I cannot tell you how dismayed I felt. The impressions left by Peterhof were nearly the end of me. I see no hope in the near future. We are in for still ruder shocks. But at the same time, there is a consolatory feeling that no one is innocent, that all the victims of the impending catastrophe have only themselves to blame, that a great act of historical justice is being accomplished. I feel painfully sorry for some individuals, but not for those same people in the mass, for whole classes, for the whole system.
Guchkov said this in a letter to his wife, when the impressions left by his audience at Peterhof were still fresh. Russia’s baffling plight, Russia’s helplessness, were encapsulated in this strange, courteous Tsar, who could think of nothing to ask a soldier except where he had previously served, and after hearing a famous pianist play asked only whether he was the older or younger brother of a sailor with the same name.
Guchkov, though dismayed, did not weaken, but waded against the current on his strong warrior legs. In August 1906 the introduction of field courts-martial was explained in a government communiqué as follows:
The revolution aims not at reform (to which the government also considers itself committed) but at the destruction of statehood and the monarchy.
Society at large was, of course, indignant about the courts, but Guchkov was not afraid to be the lone voice of approval in the press:
A strong government, which has to protect a newborn political freedom, must resort to rapid and severe repressions. In certain localities in our country internecine war is in progress, and the laws of war are always cruel. Robbery has become more and more frequent, and has reached the stage where it has lost its revolutionary character and become mere brigandage. The introduction of field courts-martial is a cruel necessity. Repressions are compatible with a liberal policy: only the suppression of terror can create normal conditions. The government must respond to revolutionary violence by energetic measures to suppress it. I believe implicitly in Pyotr Arkadievich Stolypin. Persons as able and talented as he is have never before held power in our country.
Then a year later:
If we are witnessing the last throes of revolution, we owe it solely to Stolypin. Guchkov’s supporters fell away, and the left reviled him. But with this declaration he had set foot firmly on the path he would follow for the six years which were the height of his career—those crucial years in everyone’s life for which all the rest is just a backdrop.
The way ahead was not easy to begin with. Society thirsted for leftism and revolution, and the Octobrists had no more luck in the second Duma election than in the first. But in the spring of 1907 Guchkov resigned his safe but too peaceful seat in the State Council to fight for the Duma and rally the Octobrists, assailed by curses and threats from the left.
Were the conditions in which the Union of 30 October could function a thing of the past, as Shipov believed, or were they only now beginning to emerge, as Guchkov confidently maintained? Was this the time for
the reconciliation of the Russian state and Russian society, those age-old enemies, friendly cooperation with the regime, and a painless transition from the condemned system of government to the new one?
Russia could cope with its new tasks at home and in the world at large
only under the leadership of a strong monarchy. The Constitution [of 1906] makes the governmental power transparent to society and so liberates it from dark and irresponsible forces
but not in order to put it
at the disposal of political parties and their central committees! We are opposed to those revolutionary elements who thought they could exploit the difficult situation in which the government found itself in order to seize power by means of a coup. In the struggle with sedition, at the moment of deadly danger, we unhesitatingly took the side of the government
while retaining the freedom both to condemn the government’s mistakes and to defend its sound actions.
Perhaps the Manifesto itself—issued by a Tsar at first too unyielding, then excessively frightened—was a leap beyond the power of a country completely unprepared for parliamentary life? Perhaps the law of 16 June 1907 promised a smoother evolution toward a parliamentary system?
The coup d’état carried out by our monarch meant in fact the establishment of a constitutional order. I am sure that calm and loyal work on the part of the Third Duma will reconcile even our opponents, that in a year or two the venomous sting which has for so long poisoned the body of the nation will have been drawn, and that the surplus energy of the revolution will be transferred to constructive work.
And that was what happened. The year 1907 was when incontestable signs of recovery were first seen in Russia. People who, in earlier years, were scurrying from one emergency meeting to another were now working on economic programs, and the engineer became a more and more considerable figure in public life.
In the autumn of 1907 the Octobrists were elected to the Third Duma as a firmly united group, and their leader, Guchkov, now had to show in practice whether or not it was possible to follow the middle line of balanced reconstruction in Russia. The first two Dumas had only one aim—to harass the government and inflame the public. Would the Third succeed in shaping the country’s future political course?
The first fresh impulse we feel here is the relationship between the leader of the Duma majority, Guchkov, and Prime Minister Stolypin. Their collaboration was based not on collusion, on a common scheme, but on service to a common idea, on a contest to decide which understood it best. Unity of purpose went with debate and competition. One of Guchkov’s first parliamentary interventions (in May 1908) was his attempt to block the naval credits: to reinforce Russia by denying her battleships! Otherwise
how can we get away from the specters of the past? The government must come clean and name for all to hear those who are to blame for the catastrophe.
This speech greatly annoyed Nikolai II, who dearly loved the navy, and he began to see Guchkov, whom he had greatly liked until then, in a much poorer light.
From the platform of the Duma, Guchkov was free to tell the whole unhappy story of the war with Japan.
