a respectful loyal address. Its diction was uneven and in parts very highfalutin.
Your Imperial Majesty! Restore the majestic lineaments of spiritual wholeness to the life of the state! The form of government must correspond to the spirit of the people, grow out of it as a living plant grows out of the soil. We, like you, Sire, care nothing for our lives if the preservation of Russia is at stake. Her salvation is in your hands.
But there were also words of menace.
The fact that the government is answerable to no one is an ominous obstacle … absence of any link between the government and the country … in place of the present government we need people who enjoy the confidence of society …
Meanwhile, a delegation of seventy workers came knocking at the door of the Congress of Towns: if the towns are having their say, the workers also wish to speak!
The Congress felt uneasy, with the streets demanding admittance. Chelnokov was insistent: no outsiders! Our rules are very strict! (And Chelnokov’s reputation was destroyed on the spot by a resolution speedily drafted outside the hall, crying, “Shame on the liberal bourgeoisie!)” So strict were the rules that two of the most enthusiastic talkers, Duma deputies Kerensky and Chkheidze, who had arrived posthaste from Petrograd, were not admitted to the Congress. The excitable Kerensky aired his grievance to worker comrades in the corridors, confidingly clutching their lapels: they must not strike, but should set up an organization to plan for the future … and then the liberal cowardly bourgeoisie …
But what if (as it surely would be!) the Emperor’s reply to the delegation was unfavorable? The left said, “All ways of negotiating with the government will then have been exhausted,” and they must appeal to the streets! Or else (which might annoy even more?) summon another Congress to discuss price inflation! One Cossack delegate (also a leftist) said, “Cossacks are not what they were in 1905. The government can no longer rely on the Cossacks!”
In spite of all this the Congress of Zemstvos concluded its proceedings by rising and giving three cheers for the Tsar.
* * *
This seems to have been the first and last time in the two decades of his reign that Emperor Nikolai II sustained an effort of will for two weeks, and did not let himself be diverted from his chosen course.
One moment there was general upheaval, general uproar, auguring catastrophe, then suddenly things went very quiet. The state suffered no convulsions, Russia did not plunge into the abyss, rivers of blood did not run. What was more, the most terrifying retreat of the war suddenly came to an end. Only yesterday Kiev was to be evacuated, Riga was given up for lost, as was Dvinsk, there was anxiety for Pskov, and suddenly a halt was called. The tidal wave of refugees subsided. The civilian population calmed down. And at the front—yes—shells became a less rare sight. Russia had weathered the storm, and anyone who wished could give credit for this to the new Supreme Commander.
Perhaps the only place in which opposition was not hushed was the Council of Ministers. The Empress kept a watchful eye on them, kept Mogilev informed, and nagged away.
It is more than Goremykin can stand, presiding over ministers who treat him abominably. I am afraid that the old man will not be able to go on with everybody against him. He earnestly begs to be released. Shcherbatov refused to send observers from the Ministry of the Interior to the September Congresses in Moscow. Polivanov shows Guchkov all War Ministry instructions and all army documents. Krivoshein also is too closely in contact with Guchkov, is two-faced and secretly hostile to Goremykin, looks to right and to left, is insufferably excitable, and carries on some sort of underground activity. As for Sazonov—he’s the worst of all, shouts and shouts, alarms everybody else, and never turns up for cabinet meetings. (But where can we find someone to replace Sazonov?) After their meetings they go away and tell everybody what has been said. Such loathsome ministers—their opposition infuriates me! How I would love to flog almost every one of them, and send Shcherbatov and Samarin packing first of all. The cowardice of these ministers disgusts me. You must sort them out! Do come to Tsarskoe Selo if only for a day or two. Your visit will not be a holiday but a punitive expedition. You must now show them who you are and that you are sick of them. You have tried kindness and gentleness, now you must assert the will of a sovereign. Forbid Samarin to dismiss Suslik.* I lose my head completely with Samarin, and I do beg you to hurry back. Don’t let anybody demean the Emperor or his wife. You have no right to turn a blind eye to this, this is the last battle for your victory. And as soon as Samarin gets out you must put your broom to work and clean out all the filth that has accumulated in the Synod. Get rid of them all, my love, and make it quick!
