“REVOLUTION.”
Representatives of certain Duma and social circles visited Alexeiev, who was ill at Sevastopol. They told the General quite frankly that a revolution was brewing. They knew what the effect would be in the country, but they could not tell how the front would be impressed, and wanted advice.
Alexeiev strongly insisted that violent changes during the war were inadmissible, that they would constitute a deadly menace to the front, which, according to his pessimistic view, “was already by no means steady,” and pleaded against any irretrievable steps for the sake of preserving the Army. The delegates departed, promising to take the necessary measures in order to avert the contemplated revolution. I do not know upon what information General Alexeiev based his subsequent statement to the effect that the same delegates afterwards visited Generals Brussilov and Ruzsky, and after these generals had expressed an opposite view to his, altered their previous decision; but the preparations for the revolution continued.
It is as yet difficult to elucidate all the details of these negotiations. Those who conducted them are silent; there are no records; the whole matter was shrouded in secrecy, and did not reach the bulk of the army. Certain facts, however, have been ascertained.
Several people approached the Emperor, and warned him of the impending danger to the country and the dynasty—Alexeiev, Gourko, the Archbishop Shavelski, Purishkevitch (a reactionary member of the Duma), the Grand Dukes Nicholas Mikhailovitch and Alexander Mikhailovitch, and the Dowager Empress. After Rodzianko’s visit to the Army in the autumn of 1916, copies of his letter to the Emperor gained circulation in the Army. In that letter the President of the Duma warned the Emperor of the grave peril to the throne and the dynasty caused by the disastrous activities of the Empress Alexandra in the sphere of internal policy. On November 1st, the Grand Duke Nicholas Mikhailovitch read a letter to the Emperor, in which he pointed out the impossible manner, known to all classes of society, in which Ministers were appointed, through the medium of the appalling people who surrounded the Empress. The Grand Duke proceeded:
“... If you could succeed in removing this perpetual interference, the renascence of Russia would begin at once, and you would recover the confidence of the vast majority of your subjects which is now lost. When the time is ripe—and it is at hand—you can yourself grant from the throne the desired responsibility (of the Government) to yourself and the legislature. This will come about naturally, easily, without any pressure from without, and not in the same way as with the memorable act of October 17th, 1905.[4] I hesitated for a long time to tell you the truth, but made up my mind when your mother and your sisters persuaded me to do so. You are on the eve of new disturbances, and, if I may say so, new attempts. Believe me, if I so strongly emphasise the necessity for your liberation from the existing fetters, I am doing so not for personal motives, but only in the hope of saving you, your throne, and our beloved country from irretrievable consequences of the gravest nature.”
All these representations were of no avail.
Several members of the right and of the liberal wing of the Duma and of the progressive bloc, members of the Imperial family, and officers, joined the circle. One of the Grand Dukes was to make a last appeal to the Emperor before active measures were undertaken. In the event of failure, the Imperial train was to be stopped by an armed force on its way from G.H.Q. to Petrograd. The Emperor was to be advised to abdicate, and, in the event of his refusal, he was to be removed by force. The rightful heir, the Czarevitch Alexis, was to be proclaimed Emperor, and the Grand Duke Michael, Regent.
At the same time, a large group of the progressive bloc of the Duma, of representatives of Zemstvos and towns—well versed in the activities of the circle—held several meetings, at which the question was discussed of “the part the Duma was to play after the coup d’état.”[5] The new Ministry was then outlined, and of the two suggested candidates for the Premiership, Rodzianko and Prince Lvov, the latter was chosen.
Fate, however, decreed otherwise.
Before the contemplated coup d’état took place, there began, in the words of Albert Thomas, “the brightest, the most festive, the most bloodless Russian Revolution.”
[CHAPTER IV.]
The Revolution in Petrograd.
I did not learn of the course of events in Petrograd and at G.H.Q. until some time had elapsed, and I will refer to these events briefly in order to preserve the continuity of my narrative. In a telegram addressed to the Emperor by the members of the Council of the Empire on the night of the 28th February, the state of affairs was described as follows:—
“Owing to the complete disorganisation of transport and to the lack of necessary materials, factories have stopped working. Forced unemployment, and the acute food crisis due to the disorganisation of transport, have driven the popular masses to desperation. This feeling is further intensified by hatred towards the Government and grave suspicions against the authorities, which have penetrated deeply into the soul of the nation. All this has found expression in a popular rising of elemental dimensions, and the troops are now joining the movement. The Government, which has never been trusted in Russia, is now utterly discredited and incapable of coping with the dangerous situation.”