The main blame for our failures does not lie with the army—the culprits are our central government and our educated public. The government thoughtlessly contributed to the outbreak of this war, did not take the trouble to put our defenses on a proper footing during the long years of peace, and when the danger arose did not realize the seriousness of the situation. The assumption was that this was a distant colonial war, which we could conduct without exerting our strength to the full. Only much later was it realized that what was at stake was not just southern Manchuria but the very existence of Russia. And when we did become strong in the Far East, and the army was still in good spirits, the government lost faith in itself and in its people, and concluded that peace which for a long time to come reduced our standing in the world to zero.
But while the government came to realize its mistakes—if only at the end of that unhappy war—our educated public remained blinkered to the end. It proved to be not the least bit more farsighted than the government—each was as bad as the other. The unpopularity of the excuse for the war made the public close its eyes to the vital interests at stake in that distant place. And there was a constant flow from here to the army—in the press, in letters from family and friends, in what visitors told them—of words which tended to sap its morale, to deprive it of what was left of its belief in itself and in victory. Throughout the war our public had a demoralizing effect on our army. (“True!” from the right.) And at the end of the war it compounded its error.
In the army too, however,
bureaucracy was all-pervading, it subordinated the fighting men, deadened their energies, damaged their morale. The High Command could not have been feebler. As in the Crimean and the Turkish wars, most of our generals were not equipped to deploy the whole range of weaponry. Throughout our country the unnatural system of selection which allows the weak and worthless to float to the
top, and rejects the bold and talented, is still in force to this day.
When Guchkov spoke it was never to show off on the Duma platform, but, with every speech he made, to bring about some improvement in his country, and more particularly in the army, to which he had devoted his political career. At one time he spoke up for funds to improve the conditions of the soldiers in the ranks, who were living on short rations, at another for increased allowances for officers, a caste despised by “society,” overlooked by the treasury, yet obliged at critical moments in the country’s life to show the highest martial valor on behalf of all the rest.
The shortage of officers in the army is assuming menacing proportions. There are units in which it reaches fifty percent. Even in the past officers’ pay reduced them to poverty. But in recent years while many social groups and classes, in the hurly-burly of the so-called Liberation movement, have more or less assured their material well-being, poverty does not just stand on the officer’s threshold but has entered his dwelling, officers’ wives do the meanest of jobs, officers’ families have to eat from the company cooking pot, and in the far-off borderlands the life they lead is one not fit for any human being. The future holds no promise for any army officer … Impossible to provide for your family even at the end of your days.
The only claim to privilege in the army should belong to education, military expertise, and talent. (Applause, but not from the right.)
Whereas, in fact, the Guards, those with the right pedigree, sufficient means, or connections in the capital, enjoyed unearned and unjustifiable privileges.
The millstone of garrison service grinds chivalrous sentiments and noble characters to dust. A sense of honor, and self-respect, are not cherished: instead the honorable ambition which is one of the main stimuli to heroism in a military man is destroyed by bullying, by ill treatment and humiliation of subordinates. Officers leave the army and become land surveyors, bailiffs, bookkeepers—anything to get out of it. Only the few genuine enthusiasts for the soldier’s trade, and men unfit for any other employment, remain in the army.
And still the inroads of reform upon the War Ministry were too timid.
And when you recall how other peoples have behaved after heavy defeats, sorrow and envy steal into your heart. Do you remember how France was reborn after 1871, and what sacrifices she endured, up to the moment when the breeze of socialist doctrine stiffened and completed the work of destruction of which the Germans had proved incapable?
As long ago as 1908 Guchkov had realized and said quite publicly that
our arsenal of cartridges and shells is quite inadequate to the changed conditions of warfare. In the event of a major war our factories are not equipped to cover the expenditure of ammunition, and there are some weapon systems which our industry does not manufacture at all.
He also spoke of the need to transfer factories, while there was time, from what might become Russia’s Western Front. (In the event, nothing was shifted before the retreat of 1915.) And of the weakness and dilapidation of our fortresses. (Which were left just as they were.)
There was an occasional gleam of humor in Guchkov’s bitter speeches.
In my view no minister should be more concerned for the freedom of the press than the Minister of War. In his place I would be badgering the Minister of the Interior every day of the week to put forward legislation to broaden the freedom of the press.
The point being that we would never be able to improve the War Ministry, and in particular its legendary Supply Departments, until the army’s voice made itself heard and public opinion could exercise some control. On one occasion the Minister of War (Rediger) undertook an unprecedented inspection of the Supply Departments.
Confronted with the materials produced by this inspection, I find myself helpless, for whenever I ask whether this or that abuse is known to the War Ministry I can be sure that the department’s answer will be “I know of much greater abuses.” (Laughter in the center and on the left.) And if the department says that it lacks adequate punitive powers, I feel sure that the Duma will set no limits to those powers: where thieving supply officers are concerned we are ready to go even as far as field courts-martial. (Applause in the center and on the left.) I feel sure that on this question even the gentlemen on the left abstain only because they are too shy to vote. (Noise on the left.) And then—all those stories about cardboard soles for the heroes of Shipka, about frostbitten feet and a barefoot army, will recede into the realm of legend. (Tumultuous applause. Puryshkevich: “Good for you, Guchkov!”)
