The fourth way, gentlemen deputies … No, the fourth way is not for you and not to be spoken of here. It is the way which the country itself will take when it finally loses its last hope—its hope in you! (Applause from the left.)
This portentous promise made it obvious that Karaulov had connections, that he knew something, and his hearers wondered what strings he held in his hands.
Part of the Duma ritual was to give speakers from the non-Russian nationalities a turn on the tribune. Partly to cool the Duma down a little, Rodzyanko now called, one after the other, a Muslim deputy, a deputy from Kurland, and one from the Jewish community in Kovno. (Not that discussion of the Jewish question was likely to cool the Duma down. Rather the opposite.) But the great disadvantage of an evenhanded alternation of speakers was that there were also rightists in the chamber and the Duma would have to listen to their obscurantist ravings for the time prescribed by standing procedure. What, though, did the rightists now amount to? Their number was steadily falling, their ranks were thinning, fragmenting, coming apart at the seams, they seemed to be degenerating, to be afraid of their own existence and to lack the courage to defend it. Where have we seen before the deputy now mounting the tribune steps? A tall, heavily built, big-headed fellow, wearing a starched collar big enough for a horse, with waxed mustaches and a mop of black curls. Whose silhouette does he remind us of? Of course, of course—in fact that’s his nickname in the Duma—"the Bronze Horseman.” Nor is the resemblance fortuitous: Markov belongs to the Naryshkin clan (as did Peter the Great’s mother), and the family likeness has surfaced after seven if not ten generations! Only his walk is not that of the Emperor, he bobs along as if unsure of his footing.
The universally hated president of the Union of the Russian People affects a defiant hauteur, or infuriated hardness, his face is rigidly set, because he is used to swimming forever against the current, and finding himself among enemies in any gathering of educated Russian people. This manner reinforces their eagerness to oppose him. He exercises a kind of negative appeal: if Shingarev charms even his opponents, Markov repels even those who share his views. His crude bullying can repel even when what he is saying is correct. If the Duma decided to exclude one single member and took a vote on it, Markov would be expelled with no objections from anyone.
Markov II: Mr. Shulgin has only one recourse left to him: to fight against the government of Russia until it topples into the abyss. We in the Duma will attack the hated government with words—and that will be called patriotism. But when the factory workers strike because they believe what you say, that will be treason. They are not mere windbags, and if you say let us fight against the state power in the middle of a terrible war, you must realize that your words will lead to unrest, to a popular revolt, at the very moment when the state is trembling under the blows of its enemy. The ministers you hate will not be put to flight just by your words—that can be brought about only by the fourth way which Deputy Karaulov did not dare mention here. The fourth way, which that gentleman with a medal from the Tsar on his chest suggested to you, is indeed capable of routing the government, but it is also capable of destroying Russia. (Noise and laughter on the left. “It’s not funny! Russia is weeping!” from the right.) You Shulgins are defeatists, because you have caused the people and the army to lose faith. If they cease to believe that they have behind them a regime governing with the best intentions no one will want to fight.
Shingarev: They’re fighting for Russia, not for the government!
Markov: We on the right are in a difficult position. (Laughter on the left, cries of “True!”)
It was indeed true. He was pretty sure that his cause was lost, both in this assembly and in Russia at large.
A grave charge has been leveled at the chairman of the Council of Ministers from the rostrum. We remain silent—and Mr. Shulgin is able to pretend that we agree with him. But the reason for our silence was that cries of indignation are not the right argument against such direct accusations. I have heard that this affair will be the subject of legal proceedings: it will be decided in court whether the chairman of the Council of Ministers is guilty or the deputy who accused him is a slanderer. Mr. Shulgin is not happy about this: you’re trying to wriggle out of it with forensic chicanery, he says. You would have the chairman of the Council of Ministers mount this rostrum and say, “It isn’t true that I’ve taken bribes, it isn’t true that I’m a traitor.” And if he did you’d be yelling, “Down with him! Off with you!” (From the left: “True!”) You hoped that the whole issue would be blurred by the dissolution of the Duma. So that you could appeal to the people, and to those in the trenches who are giving their lives for you, and tell them, “We accused him of bribe taking, so they dismissed us.” That didn’t happen, you’re threatened with a lawsuit, so now you’re prevaricating and complaining about legal chicanery.
