Some idea of the crime of Ekaterinburg is now in the reader’s possession; but, in dealing with the evidence in all its aspects, it is necessary to give an account of conditions that prevailed in the country then, and of the chief actors in the drama. The murder of the Tsar and his family, even after his abdication, may not be regarded as a simple act of vengeance or casual precaution.
In 1917, the Germans had sent Lenin with a horde of Jewish revolutionaries to take possession of Russia. A Red Government, composed of persons selected in Berlin, was now in power; but they were vassals. Count Mirbach, representing the suzerain State, figured in Moscow as the virtual ruler, before whom the apostles of Karl Marx bowed the knee. At the period under review, the Reds had displayed no overt disposition to throw off the German yoke. They conformed with all the humiliating clauses of the Treaty of Brest-Litovsk, dutifully sending the tribute gold to Berlin which had been demanded as “war indemnity,” plundering the national Exchequer and resources by order of their German masters. Apparently everything was going well with the German plan of “peaceful” conquest, whatever secret hopes the Red leaders may have nurtured. Instead of a redoubtable foe, Russia was now a willing handmaid.
Ludendorff has related frankly, disingenuously, how simple and wonderful had been this operation.[3] Not only was Russia out of the war; the foodstuffs obtained from the Ukraine had literally saved Germany and her allies. Hetman Skoropadsky already ruled the Ukraine for Germany. Krasnov, at the head of the Cossacks, and Alexeiev with the gallant Volunteer army remained neutral. Ludendorff hoped to lure them into his net—a radiant combination that assured dominion over Russia and her vast resources. He explains why it was not realised. The German Government was to blame, it appears. There was a divergence of views between Berlin and G.H.Q. The latter considered that the Reds had “done their work”; so the Reds “must go,” and Krasnov and Alexeiev be diverted at once from their sympathies with the Entente in order to preclude any possibility of a revival of the Eastern front. For this purpose it was necessary to order the German divisions in the South of Russia to march on Moscow. Ludendorff felt quite sure that even Alexeiev would not be able to resist the temptation to join hands with the enemies of Sovietdom. But the obstinate, slow-witted bureaucrats in Berlin could not adapt themselves to these lightning changes. Ludendorff stormed at them: Were they blind not to see that the Reds were hoodwinking them? Did they want proofs? Were the Czech prisoners of war not proceeding eastward with the avowed object of reinforcing the French army?
This concrete accusation could not be denied. Lenin’s organization had promised Professor Masaryk to permit the Czecho-Slovaks to leave the country by way of Siberia provided they went peacefully. It was an easy riddance of possible enemies. The Czechs were proceeding quietly to Vladivostok, carefully abstaining from violence even when sorely tried by the impudence of local Soviets, giving up their arms to bribe the Reds.
Mirbach received instructions to call his Red henchmen to account; at the same time messages were conveyed from the two Kaisers to their warriors imprisoned in Siberia, enjoining upon them the duty of organising resistance to the “invaders.” How the German and Magyar officers enrolled Russian convicts and flung themselves athwart the Czech retreat with the energetic concurrence of the Soviets is a matter of history. But the connection between this circumstance and all that preceded and followed is less known. Ludendorff feared above all the re-establishment of the Eastern front, yet it was Ludendorff and his Government that brought about the very consequences that they least wanted.
Had the Czechs been allowed to depart it is certain that there would have been no military help from the Entente side, and the chances of seducing the Russian anti-Bolshevist leaders might not have been still-born. As it was, the whole edifice of guile, duplicity, and deceit, raised with such labour and cost, fell to the ground. The murder of Mirbach sounded the call of its collapse.
But at the time when the fate of the Tsar and his family hung in the balance, Germany was absolute mistress of the situation, and, had there been unity of method as well as of purpose between the German High Command and Berlin, the fate of Russia and, perhaps, of the war would have been changed. Berlin wanted to continue to rule Russia through the Soviets under Mirbach; Ludendorff aimed at the overthrow of the Soviets in order to enlist the support of the Cossacks and Volunteers. As might be expected, the conflict between them resulted in a fatal compromise—an attempt to run with the White hare and hunt with the Red hounds.
Ludendorff’s plan was to substitute a more agreeable form of government in the place of the Soviets and to modify suitably the Treaty of Brest-Litovsk. Here we have the key to the removal of Nicholas II. from Tobolsk. But all that subsequently happened was conditional upon another set of forces. Sovietdom asserted itself. The working and organization of the Soviets fitted in admirably with German requirements, and incidentally subserved the plans of the murderers. New names, devised to appeal to the fancy of the mob, concealed familiar institutions. There were three principal bodies—Sovnarkom, Tsik, and Chrezvychaika, these names being abbreviations of Soviet narodnykh kommisarov (Council of People’s Commissaries), Tsentralny ispolnitelny komitet (Central Executive Committee), and Chrezvychainaia komisia dlia borby z kontr-revoliutsiei (Extraordinary Commission for Combating Counter-revolution). Under the old régime the Duma, the Council of Ministers, and the Okhrana had occupied the same relative positions. Instead of the former ranks and dignities there were komisary, all supposed to be elected, but in reality appointed by an inner and occult body. Sovdeps (Councils of Deputies) and Komitety bednoty (Poor Commissions) took over the functions of the old zemstvos and municipalities, grouped into regional communes, just as it had been proposed to group the zemstvos according to separate oblasti (regions). Sovietdom (in Russian Sovdepia) had invented no new forms. It is still in the grip of the Red Okhrana.
As there was no apparent authority, the local bodies often acted independently; indeed, Lenin encouraged this tendency. Vlast na mestakh (every place its own master) was his motto. Lenin did not rule; the Soviet system was governed by other people, the fellow-passengers who came with him under German auspices. Though he delivered impassioned harangues before the Sovnarkom and received deputations from minor soviets, the real power was elsewhere—in the Tsik and Chrezvychaika; and, just as it had been in the Old Russia, the last word was always with the Police-Okhrana organisation.
Mirbach received his daily report from the Chrezvychaika. He was murdered by two men who said they came from that office. Lenin had as little to do with his death as he had with the murders, a week later, of the ex-Tsar and his family. The Red Okhrana and the inner circle of the Tsik were the veritable authors of the crime of Ekaterinburg, and probably of Mirbach’s assassination.