Preparations for the Revolution found favourable ground in the general condition of the country, and had been made long since. The most heterogeneous elements had taken part in these activities; the German Government, which spared no means for Socialist and defeatist propaganda in Russia, and especially among the workmen; the Socialist parties, who had formed “cells” among the workmen and in the regiments; undoubtedly, too, the Protopopov Ministry, which was said to have been provoking a rising in the streets in order to quell it by armed force, and thus clear the intolerably tense atmosphere. It would seem that all these forces were aiming at the same goal, which they were trying to reach by diverse means, actuated by diametrically opposed motives.
At the same time, the progressive block and social organisations began to prepare for great events which they considered inevitable, and other circles, in close touch with these organisations or sharing their views, were completing the arrangements for a “Palace coup d’état” as the last means of averting the impending Revolution.
Nevertheless, the rebellion started as an elemental force and caught everybody unawares. Several days later, when General Kornilov visited the Executive Committee of the Petrograd Soviet of Workmen and Soldiers’ Deputies, prominent members of that body incidentally explained that “the soldiers mutinied independently of the workmen, with whom the soldiers had not been in touch on the eve of the rebellion,” and that the “mutiny had not been prepared—hence the absence of a corresponding administrative organ.”
As regards the circles of the Duma and the social organisations, they were prepared for a coup d’état, but not for the Revolution. In the blazing fire of the outbreak they failed to preserve their moral balance and judgment.
The first outbreak began on February 23rd, when crowds filled the streets, meetings were held, and the speakers called for a struggle against the hated power. This lasted till the 26th, when the popular movement assumed gigantic proportions and there were collisions with the police, in which machine-guns were brought into action. On the 26th an ukaze was received proroguing the Duma, and on the morning of the 27th the members of the Duma decided not to leave Petrograd. On the same morning the situation underwent a drastic change, because the rebels were joined by the Reserve battalions of the Litovski, Volynski, Preobrajenski, and Sapper Guards’ Regiments. They were Reserve battalions, as the real Guards’ Regiments were then on the South-Western Front. These battalions did not differ, either in discipline or spirit, from any other unit of the line. In several battalions the Commanding Officers were disconcerted, and could not make up their minds as to their own attitude. This wavering resulted, to a certain extent, in a loss of prestige and authority. The troops came out into the streets without their officers, mingled with the crowds, and were imbued with the crowds’ psychology. Armed throngs, intoxicated with freedom, excited to the utmost, and incensed by street orators, filled the streets, smashed the barricades, and new crowds of waverers joined them. Police detachments were mercilessly slaughtered. Officers who chanced to be in the way of the crowds were disarmed and some of them killed. The armed mob seized the arsenal, the Fortress of Peter and Paul, and the Kresti Prison.
On that decisive day there were no leaders—there was only the tidal wave. Its terrible progress appeared to be devoid of any definite object, plan, or watchword. The only cry that seemed to express the general spirit was “Long live Liberty.”
Somebody was bound to take the movement in hand. After violent discussions, much indecision and wavering, that part was assumed by the Duma. A Committee of the Duma was formed, which proclaimed its objects on February 27th in the following guarded words:—
“In the strenuous circumstances of internal strife caused by the activities of the old Government, the temporary Committee of the members of the Duma has felt compelled to undertake the task of restoring order in the State and in society.... The Committee expresses its conviction that the population and the army will render assistance in the difficult task of creating a new Government, which will correspond to the wishes of the population, and which will be in a position to enjoy its confidence.”
There can be no doubt that the Duma, having led the patriotic and national struggle against the Government detested by the people, and having accomplished great and fruitful work in the interests of the army, had obtained recognition in the country and in the army. The Duma now became the centre of the political life of the country. No one else could have taken the lead in the movement. No one else could have gained the confidence of the country, or such rapid and full recognition as the Supreme Power, as the power that emanated from the Duma. The Petrograd Soviet of Workmen and Soldiers’ Deputies was fully aware of this fact, and it did not then claim officially to represent the Russian Government. Such an attitude towards the Duma at that moment created the illusion of the national character of the Provisional Government created by the Duma. Alongside, therefore, with the troops that mingled with the armed mob and destroyed in their trail everything reminiscent of the old power, alongside with the units that had remained faithful to that power and resisted the mob, regiments began to flock to the Taurida Palace with their commanding officers, bands and banners. They greeted the new power in the person of Rodzianko, President of the Duma, according to the rules of the old ritual. The Taurida Palace presented an unusual sight—legislators, bureaucrats, soldiers, workmen, women; a chamber, a camp, a prison, a headquarters, Ministries. Everyone foregathered there seeking protection and salvation, demanding guidance and answers to puzzling questions which had suddenly arisen. On the same day, February 27th, an announcement was made from the Taurida Palace:—
“Citizens. Representatives of the workmen, soldiers and people of Petrograd, sitting in the Duma, declare that the first meeting of their representatives will take place at seven o’clock to-night on the premises of the Duma. Let the troops that have joined the people immediately elect their representatives—one to each company. Let the factories elect their deputies—one to each thousand. Factories with less than a thousand workmen to elect one deputy each.”