(The First Department of the Senate requested Milyukov to explain the grounds for his accusations, but, having none, he answered evasively, saying that he would present “all the evidence” when a commission of inquiry into the actions of the minister was set up. Russkie Vedomosti approved of this answer, arguing that if Milyukov consented to explain himself it would create a precedent which would limit freedom of speech in the Duma. Deputies, of course, must be completely free to slander.)
You have heard the heroic words of the Cossack deputy Karaulov. He has promised to overthrow all that we now have by a “fourth means,” of which he will speak in some other place. But there are only technical differences between his speech and those of Milyukov, Kerensky, and Chkheidze, or the amiable utterance of Mr. Shulgin: they all point in the same direction—to revolution! (Karaulov: “It’s the government that’s pointing us toward it!”) You do not realize what it is that you want to do: you want to destroy all that constitutes the Russian state, the good together with the bad!
To the annoyance of the majority, Markov was not really much inferior to the orators of the Bloc in clarity and coherence. He had received an education of sorts, at the Institute of Civil Engineers. Although the hostile bulk of Rodzyanko hovered suspiciously over his head, Markov knew that, regardless of the president, he had a right to the time allotted by standing procedure. In full command of the situation, he stood firm on the rostrum, reinforced by his many years of acting in a hostile milieu.
We on the right will do all we can to frustrate you in this. We are not courtiers in white breeches and ostrich plumes. But we are subjects loyal to our oath.
Milyukov’s speech, as usual with that deputy, was carefully planned in advance: he read almost the whole of it. It was not like Kerensky’s frenzied speech—forty-four words a second. Milyukov spoke most seductively, and his less educated listeners would not have been able to appreciate fully an exposition so brilliant in form and so bad in content. Its whole structure was based on excerpts from foreign newspapers. One Moscow newspaper—title unknown—printed a report that a note had been sent to GHQ by extreme rightists—names not given—stressing the need for a separate peace, this was reprinted in Europe, and this proves that the extreme right are traitors to their fatherland. From primitive mentalities this procedure is excusable—but from a professor, a historian, a politician? And afterward, when the question is asked, “Is this stupidity or treason?” the chorus from Aida answers, “Treason!” (Laughter.) This is very picturesque, it would be extremely effective in the theater, but imagine it the other way around. A member of parliament in England reads out a clipping from Russkoye Znamya about Deputy Milyukov and asks the British parliament, “Is this stupidity or treason?” Only pure stupidity could consider this proof. (Applause from the right. Laughter and cries of “Bravo!”) If he had any proof, which I very much doubt, he should have tabled a parliamentary question, complete with documents and statements from witnesses. (Noises on the left.)
The same is true of what he says about ministers. Absolutely nothing is proven, no one is shown to be guilty. What has brought you to such a pitch of indignation wi
th the government? Its incompetent organization of the food supply. As far as that goes, we agree with you completely. But it is you who have contrived to bring about this absurd situation, and you should have the courage to admit it, and not to shunt the blame onto the government. The government is now almost excluded from the management of the food supply, you have planted your own progressively minded activists everywhere as plenipotentiaries. If it’s truth you’re after, confess that instead of helping the government you have aggravated the muddle which the government was making before. And then join us in thinking how to get out of this impasse, instead of fostering rebellion in the country.