All the ministers were invited to come to Mogilev on 29 September. They were surprised and hurt to find that no one of any importance was there to meet them at the station, and they had to lunch in an o
rdinary station buffet. Then they were conveyed to the governor’s residence, where the Emperor, controlling himself with some difficulty, delivered a laconic and apparently relaxed reply to their collective statement. He expressed his extreme displeasure with the ministers who signed it: the views of the cabinet on the Tsar’s assumption of the Supreme Command had been voiced before he had finally decided, and it was impossible to understand what grounds there could be for repeating them. The Emperor said over and over that the ministers ought now to be able to see how wrong they had been. Real Russia thought differently (and the Emperor had received many telegrams expressing delight with his decision). His explanation for the ministers’ views was the “terribly nervous atmosphere in Petrograd.” Here, in calmer surroundings, he looked at things differently.
He really could not understand their stubborn opposition to his autocratic will—which could only be an intuition of the working of Divine Providence.
An excruciating silence followed. The ministers could not avoid answering, but it was difficult for them to say anything. In the Emperor’s short address could be seen the very opposite of what he meant to say: an acknowledgment of his defeat. He had withdrawn from the storm zone and was sustaining himself with specious telegrams. He had retreated from the center of power and conflict. How would that affect the fortunes of Russia? Did GHQ really depend on him? And could official Petrograd function without him?
But there was another way of looking at it: perhaps the ministers had exaggerated the importance of the surge of discontent in educated society. The tidal wave had passed and the ship of state continued on its way. Their collective letter was arm-twisting—an attempt to exploit the Emperor’s weakness. Part of Krivoshein’s reply was that they should not ignore public opinion at such a critical time, that society should be allowed to play a part in the war (it was playing far too big a part already), that the government must work together with the people (but where were the real people? Were those gathered at Morozov’s house the people?), and he now sensed that through his own fault Russia’s great chariot wheel was no longer rolling along in the old, invisible, but perhaps better groove. It had turned out that the Emperor’s favor, the public’s favor, and even the de facto premiership were not enough to make him Prime Minister. Things went their way regardless of him, and he was eased onto the sidelines with other unwanted advisers.
It was clear after the Tsar’s reprimand that rebellious ministers would have to take retirement. Samarin and Shcherbatov were dismissed on 9 October. Krivoshein saw all the more clearly the absurdity and incoherence of all the playacting in August, on the part of “society” and on the part of the ministers, and quite rightly did not bank on a royal pardon. He realized that he should go voluntarily and not wait to be dismissed by the Tsar. (Nor indeed could he stay on in a reactionary government without disgracing himself in the eyes of “society.”) So, at his very next audience, in October, he submitted his resignation. The Emperor looked relieved, almost happy: he need not himself dismiss his collaborator of many years. But in October it could have looked like a concerted ministerial walkout, another “strike,” so he got Krivoshein to promise that he would keep his retirement secret for at least one month.
A month later his resignation was explained by ill health and accompanied by a eulogistic royal decree and the Order of Aleksandr Nevsky.
It remained to decide whether to receive the deputation from the Congresses of Towns and Zemstvos. The Empress wrote:
Do not receive those wretches or it will look as if you are recognizing their existence. Don’t allow them to influence you, it will be taken as a sign of fear if you give in to them. And they will raise their heads again.
The Unions were indeed intolerable. They meddled in things that did not concern them, brought chaos to a country at war, undermined the morale of the troops, and were now improperly intruding upon administrative matters. (But did not you yourself, Your Majesty, magnanimously authorize their establishment?) They carried no real weight—it was just that a very loud voice emanated from them. Their Congresses had heard innuendos (not understood by the Emperor) about a separate peace. And the unspoken thought behind all their fine words was: “Let’s teach the monarch a lesson, limit him and force our own way to power.” (In their innocence they imagined that power would be sweet.)
