Amazingly, even with their Friend’s advice, the selection of ministers was very far from satisfactory. It was such a difficult task! (Because ministers, of course, had to be not just ministers but friends!) She had first asked the Tsar to appoint Naumov Minister of Agriculture, and then herself requested his dismissal when he did not live up to expectations. She had doubted whether Bark was a good Minister of Finance (many sensible people were against him) and suggested Count Tatishchev as a replacement, but had then backed down, perhaps rightly. She had insisted on dismissing Rukhlov from Communications, because of his age, but again with unfortunate consequences: Aleksandr Trepov was appointed without their Friend’s opinion being sought, and turned out to be his enemy. (She remembered now that she herself had found him rather off-putting!) Then Count Ignatiev, at Education, had seemed at first a decent sort, but was too much a popularity seeker, with his liberal speeches in the Duma. All in all, he too was unsuitable, and must be removed. But their longest campaign had been to make Sazonov’s position at the Ministry of Foreign Affairs untenable. Ever since the ministerial revolt last year they had detested that long-nosed nuisance, that uncongenial mischief maker, but could find no diplomat with a wide enough knowledge of foreign countries to replace him. Finally, their patience had snapped, and in July during one of the Empress’s visits to GHQ, they had dismissed Sazonov and simply passed his portfolio to Stürmer: there was no question of visiting other countries during the war anyway. But it was because of this that they had let Makarov into the cabinet, as Minister of Justice, and transferred Internal Affairs from Stürmer to Khvostov (the uncle). He hated both Stürmer and their Friend, but there had been no real opportunity to dismiss him. He had finally left of his own accord, when the Police Department was removed from his control.
Their Ministers of the Interior were, it seemed, a punishment inflicted by fate. She would have been finally reduced to despair, but for Grigori’s bright idea: he had recommended, in September, the gifted Protopopov, whom he had known for years, and spoken so warmly of him that the Empress was persuaded before she had even seen the man. Here was someone who would paralyze and silence the Duma! Truly, in his person God had sent them a real man!
Protopopov seemed to complete a well-balanced and harmonious cabinet (with only Belyaev missing, and a few minor adjustments to be made). From early autumn onward everything appeared to be going well, and no crisis was expected. All year round Stürmer had regularly visited the Empress to report, requesting audience through Anya, and he was only too glad when she traveled to GHQ in his place. His confidence in her was simply touching. The Empress was gradually training the other ministers too—the older Khvostov, Count Bobrinsky, Prince Shakhovskoy, Bark, even Grigorovich, the Navy man, to come and report to her. Some of them even addressed their requests for audience with the Emperor to her. The Empress set herself the task of making them work as a team, she even pressed Shakhovskoy and Bobrinsky to cooperate with Protopopov. And she was stubborn enough to get her way.
The food shortage made this particularly important. Cunning Krivoshein had created confusion by annexing responsibility for the food supply to what was then his own Ministry of Agriculture, where there was no specialist staff (only a lot of supporters of left-wing parties), whereas the Ministry of the Interior had staff in every province, and their Friend had long ago insisted on making these people responsible for grain collection. He had long been worried that a shortage of foodstuffs in Petrograd would lead to disturbances and other unpleasantness. And anyway, it was shameful to make the poor people suffer! It humiliated Russia in the eyes of the Allies! We have plenty of everything—it’s just that they won’t bring it to market, they’ve let prices rise out of reach, they’ve made a complete muddle, above all by prohibiting export and import of grain between provinces, and by forcing the peasants to surrender their grain. A month ago, prompted by the Empress, Protopopov and Bobrinsky (Agriculture) had sent a joint circular to all governors, urging them to observe extreme caution in using measures of coercion. Protopopov had said, with fervent conviction, that “when evil people want to ensure success they always appeal to the people, and the people listens to them. We must do the same: send around people to explain to the peasants why they should not hold back their grain. And the peasants will obey them!” Protopopov had seemed quite prepared for his ministry to take full responsibility for the matter—but for some reason, had started dragging his feet in the last few days.
His meeting with leading members of the Duma in a private apartment ten days earlier had given him a terrible shock. Those scoundrels not only had no further wish to cooperate with their former colleague now that he was a servant of the throne, they even had the impertinence to demand his resignation. After the meeting he had rushed to see their Friend in a state of extreme agitation. As it happened, the Emperor was at home in Tsarskoye Selo for the first time in five months, and Grigori, no less agitated himself, telegraphed directly, not through Anya, which would have taken longer.
Heart-to-heart talk with Kalinin they order him resign he beside himself firmness God’s pedestal Grigori Novy.
(All correspondence passed through other hands. The imperial couple had no privacy. They were so tightly hemmed in by watchful eyes that they were obliged, like underground revolutionaries, to use safe pseudonyms. Thus their Friend called Protopopov “Kalinin” in letters and telegrams. Grigori himself had, with permission from on high, long ago exchanged his hateful surname Rasputin for “Novy.”)