This proclamation had a grave and fateful effect upon the entire course of events. In the first place, it created an organ of unofficial, but undoubtedly stronger, power alongside with the provisional Government—the Soviet of Workmen and Soldiers’ deputies, against which the Government proved impotent. In the second place, it converted the political and bourgeois revolution, both outwardly and inwardly, into a social revolution, which was unthinkable, considering the condition of the country at that time. Such a revolution in war time could not fail to bring about terrible upheavals. Lastly, it established a close connection between the Soviet, which was inclined towards Bolshevism and defeatism, and the army, which was thus infected with a ferment which resulted in its ultimate collapse. When the troops, fully officered, smartly paraded before the Taurida Palace, it was only for show. The link between the officers and the men had already been irretrievably broken; discipline had been shattered. Henceforward, the troops of the Petrograd district represented a kind of Pretorian guard, whose evil force weighed heavily over the Provisional Government. All subsequent efforts made by Gutchkov, General Kornilov and G.H.Q. to influence them and to send them to the front were of no avail, owing to the determined resistance of the Soviet.
The position of the officers was undoubtedly tragic, as they had to choose between loyalty to their oath, the distrust and enmity of the men, and the dictates of practical necessity. A small portion of the officers offered armed resistance to the mutiny, and most of them perished. Some avoided taking any part in the events, but the majority in the regiments, where comparative order prevailed, tried to find in the Duma a solution of the questions which perturbed their conscience. At a big meeting of officers held in Petrograd on March 1st, a resolution was carried: “To stand by the people and unanimously to recognise the power of the Executive Committee of the Duma, pending the convocation of the Constituent Assembly; because a speedy organisation of order and of united work in the rear were necessary for the victorious end of the war.”
Owing to the unrestrained orgy of power in which the successive rulers appointed at Rasputin’s suggestion had indulged during their short terms of office, there was in 1917 no political party, no class upon which the Czarist Government could rely. Everybody considered that Government as the enemy of the people. Extreme Monarchists and Socialists, the united nobility, labour groups, Grand Dukes and half-educated soldiers—all were of the same opinion. I do not intend to examine the activities of the Government which led to the Revolution, its struggle against the people and against representative institutions. I will only draw a summary of the accusations which were justly levelled by the Duma against the Government on the eve of its downfall:
All the Institutions of the State and of society—the Council of the Empire, the Duma, the nobility, the Zemstvos, the municipalities—were under suspicion of disloyalty, and the Government was in open opposition to them, and paralysed all their activities in matters of statesmanship and social welfare.
Lawlessness and espionage had reached unheard-of proportions. The independent Russian Courts of Justice became subservient to “the requirements of the political moment.”
Funeral of the first victims of the March Revolution in Petrograd.
Whilst in the Allied countries all classes of society worked whole-heartedly for the defence of their countries, in Russia that work was repudiated with contempt, and the work was done by unskilled and occasionally criminal hands, which resulted in such disastrous phenomena as the activities of Sukhomlinov and Protopopov. The Committee “of Military Industries,” which had rendered great services in provisioning the Army, was being systematically destroyed. Shortly before the Revolution its labour section was arrested without any reason being assigned, and this very nearly caused sanguinary disturbances in the capital. Measures adopted by the Government without the participation of social organisations shattered the industrial life of the country. Transport was disorganised, and fuel was wasted. The Government proved incapable and impotent in combating this disorder, which was undoubtedly caused to a certain extent by the selfish and sometimes rapacious designs of industrial magnates. The villages were derelict. A series of wholesale mobilisations, without any exemptions granted to classes which worked for defence, deprived the villages of labour. Prices were unsettled, and the big landowners were given certain privileges. Later, the grain contribution was gravely mismanaged. There was no exchange of goods between towns and villages. All this resulted in the stopping of food supplies, famine in the towns, and repression in the villages. Government servants of all kinds were impoverished by the tremendous rise in prices of commodities, and were grumbling loudly.