The vice-governor of Kharkov, Koshura-Masalsky, received a message of gratitude from the workers: he had combated rising prices, but not by means which you would find altogether acceptable. The poorer inhabitants of Kharkov all saw him as their champion, fighting the moneybags, the black marketeers and profiteers. And what did you do? You promptly hounded him out of office. So that now all other governors will be wary of the progressive State Duma. You, gentlemen, do not really want to combat high prices—if you do you should renounce profiteering yourselves! There are too many black marketeers and profiteers in progressive circles—that’s the whole trouble. You lack the courage to target your own shady dealers.
We on the right can see only one way out: an economic dictatorship exercised by the government.
(Which sounded to the progressive Duma like something conjured up from hell.)
Without it we will have people standing in line, and we will have the speculators and racketeers who elected many of you.
Gentlemen, I have enjoyed reading the so-called progressive, leftist—meaning Jewish—newspapers. I was simply delighted to see how people land themselves in complete contradiction of their fundamental beliefs. The further to the left the papers were, the more insistently they demanded that the peasants should be brought under control and forced to sell their grain. I disagree with that profoundly, but I am delighted to see these newspapers and these parties revealing their true nature, showing what their love of the people really amounts to. They pitch into the poorer peasant—that ruthless profiteer! He doesn’t want fixed prices—he wants higher prices! This is typical: as soon as the town, which has always lived at the expense of the village, has always eaten at the village’s expense, always shortchanged the village—as soon as things became the least little bit difficult for the town the urban bellyachers immediately obtained the support of the whole progressive camp, and the progressive camp had no hesitation in attacking the everlastingly wronged peasant in the village.
When people speak of the lofty patriotism of those in public life, I beg you to consider a little more carefully and coolly. The Chief Artillery Administration has just made public the comparative costs of unpatriotic government shells and patriotic private shells: a 107-millimeter shell from a state factory costs fifteen rubles, from a private factory thirty-five; six-inch mortar bombs cost forty-eight rubles from state factories, seventy-five from private factories. The author of the memorandum concludes that if there had been less patriotic public spirit in Russia, and a few more state factories, the country would already have saved more than a billion rubles. Of course, if we had had no private factories we would not have been able to produce all the shells we need. Nonetheless, the public figures concerned are now busy robbing the people of a second billion, they do not work free of charge, they are in a great hurry to get exceedingly rich. But when the government, after allotting five hundred million rubles of the state’s (the people’s) money to the public organizations, says please, gentlemen, permit us to introduce one modest government auditor into each of your committees—what sort of outcry do we hear from the progressive activists? “This is police supervision, you insult us!” How can auditing by the state be described as “refusal to trust” them when five hundred million rubles of state funds are involved? (Hubbub on the left. Cries of “Police rule!”) Last year, when the budget estimate for the Most Holy Synod was under consideration, and you learned that five kopecks was collected from worshippers bringing their own little yellow candles to church, you called for state financial supervision of bishops of the Orthodox Church, in case they inadvertently expended the money of the faithful in some way uncongenial to such zealots for the Orthodox faith as yourselves. Yet the billions of state funds flowing through your nongovernmental bodies must not be subject to audit?
He goes on to speak of industrialists who resell army permits for the use of freight cars. The time allotted to speakers is generous, but Markov’s has run out. He asks for more.
Rodzyanko: I cannot put this request to the vote. (Shouts from the right: “It’s been done more than once before!” and “It’s been allowed often enough!”)
Markov’s speech could damage Rodzyanko’s relations not with the Emperor, like those of Milyukov, but with the Duma, which that very evening would be deciding whether to reelect him for the following year. However, everybody was listening attentively to this calm speech, which had robbed the attack on the government of much of its impetus (voices from the left as well as from the right called, “Let’s hear him!”) and Rodzyanko took the plunge:
Is the Duma minded to grant an extension? I put it to the vote.
Markov then spoke of the abuses of nongovernmental organizations, and particularly of the way in which the Unions of Zemstvos and Towns shielded deserters.