Needless to say, Protopopov would not be surrendered to them—but what villains they were! Members of the gang reared their heads in many different places, but especially in the Unions of Zemstvos and Towns—shameless wretches, living at the state’s expense, but acting solely against the government! Though hers was no longer a young head Aleksandra sometimes had ideas in the course of her agonizing sleepless nights. Organize propaganda against Zemgor at the front! Organize surveillance of its agents, and send packing all those—doctors, paramedics, and nurses especially—who filled the soldiers’ ears with all sorts of pernicious nonsense! Protopopov must find good, honest people to keep watch.
Mischief no less serious was brewing in Guchkov’s War Industry Committees, politically no less dangerous than Zemgor. They were supposedly concerned only with supplies, but the agenda at their meetings often amounted to a direct attack on the dynasty. It was the same with the so-called Committees on Price Inflation, which served only to inflame antigovernment feeling. Guchkov, Rodzyanko, and the rest of the scoundrelly Duma deputies were intriguing to wrest as many matters as possible out of ministerial hands, and to make it look as if only they themselves were capable of working effectively. Guchkov had been seriously ill last winter. Because her concern was for the throne and the good of all Russia there was nothing at all sinful in the Empress’s wish to see him depart for the next world. Alas, he had recovered. And now he was trying to stir the passions of the Supreme Commander’s Chief of Staff, filling him with all sorts of vile allegations, trying to win him over—and Alekseev, always too trusting, might end up in the net of that clever scoundrel.
Now they had all attacked at once! Look what they had thought up for the opening of the Duma: that abominable declaration, not unexpected, thanks to Krupensky: he had attended their meeting, then brought that obscene piece of paper to Protopopov. The Empress also had received him to express her gratitude. The odious piece of paper proved to be undisguisedly revolutionary in character, replete with grotesque and shameless declarations: for instance, that they could not work with the ministers (whether the ministers could work with them was what they ought to worry about). Stürmer was most alarmed, afraid of what might happen at the forthcoming Duma sittings. The Empress, on the contrary, was always able to triumph over her ailments in such circumstances and to steel herself: we are at war with the Duma and we must be firm. How can we respond? After careful consideration it was decided not to suspend the Duma if it misbehaved too seriously, but to dissolve it outrig
ht pending the next elections in 1917. That would give them something to think about.
Only five days had passed since the Emperor’s departure from Tsarskoye Selo, but so much had happened and there was so much to be done!
When she had seen Protopopov just three days ago he had nothing new to say. But yesterday he had urgently requested a meeting and had arrived looking extremely agitated. He was as svelte and light and ethereal as ever, and his quick eyes and mobile features even more eloquent. This time they expressed penitence and despair: he had just seen their Friend and their Friend had explained to him why his reluctance to take over responsibility for the food supply was completely mistaken. Now he was convinced and ready to take it over. But with only two days to go before the opening of the Duma, it ought to be announced in advance—could they hope to obtain the Emperor’s signature from Mogilev in good time?
His agitation affected the Empress. She had long been thinking along the same lines and had been surprised by Protopopov’s temporizing. Now that their Friend had spoken so firmly, what further doubt could there be? She acted with lightning speed. The day was half over, but in what was left of 12 November, Stürmer would have time to draft a decree transferring full responsibility for the food supply to the Minister of the Interior, effective immediately. The Empress herself rushed a letter to her husband explaining matters. If they sent it by courier that evening it would be in Mogilev on the morning of the 13th. And if she asked the Emperor to sign without delay and return the decree by the four-thirty train from Mogilev it would be back in Petrograd on the morning of the 14th, two or three hours before the Duma met! She had plenty of time! Provided only that the Tsar got back to Mogilev from his visit to Kiev by the evening of the 12th, according to plan. With God’s help it will be so, and we will be in time!
The Empress herself was greatly stimulated by this operation: she liked resolute action. The weather was dull and depressing, with a sprinkling of rain in the air, but she had overcome her depression by acting effectively. One should always act energetically and speedily, and head off the enemy! She looked sympathetically at Protopopov as his too expressive features gradually relaxed. (She thought he looked honest, upright, pure.) He was a newcomer to the Council of Ministers, and needed strong support when the Duma baited him. The Empress had already asked the Emperor not to receive other ministers at Mogilev, but to communicate with them through Protopopov. This would greatly improve his standing and strengthen his position, while he would be able to share his plans with the Emperor and seek advice.
“Oh, yes,” she said, remembering, “they tell me there have been disturbances of some sort at factories in the city.”
“Nothing special, Your Majesty.” Protopopov smiled enchantingly, as usual, while meaning to look adamant. “We have firm hands, we will keep them in order.”
Good enough, but Stürmer’s suggestion shortly after he took office back in March had been sound: it would be sensible to militarize the munitions factories and treat the workers as if they were army conscripts—then there would be no more strikes. (But the industrialists and the Kadets had stood in the way, said it would be trampling freedom underfoot.)
