November 1916

by Aleksandr Solzhenitsyn

  Not so long ago he had supposed that he would never leave the front line until the war ended, nor indeed would he wish to. But this trip had weakened his resolve, and he had rejoiced in the new opportunity which seemed to be opening up. He had, truth to tell, been heartily sick of his regiment.

  When they were about to leave together, and Gurko was donning his greatcoat (with an ordinary officer’s gray lining, not a general’s, in red), Vorotyntsev, moved by a feeling that he was both neglecting his duty and letting Gurko down, found himself blurting out a version of their encounter in Petersburg, and passing on Guchkov’s greetings, almost involuntarily—but looking hard at the stern general as he did so, wondering whether he would react … accordingly.

  In fact, Gurko showed little emotion, indeed hardly any. He pursed his lips under his mustache.

  “Aleksandr Ivanych … Aleksandr Ivanych is … very bold … very persistent. Whatever his beliefs”—he made a wobbly movement with his hand—"at the time … But … because he has traveled a great deal as a volunteer, and on private visits to various fronts, he greatly overestimates his understanding of warfare and of military problems. He has a great many acquaintances in the army—not always the best of the people, that journalist Novitsky, for instance. They all have stories to tell him, he gets to hear about everything … And then he …”

  Vorotyntsev found himself thinking that Guchkov might very well be an embarrassment to Gurko in his new post. A man might attach no importance to his position, might show disrespect for the Tsar—but only in the line of duty, only for the good of the cause. And if Guchkov had cast a shadow over Alekseev—how much worse was Gurko’s case, given their close ties in the past. If Guchkov turned up at GHQ now—what would people make of this appointment, this substitution arranged by Alekseev?

  Vorotyntsev blushed—not externally, but in his mind. It was too stupid! How long would he carry around with him this outdated Young Turkism?

  But Guchkov had nonetheless left a little dent on the surface of his conscience.

  Krymov. Should I go and see him? Or shouldn’t I?

  [71]

  (THE STATE DUMA, 16–17 NOVEMBER)

  The proceedings of the Duma on 14 November appeared in the newspapers with blank spaces. Passages were omitted even from the speeches of Levashov and Balashov. Apocryphal, and contradictory, versions were passed from hand to hand—tricksters were selling them for a few rubles apiece. Even the government could not obtain the authentic text of Milyukov’s speech from the Duma, though this was the one disseminated all over the country (sometimes with additions). “Society” said with one voice that the Duma must be protected. (Burtsev, the great unearther and savorer of secrets, later asked Milyukov where he had found his facts, which looked more like fibs. Milyukov replied that he had taken them from the Neue Freie Presse, that perhaps they needed checking but he was in a hurry to use them before the socialists did.)

  In absenting himself from the chair Rodzyanko had shown foresight. On the evening of 15 November he received a note from Stürmer, who was waiting to hear what the president of the Duma meant to do about the insults to the imperial family at yesterday’s sitting, and, simultaneously, a letter from the Minister of the Court reminding him that he, Rodzyanko, was a court chamberlain, and also asking to be informed what steps …

  What steps indeed … Well, he could have that passage excised from the stenographic record. And sacrifice Varun-Sekret, though that would be a pity. At the same time, he could vindicate himself in the eyes of the public with a statement to the newspapers that he was not responsible for the omissions from speeches, which he always passed to the Press Bureau in full. Rodzyanko was no intriguer, indeed he much preferred to be as frank as possible. But, regarding himself as the Duma incarnate, the Duma on two legs, he was compelled to hedge his bets for Russia’s sake. In the Third Duma, when Guchkov was preparing to question the government about Rasputin, Rodzyanko, already president, had secretly warned the Tsar. On this last occasion, he had not done so, but he had now to cover himself.

  And so “the greatest—and fattest—man in Russia” (as the Emperor called him), alias “the Samovar” or “the Big Drum” (the Duma’s nicknames for him), again ascended the presidential tower, as self-assured as ever. The assembly came to order. The government, true to form, had absented itself, to avoid a clash—times had changed since Stolypin. The ministers’ box was occupied only by their deputies. The public gallery was even more crowded than it had been the day before yesterday. Chaliapin himself was said to be present. Another fracas was expected, and the press gallery was packed.