Remember the well-known trial of Paramonov at Rostov, remember that ultraprogressive public figure’s profiteering and extortion, and how the local administration assisted him Remember the arrest of the Kiev sugar kings, who operated under cover of the flag of public service for the salvation of the fatherland. When you denounce the government, do not forget all these people. Many dirty deeds and many obscenities are committed under the flag of public service.
If we really see ministers betraying the Russian state, we will deal with them more ruthlessly than you would! But we will not put our faith in unsupported allegations, in mere excerpts from foreign newspapers. There are strikes in the factories, and you accuse the police. But why the police, when there are members of the Duma who send people in for this purpose, and say that striking is the way to obtain peace? Campaigning for peace when the Germans have a stranglehold on Russia—now that is treason. Those members of the Duma are traitors, and you do nothing to eliminate them from your midst. So, then, let us indeed fight against treason, we are with you there, but first make the effort to expel the real traitors from your midst, because until you do you have no moral right to accuse others. (Applause from the right.)
Shortly afterward, the Duma’s silver-tongued orator, a barrister more famous for his eloquence and insufficiently respected for the profundity and precision of his thought (the Faculty of Mathematics had left its mark on him) mounted the rostrum, looking gently reproachful, with his gaze turned, it might seem, inward rather than on the chamber.
V. Maklakov: Gentlemen, I do not intend to denounce anyone.
(This was a dig at Milyukov, as usual.)
Although things are going well at the front just now, and Germany’s war-weariness is becoming obvious to all,
As was the weariness of the speaker himself, so offhand and cheerless was his demeanor, so low his voice, though clear enough. No showy “Roman” rhetoric here, he spoke in casual conversational fashion—you would never guess that his speech had been carefully rehearsed.
we are confronted with a new and terrible danger, and it has nothing to do with the food crisis, but with the fact that something has happened to Russia, that her spirit has somehow changed. Some people already make so bold as to talk of peace, others—with the enemy looking on—to say, “The worse the better, let the catastrophe happen, it will get us somewhere or other.” While others lock up their barns …
(So he too had in mind hoarders other than the industrialists and the banks.)
… get rich, speculate, and make merry. While the fainthearted and those of little fai
th lose all hope and say, “Russia will not hold out for long.” And this hopelessness is transmitted to the soldiers at the front. That is where the danger lies.
And this is the same Russia that two years ago belied the hopes that Germany placed on our internal dissensions; the Russia that last year, at the moment of sudden disaster, had the courage not to lose her head; the Russia that instead of indulging in contemptible rhetoric set her shoulder to the wheel! What has happened to that endlessly patient, long-suffering Russia of ours?
Maklakov, incidentally, was one of the few who before war broke out, as early as the spring of 1914, had prophesied Russia’s defeat. He had prophesied it, but had not opposed the war, in fact he had wanted it.
Over the length and breadth of Russia people ask despairingly, “Where is our government? Who is governing Russia? Where are they leading us?” And it is not we who ask these questions, not the State Duma, nor yet the revolution, for which we are allegedly calling—that revolution is at a standstill. No—the regime itself, before our very eyes, and the eyes of all Europe, persists in destroying whatever confidence we might have in it with kaleidoscopic changes of personnel which give us no time even to discern the faces of ministers as they fall. Incomprehensible promotions, incomprehensible falls from grace—a political conundrum. And the end result is what? Stürmer’s government! They are used to telling lies around the throne, they can deceive their Emperor, but they will not deceive Russia! (“Bravo!” Applause from the whole chamber, except the extreme right.)
We are advised to avoid damaging the prestige of the regime—then everything will be all right. Remember the Kovno fortress. Desperate cries for help reached us from the officers at Kovno: Grigoriev, the commandant, they said, would not defend the fortress. We too cried out—but in muted voices; on this tribune we were silent, not wanting to damage morale in the army, and fearing that anything we said might reach the ears of the Germans. Russia paid for our silence with the fall of a first-class fortress. Grigoriev is a symbol: a single commandant paralyzed a whole army. In the same way our government paralyzes all Russia.
November 1916 Page 144