Ministerial appointments were staggering in their fitfulness, and appeared to the people as a kind of absurdity. The demands of the country for a responsible Cabinet were voiced by the Duma and by the best men. As late as the morning of February 27th, the Duma considered that the granting of the minimum of the political desiderata of Russian society was sufficient to postpone “the last hour in which the fate of the Mother Country and of the dynasty was to be settled.” Public opinion and the Press were smothered; the Military Censorship of all internal regions (including Moscow and Petrograd) had made the widest use of its telephones. It was impregnable, protected by all the powers of martial law. Ordinary censorship was no less severe. The following striking fact was discussed in the Duma:
In February, 1917, a strike movement, prompted to a certain extent by the Germans, began to spread in the factories. The Labour members of the Military Industries Committee then drafted a proclamation, as follows:—“Comrades, workmen of Petrograd, we deem it our duty to address to you an urgent request to resume work. The labouring class, fully aware of its present-day responsibilities, must not weaken itself by a protracted strike. The interests of the labouring class are calling upon you to resume work.” In spite of Gutchkov’s appeal to the Minister of the Interior and to the Chief Censor, this appeal was twice removed from the printing press, and was prohibited.
The question is still open for discussion and investigation as to what proportion of the activities of the old régime in the domain of economics can be attributed to individuals, what to the system, and what to the insuperable obstacles created in the country by a devastating war. But no excuse will ever be found for stifling the conscience, the mind, and the spirit of the people and all social initiative. No wonder, therefore, that Moscow and the provinces joined the Revolution without any appreciable resistance. Outside Petrograd, where the terror of street fighting and the rowdiness of a bloodthirsty mob were absent (there were, however, many exceptions), the Revolution was greeted with satisfaction, and even with enthusiasm, not only by the Revolutionary Democracy, but by the real Democracy, the Bourgeoisie and the Civil Service. There was tremendous animation; thousands of people thronged the streets. Fiery speeches were made. There was great rejoicing at the deliverance from the terrible nightmare; there were bright hopes for the future of Russia. There was the word:
“LIBERTY.”
It was in the air. It was reproduced in speeches, drawings, in music, in song. It was stimulating. It was not yet stained by stupidity, by filth and blood.
Prince Eugene Troubetskoi wrote: “This Revolution is unique. There have been bourgeois revolutions and proletarian revolutions, but such a national Revolution, in the broadest sense of the word, as the present Russian Revolution, there has never been. Everyone took part in this Revolution, everyone made it: the proletariat, the troops, the bourgeoisie, even the nobility ... all the live forces of the country.... May this unity endure!” In these words the hopes and fears of the Russian intelligencia, not the sad Russian realities, are reflected. The cruel mutinies at Helsingfors, Kronstadt, Reval, and the assassination of Admiral Nepenin and of many officers were the first warnings to the optimists.
In the first days of the Revolution the victims in the Capital were few. According to the registration of the All-Russian Union of Towns, the total number of killed and wounded in Petrograd was 1,443, including 869 soldiers (of whom 60 were officers). Of course, many wounded were not registered. The condition of Petrograd, however, out of gear and full of inflammable material and armed men, remained for a long time strained and unstable. I heard later from members of the Duma and of the Government that the scales were swaying violently, and that they felt like sitting on a powder-barrel which might explode at any moment and blow to bits both themselves and the structure of the new Government which they were creating. The Deputy-Chairman of the Soviet of Workmen and Soldiers’ Deputies, Skobelev, said to a journalist:—
“I must confess that, when in the beginning of the Revolution, I went to the entrance of the Taurida Palace to meet the first band of soldiers that had come to the Duma, and when I addressed them, I was almost certain that I was delivering one of my last speeches, and that in the course of the next few days I should be shot or hanged.”
Several officers who had taken part in the events assured me that disorder and the universal incapacity for understanding the position in the Capital were so great that one solid battalion, commanded by an officer who knew what he wanted, might have upset the entire position. Be that as it may, the temporary Committee of the Duma proclaimed on March 2nd the formation of a Provisional Government. After lengthy discussions with the parallel organs of “Democratic Power,” the Soviet of Workmen and Soldiers’ Deputies, the Provisional Government issued a declaration:—
“(1) Full and immediate amnesty for all political, religious and terrorist crimes, military mutinies and agrarian offences, etc.