  In spite of everything, it would fall to the previous offender, blundering Varun, to open the session. Various boring announcements were made about legislative proposals received, and the names of negligent deputies who had missed sessions were read out, after which there was no way of avoiding it or putting it off.

  Varun-Sekret: Gentlemen, members of the State Duma! On 14 November, Deputy Milyukov saw fit to quote from German newspapers allegations concerning persons who are customarily not mentioned here, and discussion of whom is inadmissible. Not knowing German, I did not exercise the president’s right of censorship, provided for in standing orders. This passage has now been deleted from the stenographic report. Nonetheless, I must acknowledge that I was in error, and I tender my apologies to the Duma. I consider it my duty to resign from my office as vice president.

  Kerensky (from the body of the hall): Going to Canossa is degrading.

  (Such taste—such an apt analogy!) Corpulent Rodzyanko, unscathed and basking in the universal love and joy of the Duma, replaced his deputy in the chair, muting his bell-like bass.

  What were they to debate? Whether the government should resign? Whether it was any good? No such question could appear on the agenda. They were to debate a submission from the Budget Commission.

  The next speaker was slim and sharp-featured, with spiky mustaches, something of a dandy, but not offensively so. Well mannered and circumspect, the subject of a doggerel couplet by the Duma poetaster, Puryshkevich:

  Thy voice is soft, thy manner mild.

  But, Shulgin, thou’rt the devil’s child.

  He had once been on the far right, but was now a “progressive nationalist.”

  He came forward, looking excited, knowing that this was an important occasion, and conscious of the rapt, theatrical attention of an audience expecting fresh explosions.

  Shulgin: It is with no light heart that I begin our discussion today. I do not belong to the ranks of those for whom strife with the powers that be is a time-honored custom. On the contrary, in our philosophy even a bad government is better than no government. We must be particularly cautious in our behavior toward the government in time of war. We would wish, therefore, to exercise the utmost restraint.

  Speakers, however, spur each other on, the flame of competition is fanned, and it is almost impossible for a man with a romantic cast of mind to curb his tongue.

  And if we now raise the banner of struggle against this regime it is because we have indeed reached the limit of our endurance. (Cries of “Bravo!” from the left.) Should people who have looked Hindenburg in the eye without trembling tremble before Stürmer? (Laughter and applause, except from the extreme right.) To remain silent in such conditions would be the most dangerous thing of all. Oh, if only this regime were working toward the same end as ourselves, even Russian fashion, which is to say confusedly, we would try to assure the population that it will stagger on to the desired destination. As it is, we have only one recourse: to fight against this regime until it makes itself disappear. (“Bravo!” from the left. Except for the extreme right, the whole assembly applauds.)

  This was even stronger and more threatening than Milyukov’s statement, since the speaker was a well-known monarchist. Such a shift of opinion meant that patience was exhausted, and that something was about to happen—if not there and then in the chamber, then somewhere else. The atmosphere was electric. (“A
brilliant light that acts upon the nerves … ah, those speeches … to speak is terrifying … all Russia is listening …”)

  Such a struggle is the only way to prevent that which we must fear most—anarchy and the collapse of all authority. Such a struggle will mean that officers at the front will lead their companies into the attack more confidently, because they will know that the State Duma is fighting against the sinister shadow. The plenipotentiaries and zemstvos will purchase and ship grain more confidently, in the knowledge that it will not trickle away through the gap between the Ministry of Agriculture and the Ministry of the Interior. The workers too, with Russia’s fate partly in their hands, will work at their benches with greater zeal. And even when armed bands burst into their workshops crying, “Strike now and join the struggle against the government,” the workers will answer, “Be off with you, provocateurs! The State Duma is fighting for Russia side by side with the government, and if we use the strike weapon we will be fighting for Germany.” (Applause.) So then, gentlemen, how are we to carry on the struggle? For the present there is only one way: to tell the truth as it really is!