Then again, the memory of the audience he had given to a zemstvo delegation at Peterhof in 1905 still rankled. He had openheartedly trusted them, treated them graciously, and afterward they had whooped with malicious glee, ridiculed the whole occasion, openly admitting that it was just a maneuver.
Would it be the same again?
So then the Emperor let it be known through the Minister of the Interior that he could not receive a deputation to discuss matters outside the Unions’ direct concern (help for the wounded).
Which was fair enough.
All the same, the Autocrat had to be persuaded to lend an ear, or half an ear, sometime, to something. You might imagine that somewhere in that vast land there were thinking people other than the Tsar’s immediate entourage, that Russia as a whole had a greater variety of views than the Guards regiments and Tsarskoye Selo. These turbulent subjects were besieging the steps of the throne, calling not for its overthrow but for war to final victory. “Society” was asking for political concessions—but why should it not be assured of the Tsar’s goodwill and granted a few kind words? He could meet them halfway and turn his bright gaze on them. Were they insincere about it all? Whether they were or not, it was part of the ruler’s trade: you can’t cut all bonds of trust with society—every last one. Even after the burning summer of 1915, the surrender of Warsaw, and the terrifying retreat, kind words might have gone far to mend matters. However you looked at it, the mortal dissension between the regime and society was a sickness, and while Russia suffered from it, it was impossible to march proudly on to final victory.
One who loved Russia must reconcile himself to it in all its variety. And the hope of reconciliation had not yet been exhausted.
But the Tsar lurked timidly behind several sealed oaken doors.
He who has long been strong rashly fails to notice weakness overtaking him, even weakness after weakness, even the last but one.
* Bishop of Tobolsk. [Trans.]
[20]
Shingarev lived on the Petersburg side, on Bolshaya Monetnaya Street. Hansom cabs had become very expensive, and it had taken Vorotyntsev just one day to adopt the household’s frugal ways—it was foolish to waste money on cabbies, much better to contribute it to Nanny’s housekeeping (the price of firewood had gone up four times, that of meat and butter five times). Vera laughingly told him about an important state attorney who was late for an appointment with a minister, couldn’t find a cab anywhere, had to hire an empty coal sledge, and proceeded down the Fontanka standing upright with his briefcase under his arm. Brother and sister took the tram with a light heart.
Earlier Vorotyntsev had seen a bit of the Nevsky Prospect at night, and his heart had sunk. He was dismayed by the crowd of beautifully dressed and obviously leisured people, not on leave from the front, just people with nothing to do but amuse themselves. The crowded cafés, the theater bills, all advertising dubious “saucy farces,” the coruscating lights of the cinemas (the film showing at the Palace on Mikhailovsky Square, right by Vera’s house, was called Forbidden Night—how it must disgust her!), a sort of feverish glare everywhere, the frantic haste of smart carriages—is this what goes on while we are stuck in the darkness and damp of the trenches? There was too much jollification in the city. It was unpleasant. They were dancing on other men’s graves.
This time they avoided the Nevsky, cut across Manezhnaya Square, past Nikolai Nikolaevich senior on his plinth, and waited near the Engineers’ Castle for the red and blue lights of the No. 2 tram, which was no longer overcrowded at that hour. It carried them off as though intent on showing all that was most beautiful in Petersburg (except that the streets were not very well lit): acros
s the Moika, looking back at the Mikhailovsky Palace, along Swan Boulevard, past the Parade Ground, over the Troitsky Bridge, with the best view of the capital to their left—the Winter Palace and the long façade of the Hermitage, the tip of Vasilevsky Island, especially at the moment when the bizarre and mighty Rostral Columns, dimly visible in the light from streetlamps, took the Stock Exchange neatly in their grip and immediately swung around to release it. It was light one moment, dark the next, but even in the dark a practiced eye could almost see remembered contours, and especially the unhealthy brown of the Petersburg palaces.
November 1916 Page 43