“(2) Freedom of speech, the Press, meetings, unions and strikes. Political liberties to be granted to all men serving in the Army within the limits of military requirements.
“(3) Cancellation of all restrictions of class, religion and nationality.
“(4) Immediate preparation for the convocation of a Constituent Assembly elected by universal, equal, direct and secret suffrage for the establishment of a form of government and of the Constitution of the country.
“(5) The police to be replaced by a people’s Militia, with elected chiefs, subordinate to the organ of Local Self-Government.
“(6) Members of Local Self-Governing Institutions to be elected by universal, equal, direct and secret suffrage.
“(7) The units of the Army that have taken part in the Revolutionary movement are not to be disarmed or removed from Petrograd.
“(8) Military discipline to be preserved on parade and on duty. The soldiers, however, are to be free to enjoy all social rights enjoyed by other citizens.
“The Provisional Government deems it its duty to add that it has no intention of taking advantage of wartime to delay carrying out the aforesaid reforms and measures.”
This Declaration was quite obviously drafted under pressure from the “parallel power.”
In his book, Mes Souvenirs de Guerre, General Ludendorff says: “I often dreamt of that Revolution which was to alleviate the burdens of our war. Eternal chimera! To-day, however, the dream suddenly and unexpectedly came true. I felt as if a heavy load had fallen off my shoulders. I could not, however, foresee that it would be the grave of our might.”
One of the most prominent leaders of Germany—the country that had worked so hard for the poisoning of the soul of the Russian people—has come to the belated conclusion that “Our moral collapse began with the beginning of the Russian Revolution.”
[CHAPTER V.]
The Revolution and the Imperial Family.
Alone in the Governor’s old Palace at Mohilev the Czar suffered in silence; his wife and children were far away, and there was no one with him in whom he was able or willing to confide.
Protopopov and the Government had at first represented the state of affairs as serious, but not alarming—popular disturbances to be suppressed with “a firm hand.” Several hundred machine-guns had been placed at the disposal of General Habalov, Commander of the troops of the Petrograd district. Both he and Prince Golitzin, President of the Cabinet, had been given full authority to make use of exceptional means of quelling the riots. On the morning of the 27th General Ivanov had been despatched with a small detachment of troops and a secret warrant, to be made public after the occupation of Czarskoe Selo. The warrant invested him with full military and civic powers. No one could have been less fitted than General Ivanov to occupy so highly important a position, which amounted actually to a Military Dictatorship. Ivanov was a very old man—an honest soldier, unfitted to cope with political complications and no longer in possession of strength, energy, will-power, or determination.... His success in dealing with the Kronstadt disturbances of 1906 most probably suggested his present nomination.
Afterwards, when looking over Habalov’s and Bieliaiev’s[6] reports, I was aghast at the pusillanimity and the shirking of responsibility which they revealed.
The clouds continue to darken.
On February 26th the Empress wired to the Czar: “Am very anxious about the state of affairs in town....” On the same day Rodzianko sent his historic telegram: “Position serious. Anarchy in the capital. Government paralysed. Transport, supplies of fuel and other necessaries completely disorganised. General discontent grows. Disorderly firing in the streets. Military units fire at each other. Imperative necessity that some person popular in the country should be authorised to form new Cabinet. No delay possible. Any delay fatal. I pray God that the Monarch be not now held responsible.” Rodzianko forwarded copies of his telegram to all the Commanders-in-Chief, asking their support.
Early on the 27th the President of the Duma wired again to the Czar: “Position constantly aggravated. Measures must be taken immediately, as to-morrow may be too late. This hour decides the fate of our country and the dynasty.”
It is incredible that, after this, the Czar should not have realised the impending catastrophe, but, in the weakness and irresolution that characterised him, it is probable that he seized the slightest available excuse to postpone his decision, and in a fatalistic manner, left to fate to carry out her secret decrees....
Be that as it may, another impressive warning from General Alexeiev, confirmed by telegrams from the Commanders-in-Chief, yielded no better results, and the Czar, anxious about the fate of his family, left for Czarskoe Selo on the morning of the 29th, without coming to any final decision on the concessions to be granted to his people.
General Alexeiev, although straightforward, wise, and patriotic, was lacking in firmness, and his power and influence with the Emperor were too slight to permit of his insisting on a step the obvious necessity for which was evident even to the Empress. She wired to her husband on the 27th: “Concessions inevitable.”