  Grave accusations have been made here. But the horrifying thing is not that they were made, but the way in which they were received. The horrifying thing is that the chairman of the Council of Ministers will not come here to make a statement and refute the accusations.

  In other words, the government lacked the strength even to defend itself, could not even bring itself to enter the chamber when it was accused of treason.

  (We are bound to ask ourselves why. Why didn’t Stürmer come forward to vindicate himself? Such a gulf had opened up that ministers saw no point in addressing deputies face to face—and speeches in the Duma were all the more violent as a result. Stürmer wrote later:

  If I had been there I would have said that I had taken no bribes and shared none. Unfortunately I could not do this. The animosity was so powerful that I could not think of mounting the rostrum and subjecting myself to unacceptable attacks.

  The hostility was such that the “oppressor” was even more terrified than the oppressed, and the power holders cowered in the background. Stürmer was guilty neither of treason nor of bribe taking, he had accepted nothing from Manasevich, yet an attempt to sue Milyukov was as far as he dared go.)

  Instead of this, he brings vexatious lawsuits against Deputy Milyukov. Gentlemen, Stürmer stands for the total disorganization of the food supply. Stürmer stands for Sukhomlinov getting off scot-free, and we fear that this is only the beginning—only the first line of that diabolical charter in which the program for the disgrace and destruction of Russia will be set out! (Prolonged, stormy applause from the whole chamber except the extreme right. Cries of “Bravo!”)

  In emigration in 1924 Shulgin recalled:

  We showed too much talent in our oratorical exercises. People were only too ready to believe us when we said that the government was useless.

  There were 440 deputies in the Duma, but some of them were silent for the whole four years of its existence. Peasants, archpriests, zemstvo doctors, Cossacks, professors, and marshals of the nobility sat stroking mustaches and beards and just listening. While, in accordance with a ceremonial understood by all, leaders of parties and of splinter groups paraded across the tribunal in a circular procession.

  Here comes that tempestuous dissident from the Bloc, leader of the Progressists, honorary justice of the peace and superintendent of high schools, the shock-headed deputy from the Don.

  Efremov: The pernicious character of the existing political system, the incompetence and impotence of the power holders … A government which the country does not believe … It may well be that over the whole period of its historical existence the government of Russia has never presented such a picture of horrifying disarray, such unrelieved mediocrity, such total incomprehension of the nation’s needs.

  (He spoke honestly, assuredly, as he saw the situation. But anyone inquiring into these matters half a century later would just as surely fail to see either the horrifying disarray or the total incomprehension. Contemporary observers were the victims of self-hypnosis.)

  At such a critical time to know, yet to be silent and inactive, ignoring what is going on, and still to remain in power is criminal neglect of one’s duty to one’s country, bordering on treason. Rumors about a possible separate peace threaten to leave Russia isolated in the family of civilized peoples. Even to think of a separate peace is in itself a betrayal of Russia. Anyone brazen enough to aim at such a peace will incur the people’s vengeance as a traitor to the fatherland!

  (Time would tell!)

  The people must give careful thought to it all. Intrigues behind the scenes, the surreptitious influence of adventurers, holy men, shady operators, and open or secret friends of Germany … (Applause in the center and on the left.) We cannot limit ourselves to a change of personnel …

  (That was where they parted company with the Bloc.)

  … what is needed is a radical transformation of the whole political system. A government responsible to the Duma! We must unshackle the Russian people! (Applause.)

  It got worse as it went on. The speakers were like children taking turns pushing each other on a swing. And they began to swing higher than the leader of the majority could have wished, let alone the monumental president, who was yet again in a state of high anxiety. Onto the tribune bounced a figure in a Circassian coat with cartridge belts and the epaulets of a Cossack captain (alas, the topknot he had worn in the first days of the war had disappeared into a mop of hair), fresh from the front (and eager to show it), a dashing Cossack left-winger from Terek … a buffoon, yet by no means unpopular with the Duma, namely, Mikhail Karaulov.

