Chapter 12
in which there is a second leader of popular protest in Russia: his name is Alexander Kerensky
BRAND-NEW DAY
At 8 a.m. on 27 February 1917, member of State Duma Alexander Kerensky wakes up his wife. One of his deputy comrades has called to report an insurrection at the Volynsky Regiment. Moreover, the Duma is being dissolved, and Kerensky is needed urgently at the Tauride Palace, in the center of Saint Petersburg, where the Duma usually sits. He rushes to the phone to find out the latest news, and then to the palace, which is only five minutes from his apartment.
Soldiers at the barracks of the Volynsky Regiment are up much earlier than Kerensky. Line-up is scheduled for 7 a.m., but they assemble an hour earlier. Petty Officer Kirpichnikov suggests that they disobey the officer corps’ orders to shoot the demonstrators in the city. When the officers come, the plan is to shout “Hurray!” and then disarm them. All the soldiers readily agree.
Two officers enter the barracks at 7 a.m., the appointed time. In response to the greeting, “Hello, brothers!” the soldiers cry, “Hurray!” and start banging their rifle butts on the ground. Regiment Commander Lashkevich tries to shout “Attention” in order to read out an order from Commander Khabalov of the Petrograd Military District and a telegram from Emperor Nicholas II. But nobody is listening. He runs out—and gets a bullet in the back.
Members of the Volynsky Regiment, now under the command of Kirpichnikov, go to the barracks of the Preobrazhensky and Litovsky regiments, which join the insurgents. Alongside them are workers from the Imperial Arsenal. Together, they head off to seize and set fire to administrative buildings. This is the moment at which Alexander Kerensky wakes up.
While he is en route to the Duma, the insurgents seize the Arsenal and set fire to the district court. The commanders of the neighboring regiments are quick to hear the news. The Moskovsky Regiment, still loyal to the government, is deployed on Liteyny Bridge to stop the rebels. A firefight begins—and ends quickly when the Moskovsky Regiment shoots its own officers and joins the uprising.
A huge crowd gathers on Nevsky Prospekt, and scuffles break out between police and protesters. French Ambassador Maurice Paléologue looks from his window and cannot believe his eyes: “The bridge, usually so lively, was empty. But on one side there appeared a disorderly crowd with red banners, while on the other side was a regiment of soldiers. It seemed there would be a clash, but they went towards each other and began to fraternize. The soldiers received the rebels as brothers.”
THE END OF DUMA
When Kerensky enters the meeting room, his colleagues surround him. They believe that he, the most left-wing member of the Duma, is likely to be better informed about what is happening. Kerensky says that the revolution has begun and that the duty of the Duma members, as representatives of the people, is “to welcome the insurgents and work together to resolve common issues.”
The members of Duma are initially in a state of panic, but “the excitement was so great that soon all anxiety disappeared,” Kerensky recalls. Everyone wonders how the government will respond. Rumors are flying that Interior Minister Protopopov plans to provoke unrest and use it as a pretext to crush the uprising, and then conclude a separate peace with Germany. It is far-fetched, yet the people really do view Protopopov as the embodiment of evil.
At 11 a.m. Duma Chairman Mikhail Rodzianko reads out a decree issued by Nicholas II to dissolve the Duma until April. What to do next? The left-wing parliamentarians, headed by Kerensky and Chkheidze, propose not to obey the imperial decree, continue the session, and assume supreme authority—after all the capital is in the throes of revolution.
But no one is sure that the revolution will last. Everyone is expecting to hear the sound of machine-gun fire. All are sure that Protopopov is about to crack down on the insurrection. Rodzianko and Milyukov suggest that, rather than disperse, the Duma members should move from the large hall to a small semicircular room behind the presidium, where the informal sitting continues for another two hours.
The parliamentarians dare not disobey the order of the tsar and so come up with a compromise called the “Provisional Committee of the State Duma.” What it is and what its functions and powers are, no one knows. Yet it includes all the most prominent Duma members: Rodzianko, Milyukov, Kerensky, Chkheidze, Shulgin, Nekrasov, and representatives of all parties, except the right. The right-wingers did not come to the Tauride Palace that day—no one informed them of the session.
A stone’s throw from the Duma, Zinaida Gippius observes what is happening from her balcony: “All the adjacent streets are packed with soldiers who seem to have joined the movement,” she notes in her diary.
CALMNESS IN HIGH COMMAND
Before relocating to the semicircular hall, the chairman of the Duma, Rodzianko, who himself is no revolutionary, sends another panic-stricken telegram to the tsar, in which he accurately sums up the situation: by disbanding the Duma, the tsar has destroyed the last bulwark of law and order; the regiments have rebelled and, together with crowds of people, are moving towards the buildings of the Interior Ministry and the Duma. Civil war is about to break out, he writes.
Rodzianko’s aim is to persuade the tsar to revoke the decree to dissolve the Duma and appoint a new government: “Sire, do not delay. If the movement reaches the army, the Germans will triumph, and Russia and her dynasty will collapse.… The decisive hour has struck for you and the Motherland.”