The futile journey was two days in accomplishment. Two days without any correspondence or news as to the course of events, which were developing and changing every hour.... The Imperial train, taking a roundabout course, was stopped at Vishera by orders from Petrograd. On hearing that the Petrograd garrison had acclaimed the Provisional Committee of the Duma, and that the troops of Czarskoe Selo had sided with the Revolution, the Czar returned to Pskov.
At Pskov, on the evening of March 1st, the Czar saw General Ruzsky, who explained the position to him, but no decision was arrived at, except that on the 2nd of March, at 2 a.m., the Czar again sent for Ruzsky, and handed him an ukase, which made the Cabinet responsible to the Duma. “I knew that this compromise had come too late,” said Ruzsky to a correspondent, “but I had no right to express my opinion, not having received any instructions from the Executive Committee of the Duma, so I suggested that the Emperor should see Rodzianko.”[7]
All night long discussions full of deep interest and importance to the fate of the country were held over the wire—between Ruzsky, Rodzianko, and Alexeiev; between Headquarters and the Commanders-in-Chief, and between Lukomsky[8] and Danilov.[9]
They unanimously agreed that the Abdication of the Emperor was unavoidable.
Before midday on March 2nd Ruzsky communicated the opinion of Rodzianko and the Military Commanders to the Czar. The Emperor heard him calmly, with no sign of emotion on his fixed, immovable countenance, but at 3 p.m. he sent Ruzsky a signed Act of Abdication in favour of his son—a document drawn up at Headquarters and forwarded to him at Pskov.
If the sequence of historical events follows immutable laws of its own, there also seems to be a fate influencing casual happenings of a simple, everyday nature, which otherwise seem quite avoidable. The thirty minutes that elapsed after Ruzsky had received the Act of Abdication materially affected the whole course of subsequent events: before copies of the document could be despatched, a communication, announcing the delegates of the Duma, Gutchkov and Shulgin, was received.... The Czar again postponed his decision and stopped the publication of the Act.
The delegates arrived in the evening.
Amidst the complete silence of the audience,[10] Gutchkov pictured the abyss that the country was nearing, and pointed out the only course to be taken—the abdication of the Czar.
“I have been thinking about it all yesterday and to-day, and have decided to abdicate,” answered the Czar. “Until three o’clock to-day I was willing to abdicate in favour of my son, but I then came to realise that I could not bear to part with him. I hope you will understand this? As a consequence, I have decided to abdicate in favour of my brother.”
The delegates, taken aback by such an unexpected turn of events, made no objection. Emotion kept Gutchkov silent. “He felt he could not intrude on paternal relations, and considered that any pressure brought to bear upon the Emperor would be out of place.” Shulgin was influenced by political motives. “He feared the little Czar might grow up harbouring feelings of resentment against those who had parted him from his father and mother; also the question whether a regent could take the oath to the Constitution on behalf of an Emperor, who was not of age was a matter of debate.”[11]
“The resentment” of the little Czar concerned a distant future. As to legality, the very essence of a Revolution precludes the legality of its consequences. Also the enforced abdication of Nicholas II., his rejection of the rights of inheritance of his son, a minor, and, lastly, the transfer of supreme power by Michael Alexandrovitch, a person who had never held it, to the Provisional Government by means of an act, in which the Grand Duke “appeals” to Russian citizens to obey the Government, are all of doubtful legality.
It is not surprising that, “in the minds of those living in those first days of the Revolution”—as Miliukov says—“the new Government, established by the Revolution, was looked upon, not as a consequence of the acts of March 2nd and 3rd, but as a result of the events of February 27th....”
I may add that later, in the minds of many Commanding Officers—amongst them, Kornilov, Alexeiev, Romanovsky and Markov, who played a leading part in the attempt to save Russia—legal, party or dynastic considerations had no place. This circumstance is of primary importance for a proper understanding of subsequent events.
About midnight on March 2nd the Czar handed Rodzianko and Ruzsky two slightly amended copies of the Manifesto of his Abdication.
“In the midst of our great conflict with a foreign enemy, who has been striving for close on three years to enslave our country, it has been the will of God to subject Russia to new and heavy trials. Incipient popular disturbances now imperil the further course of the stubborn war. The fate of Russia, the honour of our heroic Army, the entire future of our beloved Land, demand that the war should be carried to a victorious conclusion.