  The crucial fact about our last session was overwhelmed and lost in the turbulent seas of passionate rhetoric: that fact was the nonappearance of ministers at a session of the Budget Commission. The commission came to the conclusion that the total disorganization of the food supply threatens to render futile all the bloodshed at the front. Stürmer, however, replied that he found it impossible to appear before the Budget Commission. We must, as a matter of urgency establish the principle that ministers are responsible to the Duma. The present government, in the absence of such responsibility, will not only never create a great Russia but will ruin the Russia of the present. But I had never supposed that the threat of disaster was so close. We must intervene and break the fatal chain of events!

  It was like a gallop on horseback, followed by a cleaving stroke of the saber: it takes your breath away, you no longer feel the ground beneath you—you charge full tilt and your arm swings unbidden …

  On Tuesday a terrible accusation was hurled at the government from the tribunal—but what did you then do on Wednesday? You went on discussing with representatives of that same government, in the same Special Conferences, the same questions as before Tuesday. Let me turn your indignant gaze in a direction which may come as a surprise. If Wilhelm has allies within our government, the government too has its allies within us: they are our inaction, our weakness of will, our indecisiveness. The government is strong solely because of our weakness! Was it not from our ranks that the cry went up a year ago: “Don’t change horses in midstream”?

  The bold warrior from Terek was ready to change them even in the middle of a mountain torrent.

  Was it not from among us that the specious but false argument emerged about the criminal driver steering the car in which our motherland is seated into the abyss?

  Maklakov, top of the class, permits himself the faintest of smiles, showing indulgence toward the impetuous Cossack.

  Was it not we who passed the ludicrous Lenten law, while questions concerning political and civic freedom were consigned to oblivion? Gentlemen, can’t you see that the present government is a phantom, a flitting shadow, that the source of its courage is our timidity, and that the more time we lose, the stronger it is? The government is fully confident that you will not go beyond harsh words and in practice
will deny it nothing. Your indignation is nothing but hysterical screaming. You have surrendered the reins of the state chariot, you have climbed from the driving seat to the body of the vehicle and are now awakened only by jolts over the potholes. Meanwhile, the country expects you to act, act, and act again. What are we to do? you ask. (Voice from the left: “You tell us!” Laughter on the right.) I’m about to tell you. I have always maintained that, looked at calmly and rationally, there are no hopeless situations. I have always maintained that there are at least three ways out of any situation. (Laughter.) From the present situation I can in fact see four! (“Oho!” Laughter.) I won’t speak of a fifth and sixth, which are self-evident—our dissolution or Stürmer’s dismissal. The first solution is this: since it has become clear to us that the government is leading the state to disgrace and disaster, we should ask our president to request an audience with the Emperor and submit for his gracious consideration … I will be told that this is unconstitutional … Have it your own way, gentlemen! The second way out is perfectly constitutional: it is to break off relations with the government completely! To boycott ministers and stop inviting them to the Duma.

  Rodzyanko: Member of the State Duma Karaulov, we cannot refuse to invite ministers, that is their right.

  Karaulov: It is their right to appear, but we are not obliged to invite them.

  Rodzyanko: Please do not argue with observations from the chair.

  Karaulov: Very well, sir. So, gentlemen, let’s leave the ministers in peace for the time being. (Laughter.) What is in our power is to reject completely the budget for 1917. And all the draft bills presented by commissions! (Zamyslovsky: “And go home.”) You may go home, I will be going to the front, I will be of more use there than wasting words here.

  Rodzyanko: I will be compelled to deprive you of the right to speak.

  Karaulov (hurrying to make his main point): The third way out … I’m afraid that this third way is the one you will take. Fearing that the Duma may be dissolved, you hand over the boyar Milyukov, bound hand and foot, to the boyar Stürmer, stalk the lobbies for rumors, count kopecks in the Budget Commission, and heave deep sighs because tens of billions are slipping past you unchecked.