Guchkov went into matters concerning the War Ministry with particular thoroughness. He himself headed the Duma Defense Commission (excluding socialists and Kadets alike), to which Rediger, the minister, readily disclosed all the defects of the system. They tried to examine conscientiously the state of Russia’s armed forces. Guchkov formed ties with General Vasili Gurko and with naval circles. The Commission made no attempt to reduce military credits but now always increased them, and succeeded in raising officers’ pay. “Up above” it was a cause for dissatisfaction that the Duma was trying to make itself popular with the army by increasing war credits and meddling in what was none of its business. But, viewed from the Duma, the top people themselves might give cause for dissatisfaction, and Guchkov resolved to detonate this explosive theme in a sensational speech. To forestall possible obstruction he concealed his intention from everybody, including the president of the Duma. He began by expressing himself in favor of the budget estimates. Then, speaking as quickly as he could to avoid interruption, he attacked the Grand Dukes.
The State Defense Council, presided over by Grand Duke Nikolai Nikolaevich, has usurped the power and responsibility of the Ministry of War and is holding up all improvements in military matters. (Cries of “Bravo!” Applause.) To give you the complete picture of the disorganization bordering on anarchy (cries of “Bravo!” and “He’s right!”) which now prevails in the War Ministry, I must add this: the post of Inspector General of Artillery is held by Grand Duke Sergei Mikhailovich, that of Inspector General of Engineers by Grand Duke Pyotr Nikolaevich, that of Supreme Head of Military Schools by Grand Duke Konstantin Konstantinovich. Which means that responsible branches of the armed services are headed by persons who by virtue of their position are in practice responsible to no one. (“Bravo! Bravo!”) It is our duty to call these things by their proper name, but at the same time we have to acknowledge that we are powerless. (“True! True!”) Deputy Puryshkevich was right; we cannot afford any more defeats! Another defeat for Russia would mean not only ceding territory, not only paying reparations, it would be the poisonous sting that would bring our motherland to the grave. (Applause, cries of “True!”) And if we ask the country to make heavy sacrifices in the cause of defense, we also have the right to address just one request to that handful of irresponsible persons: that they renounce some of their earthly blessings and some of the pleasures of vanity! (Prolonged, stormy applause on the left, in the center, and here and there on the right.) We have the right to expect this sacrifice of them.
The flustered president closed the session. The Duma was shaken. Milyukov approached him in the lobby.
“Aleksandr Ivanych! What have you done? After that the Duma will be dissolved.”
“No, the army and the people are on our side—they won’t dare!”
Nikolai II’s remark to Stolypin was: “It would have been all right for him to say it in a private conversation, but not from a public platform.” But in a private conversation the answer would have been: “Yes, you’re quite right,” with a smile, and everything would have remained just as before. Guchkov was sure that only thoughts expressed in public would have any effect. No one refuted what he had said, and the prestige of the Grand Dukes was undermined. In spite of which they remained in similar positions until 1917. The Defense Council, however, was disbanded, to everyone’s relief.
Guchkov was losing the Tsar’s former goodwill. And that was not at all what he wanted. Early in 1909 he for
ced Rediger to admit, in reply to a question in the Duma about the efficiency of the High Command, that
in selecting candidates for the highest posts we have to take the existing structure into consideration
and for that answer the Emperor dismissed the Minister of War and appointed a new one who was to be there for many long years—Sukhomlinov. This man was already an enemy of the Duma Military Commission, and only his deputy, Polivanov, supplied Guchkov with the secret information he needed. Sukhomlinov himself would often be the subject of embarrassing disclosures by Guchkov.
Shingarev says in his memoirs:
Guchkov’s speeches could not possibly have been made by anyone else among us. Uproar, and suspension for fifteen sessions, would have resulted. But he was listened to.
The right, however, listened uneasily. They saw in Guchkov’s invariable sympathy with the army a desire to draw it away from the imperial regime and toward the Duma. In right-wing newspapers, and from the Duma platform, Guchkov was accused of “Young Turkism,” of “opening wounds” in our defense system, undermining confidence, washing the dirty clothes in public. This was his answer:
When we saw incompetent commanders we said, “These are incompetent commanders.” It is not we who call them by their proper names, who should be blamed but those who keep such commanders on. Ritual incense burning and cover-up tactics have done us so much harm that we have to make use of the Duma to speak the truth. Deputy Puryshkevich has rebuked me. “We need trust,” he says, “and you sow distrust.” But there is something worse than distrust, and that is misplaced trust. And we mean to destroy that wherever we find it.
Puryshkevich spoke of my “cotton-wear patriotism,” repeating a shopworn witticism. Those gentlemen cannot forgive me for my mercantile origins. To give them material for further witticisms, let me add that I am not only the son of a merchant but the grandson of a peasant, a serf who won his freedom and rose in the world by dint of hard work and determination. (Applause.) And in my “cotton-wear patriotism” you may, perhaps, find an echo of another sort of patriotism—the black-earth, muzhik variety, which knows exactly what little gentlemen like you are worth.
November 1916 Page 84