“I’ll encode it myself!” Protopopov exclaimed.
He was taking it so much to heart that it was practically impossible to refuse him: how could he possibly carry out their former decision against his will?
And after all, they weren’t canceling the appointment, were they? Just postponing it for two weeks.
But then again—she couldn’t possibly go against their Friend’s instructions.
She had made up her mind. “I tell you what, Aleksandr Dmitrich,” she said. “Go as quickly as you can to Petrograd to Gorokhovaya Street, to see Grigori. If he says no, then we leave things as they were yesterday. If he permits us to change it, come back quickly, we will still be in time to send a coded telegram, and the Emperor will be in time to cancel the order by tomorrow morning, two hours before the Duma meets.”
Protopopov started from his chair and sped on his way.
Such a dear man, such a nice man, she was sorry for him, she wanted to relieve him of his too, too unbearable anxiety.
That was how she was, in love and in all her attachments: once she had made up her mind about someone it was forever. This was the man to whom she had entrusted the protection of the throne. Friends must always come to the rescue of friends.
[65]
(THE STATE DUMA, 14 NOVEMBER)
In the White Hall of the Tauride Palace, the floor of which was occupied by leather armchairs, each with its desk, arranged in terraced semicircles, some 450 deputies had assembled under the glass roof for the opening session of the State Duma. At the far end of the hall diplomats of allied countries were ceremonially ensconced on little balconies between Corinthian pillars. The galleries to left and right were packed with supporters of this or that party. At each corner, in the foreground, were low-ceilinged press boxes, uncomfortably full. In the ministerial box to the right of the rostrum Stürmer himself, with a beard so long that it looked false, sat with some of his colleagues. Everyone knew that he would leave for the State Council immediately after the opening ceremony, on the pretext that he was attending a church service.
The president, flanked by his two deputies, mounted a central dais as high again as the platform beneath it. The president was a burly, robust fellow, bursting with a rustic vigor which he had, however, not acquired by tilling the earth, twisting oxen along a furrow. Instead, after his schooling in the Corps of Pages, he had served as a Horse Guards officer, then as a chamberlain, he had held all sorts of presidencies, marshalships, trusteeships, and, lo and behold, he was now at the head of the nation’s elected representatives. He mounted the most honorific platform in Russia, elevating it yet further with his own height, conscious of the impression his every movement must make on those present and of its importance to his fatherland. He gripped a hefty bell with his hefty paw.
The Duma fell silent before him—each “fraction” seated in its own segment of the hall: the far left, the numerous Kadet group, the Progressists, the thinning ranks of the Octobrists (the upper rows in their section were sparsely occupied), the Russian nationalists, nationalists from the non-Russian areas, rightists.
Rodzyanko knew that his unusually resonant voice could easily fill that hall, or one four times as large. But the historic significance of the occasion must ring out today—not just his voice—and that too he would have no difficulty in expressing.
This was not just the opening day of a normal annual session. Down there at the president’s feet the Progressive Bloc were tensed like tigers. Sometime in the next hour or two they would pounce. That they were about to spring was an open secret, known to the journalists waiting no less tensely, to the spectators, and to the gaggle of apprehensive ministers, bent on slipping away at the appropriate moment through a door left half open for them. (There was also a concealed alarm bell in their box with which they could summon the guard.) Even the Empress had heard about it, out at Tsarskoye Selo. The Unions of Zemstvos and Towns had already proclaimed that the hour of decision had arrived. The president himself, who was more or less privy to the Bloc’s plans, knew the secret as well as anybody. He stood there now on his eminence like a monument, looked down on only by the portrait of the Emperor behind him (twice Rodzyanko’s height, standing stiff and straight, cap in hand), but one wrong word and the president might fall under the claws of the predators. One very wrong word and they would be upon him there where he stood, to drag him down and rend him.