“The cruel foe is nearly at his last gasp, and the hour approaches when our gallant Army, together with our glorious Allies, will finally crush our enemy’s resistance. In these decisive days of Russia’s existence we feel it our duty to further the firm cohesion and unification of all the forces of the people, and, with the approval of the State Duma, consider it best to abdicate the Throne of Russia and lay down our supreme power. Not wishing to part from our beloved Son, we transmit our inheritance to our Brother, the Grand Duke Michael Alexandrovitch, and give him our blessing in ascending the Throne of the Russian Empire.
“We command our Brother to rule the State in complete and undisturbed union with the representatives of the people in such Legislative Institutions as the People will see fit to establish, binding himself by oath thereto in the name of our beloved country.
“I call all true sons of the Fatherland to fulfil their sacred duty—to obey the Czar in this time of sore distress and help him, together with the representatives of the people, to lead the Russian State along the road to victory, happiness and glory.
“May the Lord our God help Russia!
“Nicholas.”
Late at night the Imperial train left for Mohilev. Dead silence, lowered blinds and heavy, heavy thoughts. No one will ever know what feelings wrestled in the breast of Nicholas II., of the Monarch, the Father and the Man, when, on meeting Alexeiev at Mohilev, and looking straight at the latter with kindly, tired eyes, he said irresolutely:—
“I have changed my mind. Please send this telegram to Petrograd.”
On a small sheet of paper, in a clear hand, the Czar had himself traced his consent to the immediate accession to the throne of his son, Alexis....
Alexeiev took the telegram, and—did not send it. It was too late; both Manifestoes had already been made public to the Army and to the country.
For fear of “unsettling public opinion,” Alexeiev made no mention of the telegram, and kept it in his portfolio until he passed it on to me towards the end of May, when he resigned his post of Supreme Commander-in-Chief. The document, of vast importance to future biographers of the Czar, was afterwards kept under seal at the Operations Department of General Headquarters.
Meantime, the members of the Cabinet and of the Provisional Committee[12] had assembled at the Palace of the Grand Duke Michael Alexandrovitch about midday on May 3rd. Since the 27th of February, the latter had been cut off from all communication with Headquarters or with the Emperor. But the issue of this Conference was practically predetermined by the spirit prevailing in the Soviet of Workmen’s Delegates, after the gist of the Manifesto became known to them, by the Resolution of Protest passed by their Executive Committee and forwarded to the Government, by Kerensky’s uncompromising attitude, and by the general correlation of forces. Except Miliukov and Gutchkov, all the others, “without the faintest desire of influencing the Grand Duke in any way,” eagerly advised him to abdicate. Miliukov warned them that “the support of a symbol familiar to the masses is necessary, if decided authority is to be maintained, and that the Provisional Government, if left alone, might founder in the sea of popular disturbances, and that it might not survive until the Convocation of the Constituent Assembly....”
After another conference with Rodzianko, President of the Duma, the Grand Duke came to his final decision to abdicate.
The “Declaration” of the Grand Duke was published on the same day:
“A heavy burden has been laid on me by the wish of my Brother, who has transferred the Imperial Throne of All Russia to me at a time of unexampled warfare and popular disturbances.
“Animated, together with the nation, by one thought, that the welfare of our country must prevail over every other consideration, I have decided to accept supreme power only if such be the will of our great people, whose part it is to establish the form of government and new fundamental laws of the Russian State through their representatives in the Constituent Assembly.
“With a prayer to God for His blessing, I appeal to all citizens of the Russian State to obey the Provisional Government, which is constituted and invested with full powers by the will of the State Duma, until a Constituent Assembly, convoked at the earliest possible moment by universal, direct, equal and secret suffrage, can establish a form of government which will embody the will of the people.”
“Michael.”
After his abdication, the Grand Duke resided in the neighbourhood of Gatchino, and stood completely aloof from political life. About the middle of March, 1918, he was arrested by order of the local Bolshevik Committee, taken to Petrograd, and, some time later, exiled to the Government of Perm.
It was rumoured that the Grand Duke, accompanied by his faithful English valet, had escaped about the middle of July; since then nothing definite has been heard about him. The search organised by the Siberian Government and by that of Southern Russia, as also by the desire of the Dowager Empress, yielded no certain results. The Bolsheviks, for their part, volunteered no official information whatever. But subsequent investigations brought some data to light which indicated that the “release” was a deception, and that the Grand Duke was secretly carried off by Bolsheviks, murdered in the vicinity of Perm, and his body drowned under the ice.