Protopopov departed, but action had left the Tsaritsa pleasantly excited, and the feeling remained with her until late in the evening. God willing, everything would be in one pair of firm hands and Protopopov would put an end to the Unions of Zemstvos and Towns. Their Friend would help him, and point the way. The Duma, of course, would be furious: it would want to split management of the food supply among a dozen pairs of hands and create confusion.
Then the Minister of Industry, Prince Shakhovskoy, took the wind out of her sails. She received him thinking she could rely on his loyalty, but he displayed his disrespect for Stürmer and his disapproval of Protopopov, and prophesied that they would have to go. To think that there was such disharmony inside the cabinet itself! The Empress listened unsympathetically and dismissed him ungraciously.
She attended a concert in her hospital, and knew when she returned that she was as usual condemned to a sleepless night. Five hours of unbroken sleep amounted to a holiday for her. It was always better with Nicky. It was during his absences that insomnia tormented her most. There were many nights when she lost consciousness for a mere two hours just before dawn. Some nights—there had been one such three days ago—she slept for a mere half hour. These sleepless nights meant that Aleksandra Fyodorovna’s permanent exhaustion and listlessness aggravated her numerous ailments—the list would run into dozens: every known variety of migraine, neuralgia, cardiac disorder, lumbago, from time to time hellish headaches, dizziness, dyspnea, palpitations, enlargement of the heart, cyanosis of the hands, kidney stones, swelling of the face when the weather changed, inflammation of the trigeminal nerve, failing vision (the result, she said, wryly, of unshed tears), a pain in her eye as though she had stuck a pencil in it, pains in her jaw, inflammation of the periosteum, numbness all over her body, back pains, colds, coughs, bruises from falling down. Last year, 1915, she had begun with three months in bed. This year she had never been free from illness, and at any given moment had four or five ailments. Regularly, three or four times a year, she suffered total collapse. After a sleepless night, exhausted and racked with pain, she was unable to rise before midday. She would lie in bed with closed eyes for a time, then continue her repose on the sofa. She would lie on her side, put on her spectacles, and write with one of her fountain pens her interminable daily letter to the Emperor, trying to make up for the lack of contact while they were so far apart. She could never say anything in a few words, she always needed a ream of paper. After lunch in bed around midday she would rise, because audiences had been arranged, or she had to visit a hospital, her own or some other (where she would be carried upstairs in an armchair because her own legs could not manage steps), the rapid motion in a carriage would give her palpitations, and she would always have to dose herself with drops for her heart and with many other medicines, undergo massages and rubs, electrotherapy of the facial nerves, and, when she was alone, swathe her head in a thick shawl and avoid direct sunlight, much as she loved it.
Yesterday, again, she had spent lying down, exhausted, her nerves in shreds—and that night she had slept hardly at all. All these sleepless nights were filled with winged thoughts, they raced past, dragging her sick body after them, aged beyond its forty-five years, thoughts sometimes proudly soaring, sometimes mercilessly clawing her breast. During those sleepless nights she had many ideas about affairs of state. But by morning her head would be wearier than ever and, with no relief from sleeplessness to be had, the whole world looked black and hopeless.
But she must never give in! Must she believe that evil people would seize control of the earth? Why, when bad people actively fight for their cause, should good people merely complain, sit with arms folded and await events? No! Although the Empress was permanently and seriously ill, although her heart functioned badly, she could not sit still and watch what was happening, she could always summon up more energy than the whole clique of them together!
The summer of 1915 was the most terrible time of all. The struggle in progress was in reality a struggle for the throne itself. Their Friend had revealed this to them, but it had cost a great deal of effort to make the Emperor accept it. In the Duma wagers had been made that the Emperor would be prevented from assuming Supreme Command, and then that he would not be allowed to dissolve the Duma. That summer the Empress had intervened more insistently than ever, until her strength failed her and she was so weary at heart that she just wanted to sleep and forget the daily nightmare. But this was also when her interventions were most successful. Everybody was against it, droning voices all around warned that if the Emperor took over GHQ there would be a revolution. Only their Friend and the Empress insisted that he must take over. And they were proved right. But the direct result of their victory was that once the Tsar had left for GHQ they could no longer be constantly at his side, helping him to stand fast. Alone a
t GHQ he was always likely to relax his hold: he was surrounded by outsiders and he gave in to them. Ought he perhaps to come home more often? The military situation did not permit it. Perhaps the Empress should go there more frequently? (She would gladly have moved to GHQ altogether.) Again, the situation did not permit it. Besides, it was only too annoyingly obvious to the public that the Emperor’s most important decisions, on appointments and dismissals among other things, were taken when his wife was visiting. She could only do her best to carry conviction in the long letters she wrote daily, repeating the same thoughts, differently worded, over and over again. Sometimes her advice prevailed, sometimes it was too late, sometimes it had no effect: mild, gentle, affectionate Nicky could be stubborn. But Nicky had faith in her, and entrusted many important discussions, and the task of receiving ministers, to her.
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