Rodzyanko had recently warned the leaders of the Bloc repeatedly:
The Duma, in the person of its President, is the victim of a whispering campaign. The object is to demoralize us all. I may be brutally interrupted during the speech I am due to make at the opening session. But I do not intend to mince my words. I may be brutally interrupted because of the influence of certain persons, and my further tenure will become impossible. In that case I will appeal to the Duma.
They promised to support him. However, the Bloc’s support was not everything. The position of president of the State Duma had no parallel. He was unique, as the chairman of the Council of Ministers was not, since he was frequently replaced. In the last analysis, the president of the State Duma was the second personage in Russia, after the Emperor. He was the intermediary between the Tsar and the people’s representatives, holding the balance even between the monarch and the Duma. To retain this eminence he had to take care to preserve both the majesty of the monarchy and the passion of the Duma. He had himself to utter words of warning to the Emperor. In his frequent reports to the Emperor he showed remarkable boldness and greatly influenced him, but always in such a way that his own great mission would not be hindered. (Just the other day, however, the Emperor had been so tactless as to deny the president an audience.) However angry the Emperor sometimes made him, he exercised restraint for both their sakes. Yet, if a miracle happened tomorrow and a “ministry of confidence” was created … in the Bloc’s present plans Rodzyanko would not even be a member of that cabinet! Milyukov had made a point of telling him so. Rodzyanko, however, did not intend to take this lying down, feeling as he did that he was obviously a more important figure than Milyukov. He was the representative in chief of all the people’s representatives, Russia personified as it were, and no other public figure was so well suited to the premiership. Current rumors mentioned him in this connection. (Some said he had been in line for the post in 1915.) Grand Dukes were among those who spoke of it … And this was another reason why he needed to emphasize his independence of the Bloc, and reinforce his special position between the Bloc and the throne.
Rodzyanko: Gentlemen, members of the State Duma! We are about to resume our activities after a long, indeed an excessively prolonged interval. (A dig at the government. Applause. Cries of “Bravo!” “True, true!”) The prime duty of the State Duma is the immediate removal of that which … (voice from the left: “Not that which, those who!”) prevents our country from achieving the sole aim which it has set itself.
He had leaned to one side sufficiently, now he must tip the balance, say something firm to prevent the Duma from going to pieces and losing its grip on power. He went on in a ringing bass that defied contradiction.
This nightmare of a war bears down on our motherland with crushing weight. It has to be won, whatever the cost to the country. (Prolonged, tumultuous applause except from the extreme left.) Our national honor, our national conscience demand it, the well-being of future generations imperatively demands it. (Stormy applause. Cries of “True!” “Bravo!”) We have surprised the world with our unanimity and the strength of our resistance. What, then, are the paths to our goals? Calm inside the country, stoutheartedness in our trials, and insistence on speaking the truth here, within these walls. (Stormy applause.) The government must learn from you what the country needs. (A voice from the left: “Their resignation!”)
Stepping firmly, balancing cautiously:
In time of struggle, when the people’s forces are fully stretched, no one should stifle the people’s spirit with unnecessary restrictions. (Applause in the
center and on the left.) The government cannot follow a path separate from that of the people, but, strong in the confidence of the country …
A very subtle passage this. Rodzyanko did not say that the present government was following a path separate from that of the people, nor that it did not have the confidence of the Duma, but he was at one with the Duma in his longing for a government which would
… take over the lead of society’s own forces, go forward in agreement with the people’s aspirations on the path to victory over the enemy. (A voice from the left: “Down with them! Tell the government to get out!”)
Careful! Time to bend the other way!
The country will never aid the enemy by internal strife.
A glorious sentence—it called for a follow-up in verse.
Russia, Holy Russia! None shall overcome thee!
Thy awesome cliff defies the battering storm!
His deep bass might have been ordering a regiment into the attack.
All chasms safely skirted—time now to cross the firm bridge of ritual. Rodzyanko looks upward, out across the hall, toward the diplomats, hailing
the family of nations fighting side by side with us, in the name of lofty principles … And the ally who has newly rallied to us, the valorous Romanian people!