The mystery of the Grand Duke’s fate gave rise to fanciful rumours and even to the appearance of impostors in Siberia. During the summer of 1918, at the time of the first successful advance of the Siberian troops, it was widely reported both in Soviet Russia and in the South that the Siberian Anti-Bolshevist forces were led by the Grand Duke Michael Alexandrovitch. Periodically, until late in 1919, his spurious manifestoes appeared in the Provincial Press, chiefly in papers of the extreme Right.
It must be noted, however, that when, in the summer of 1918, the Kiev monarchists carried on an active campaign to impart a monarchical character to the Anti-Bolshevist military movement, they rejected the principle of legitimacy, partly because of the personality of some of the candidates, and, in regard to Michael Alexandrovitch, because he had “tied himself” by a solemn promise to the Constituent Assembly.
In consideration of the complexity and confusion of the conditions that obtained in March, 1917, I have come to the conclusion that a struggle to retain Nicholas II. at the head of the State would have led to anarchy, disruption of the Front, and terrible consequences, both for the Czar and for the country. A Regency, with Michael Alexandrovitch as Regent, might have involved conflict, but no disturbance, and was certain of success. It would have been more difficult to place Michael Alexandrovitch on the throne, but even that would have been possible if a Constitution on broad, democratic lines had been accepted by him.
The members of the Provisional Government and of the Provisional Committee—Miliukov and Gutchkov excepted—terrorised by the Soviets of Workmen’s Delegates, and attributing too much importance to them and to the excited workmen and soldier masses in Petrograd, took on themselves a heavy responsibility for the future when they persuaded the Grand Duke to decline the immediate assumption of Supreme Power.[13]
I am not referring to Monarchism or to a particular dynasty. These are secondary questions. I am speaking of Russia only.
It is certainly hard to say whether this power would have been lasting and stable, whether it would not have undergone changes later on; but, if it had even succeeded in maintaining the Army during the war, the subsequent course of Russian history might have been one of progress, and the upheavals that now endanger her very existence might have been avoided.
On March 7th the Provisional Government issued an order according to which “The ex-Emperor and his Consort are deprived of liberty, and the ex-Emperor is to be taken to Czarskoe Selo.” The duty of arresting the Empress was laid on Kornilov, and orthodox Monarchists never forgave him for it. But, strangely enough, Alexandra Fedorovna, after hearing of the warrant, expressed her satisfaction that the renowned General Kornilov, and not a member of the new Government, had been sent to her.
The Emperor was arrested by four members of the Duma.
On March 8th, after leave-takings at Headquarters, the Czar quitted Mohilev amidst the stony silence of the crowd, and under the tearful eyes of his mother, who never saw her son again.
To understand the seemingly incomprehensible behaviour of the Government to the Imperial family during the period of their residence both at Czarskoe Selo and at Tobolsk, the following circumstances must be kept in mind. Notwithstanding that, in the seven and a half months of the existence of the Provisional Government, not one single serious attempt was made to liberate the captives, yet they attracted the exclusive attention of the Soviet of Workmen and Soldiers’ Delegates. On March 10th Vice-President Sokolov made the following announcement to a unanimously approving audience: “I was informed yesterday that the Provisional Government had consented to allow Nicholas II. to go to England and that it is discussing arrangements with the British authorities without the knowledge or the consent of the Executive Committee of Workmen’s and Soldiers’ Delegates. We have mobilised all the military units that we can influence, and have taken measures to prevent Nicholas II. from leaving Czarskoe without our permission. Telegrams have been sent down the railway lines ... to detain the train of Nicholas II. should it appear.... We have despatched our Commissars with the necessary number of troops and armoured cars, and have closely surrounded the Alexander Palace. After that we conferred with the Provisional Government, who confirmed all our orders. At present the late Czar is under our protection, as well as under that of the Provisional Government....”
On the 1st August, 1917, the Imperial family was exiled to Tobolsk, and, after the establishment of Bolshevist rule in Siberia, they were transferred to Ekaterinburg, and were the victims of incredible insults and cruelty by the mob, until they were put to death.[14] Thus did Nicholas II. atone for his grievous sins, voluntary and involuntary, against the Russian people.[15]
In the course of the second Kuban campaign I received the news of the death of the Emperor Nicholas II., and ordered memorial services for the soul of the former leader of the Russian Army to be held in the Volunteer Army. Democratic circles and the Press criticised me severely for this.
The words of wisdom, Vengeance is mine: I will repay, were obviously forgotten.