The whole Duma is already on its feet, turning to look at the diplomats, and the Kadets shout: “Long live England! Hurrah!”
The Kadets take particular pleasure in honoring England, and applauding her ambassador, Sir George Buchanan, to spite the German Stürmer, who in their view shows insufficient respect and gratitude to that country. Rodzyanko obligingly alludes to this:
There are no cunning ploys which the enemy will overlook in his insidious efforts to loosen and overturn our alliance. But the enemy’s machinations are futile. Russia will not betray her friends (general applause) and will reject with scorn any idea of a separate peace!
This passage was a sure winner: it showed his loyalty to the throne and at the same time was to the taste of the Duma since it seemed to be aimed at Stürmer.
We recognize you, our brave Russian gray-clad fighting man, you who in the simplicity of your soul look for neither profit nor reward … Intrepid warriors, our prayers are with you!
It had gone well. The inaugural address was over. One further gesture was necessary: to send greetings to the Emperor, assuring him that the Duma … And to prevent an outburst of protests—we don’t want to talk to the Tsar!—he gave it this twist.
… send greetings to our valiant army and navy in the person of their Supreme Leader, the Emperor!
Nobody would argue with that. Agreed unanimously. (But through shouts from the left of “Stürmer out! His presence here is a disgrace!”)
The Prime Minister could hardly go on sitting there with people shouting insults at him. He was in fact ready to leave, but these hostile voices made it difficult for the government to exit from the hall in a dignified manner.
Before all other business the tactful thing now would be to call on a Polish deputy to speak, out of turn. As long ago as summer 1914, the then Supreme Commander had promised the Poles, in imprecise terms, the realization of their fathers’ and grandfathers’ dearest ambition, the resurrection and reunification of the Polish nation (though under the scepter of the Russian Tsar). On second thought, Russia had seen no need to hurry. Then, a year ago, Poland had been surrendered to Wilhelm, and Russia had missed her chance to make an official declaration. The Germans had waited a year, and then proclaimed Poland independent—most probably so that they could draft Poles into their army. So now a deputy from a Polish constituency declared:
The Polish people will not accept this German solution, which runs counter to its aspirations.
Meaning that Poland did not desire independence as a gift from Germany, without a Polish seaboard, and without Galicia.
Next, it seemed natural to allow the Progressive Bloc onto the rostrum to make a declaration. (Markov II: “The Progressive Bloc minus Progressists.” Laughter.) Yes, the committed Progressists had split away, alas. And the declaration itself, after endless compromises—how limp and colorless it was! What had become of Milyukov’s original militant draft? The declaration was read out in a flat monotone by Shidlovsky.
Just one year ago … the impotence of a government which did not rest on … the unanimous wish of the whole Duma that Sukhomlinov should be brought to trial has not been carried out. (Stormy applause, except from the extreme right. Shouts of “Traitors shield traitors!” “Rasputin won’t allow it!”)
Distrust of the regime has given way to a feeling close to indignation. The populace is ready to believe the most grotesque rumors. The government has used every possible excuse to deny the public any say in things … A completely undeserved insult … The censorship’s activities are meant to protect the nonexistent prestige of the regime … The precious trust of the Allies is being squandered … Warm sympathy for the great English people. (Applause.) The government as at present constituted cannot cope with the danger. Persons whose continued presence at the head … make way for people who … Rely on the support of the majority in the State Duma and carry out its program.
The declaration was read out in temperate tones and the walls of the Tauride Palace did not quake. But who was to follow the declaration, to outbid it and trump it? Which deputy’s seat always felt like a pincushion under him? Who regarded speechifying from the rostrum as the whole point and purpose of his activity? Who jumps the queue, gets his note in quickly, is called first, and is already scurrying past the stenographers, an untidy figure, no longer young, but oh so very agile? He reaches the heights.
Chkheidze (Social Democrat): I shall, of course, be repeating myself, but, gentlemen, who can avoid repeating himself when his subject is the war? I too shall reproduce certain thoughts which we have expressed earlier. The World War was caused by materialistic rivalry between great powers. Objective interests … Contradictions of the capitalist system …
For Chkheidze, Russia had never really existed. Chkheidze had the butterfly lightness of a tiny group which had no influence on events, no responsibility for anything at all, but did have its legitimate allotment of parliamentary time. And what else was the Duma for? Precisely for that, to compel people to listen to you for an hour, and then another hour. No need to sit in working parties, no need to sit studying Duma papers, but when it comes to speaking—by all means, as long as I don’t have to stick to the point or help the meeting get anywhere.
Not the solution of old nationality problems, but their aggravation, not the abandonment of militarist oppression and dictatorship on the part of the reactionary classes, but their reinforcement … Subjection to a capitalist oligarchy … Deputy Milyukov says that the whole thing rests on Germany’s conscience, but there is no escaping facts. What sort of liberation did you bring to Galicia, gentlemen, when you were the victors there? Gentlemen, hand on heart—what entitles me to reassure Georgians with talk of the blessings which their nation can expect from the war? And what, gentlemen, am I to say on the Ukrainian question? The treatment of the Uniate metropolitan? What about Finland? … And Poland?
Chkheidze’s enunciation was unclear—a guttural clucking—but this did not trouble him, did not curb his flights of oratory. For the hour allotted to him he was the first and most powerful man in the Duma, fearlessly pulverizing all those landowners, capitalists, and financiers, from the monarchists to the Progressists, and not omitting to bare his teeth at the Kadets. The assembly wasted an hour of mental freshness listening to this sort of stuff:
You keep repeating that the war is creating conditions for consolidation, for unification—but what does this unity amount to? And how is unity faring in your Bloc? (Milyukov: “Stürmer will thank you for that.”) Unity between landowners and peasants? Unity between labor and capital? With an eye to the militarization of labor? And what about the slogan “universal disarmament”? (Laughter.) We demand, gentlemen, the liquidation of this horri
ble war, we demand peace! But not a peace concluded by irresponsible diplomats! Never! In the name of Russian Social Democracy, in the name of the proletariat throughout the Russian lands, we demand a peace which … by coordinating the forces of European democracy … without forcible annexations!
(Labor in vain! Lenin will call him a chauvinist revolutionary: “If he wants revolution it is not to bring about the collapse of Russia.” In Shlyapnikov’s words: “The struggling proletarians of Russia found in Chkheidze’s speech nothing to guide them, none of the revolutionary tension which animated the working class.”)
The Duma’s procedural rules supported Chkheidze as air supports a bird. The whole Duma, having been denied a Social Democratic education, was now forced to give ear to the sermonizing of this far-out orator. There was nothing to hinder his soaring flight. But tactics forced Chkheidze to come down to earth and suddenly close ranks with the Bloc.
Such a struggle of course requires great circumspection and foresight. (From the right: “And better brains!”) But there is one obstacle which we must remove immediately—and that, gentlemen, is the government which holds the fate of our country in its hands.
But then, after siding with the Duma majority, the fiery publicist (failed pupil of the Kutaisi high school and the Kharkov Veterinary School, occasional student of Odessa University) goes on immediately to express his pity and contempt for these class-conscious cowards and reprimands them like backward pupils.
In this respect you, gentlemen, have long deluded yourselves, or else have deliberately pretended not to understand. Can you say that this thought has ripened in your heads? It seems to be the case that you share this thought, but are you capable, gentlemen, of taking any decisive step, of joining us in carrying out this first of many tasks?… We know your temperament and your tempo, and we call for no more than legal means of struggle. But you were not courageous enough, that is your normal characteristic: you’re always about to set the world on fire—and the results are always pathetic.
November 1916 Page 132