Rodzianko’s telegram is kept secret from his colleagues. Many members of Duma—for instance, Kerensky—believe that it is already too late. Nicholas reads it and, with his usual disdain, says to Alekseyev: “That fatso Rodzianko has written another pile of nonsense, which I will not even reply to.”
The emperor is unmoved. At 1 p.m. War Minister Belyaev reports to him that the disturbances have been “vigorously” suppressed, and order shall once more reign in the capital.
But by this time the rebellious soldiers have moved to the Vyborg Side and seized the infamous Kresty prison; other regiments are joining them.
SOLDIERS AT THE GATE
At 1 p.m., when the informal meeting of the Duma is still in progress, the Tauride Palace is surrounded by troops. Kerensky rushes to the window. “From the window I saw soldiers,” he recalls. “Surrounded by citizens, they lined up along the opposite side of the street. They looked bewildered without the officer corps.” Kerensky and Chkheidze run out to greet the soldiers and ask them to protect the Duma should Protopopov’s government-loyal troops arrive. Together, they enter the sentry house to disarm the guards. But there is no one there. The guards have already fled for their lives.
Returning to the Duma building, Kerensky discovers a crowd of onlookers who are convinced that the revolution is over. Seeing the parliamentarian, they shower him with questions: What will happen to the old tsarist officials? How will they be punished? Kerensky replies that the main thing is to avert bloodshed; the most egregious offenders under the old regime shall be arrested and punished, but the people “must not take the law into their own hands.”
The crowd continues to swell. By 3 p.m. the excitement inside the Duma is bordering on hysteria: no one understands what is happening, and rumors are rife. The phones are not working, and there are stories of massacres in the streets. At 4 p.m. Kerensky is requested to find a room inside the Tauride Palace for the newly created Soviet of Workers’ Deputies to assemble.
Such a body existed in Saint Petersburg in 1905 and was the symbol of that year’s revolution. Hence, the creation of a new soviet (council) with the same name is a symbolic gesture. Rodzianko allocates room No. 13. The most popular socialist members in the State Duma are chosen as its leaders: Chkheidze becomes chairman, and Kerensky deputy chairman.
Now there are two bodies inside the Tauride Palace—the Soviet and the Provisional Committee—battling against the old regime, not noticing that the latter is disintegrating all by itself.
UNDER SIEGE
At the same time as the soldiers are taking over the Duma, members of the government are gathering at the home of Prime Minister Prince Golitsyn. The evening before they unanimously voted for the dissolution of the Duma and the severest measures against the demonstrators, proposing a de facto dictatorship without delay. But since yesterday, their mood has radically altered: they have all seen with their own eyes what is going on in the city. Now the ministerial talk is of dismissing Interior Minister Protopopov. The prime minister says that they do not have the formal right to do so, but the interior minister could conveniently “fall sick and resign.” Protopopov, who is there in person, gets up and leaves, saying (according to Golitsyn): “I guess all that remains is for me to shoot myself.” The other ministers do not even say farewell.
They are all afraid for their own security, so Prime Minister Golitsyn suggests moving from his apartment to the Mariinsky Palace, where the security is better and there is less likelihood of an enraged crowd breaking in. They are inside by 3 p.m., but the palace does not seem safe either: the ministers peek out of the windows, paralyzed with fear. They themselves telegram the tsar asking to be dismissed and for a new government of national confidence to be appointed, headed by a man of the people. Nobody wants to risk his life for the sake of a ministerial portfolio.
The French ambassador visits Foreign Minister Pokrovsky and tells him that the city is blazing. “Let me remind you that in 1789, 1830 and 1848 three French dynasties were overthrown because they underestimated the force of the movement directed against them,” says the ambassador. “Is there really no one who can open the emperor’s eyes?” “The emperor is blind,” replies the foreign minister.
GOVERNMENT PAVILION
At 4 p.m. Ivan Shcheglovitov, the former justice minister, now the chairman of the State Council (the upper house of parliament), arrives at the Tauride Palace to discuss the situation with Rodzianko. The chairman of the Duma shakes his hand, bows, and invites his guest into his office. Suddenly Kerensky bursts in, shouting: “No, Shcheglovitov is not a guest.” With the other members staring in amazement, Kerensky runs up to the chairman of the State Council, stands between him and Rodzianko, and asks: “Are you Ivan Grigoryevich Shcheglovitov?” Shcheglovitov nods. “I kindly ask that you follow me. You are under arrest. Your safety is assured,” states Kerensky.
Rodzianko and the members are dumbfounded, but they dare not argue with Kerensky, who has the backing of the insurgent soldiers. He takes Shcheglovitov to the “government pavilion”—a reception room inside the Tauride Palace where traditionally ministers wait before addressing the Duma. The area is now an improvised prison.
At 7 p.m. the perplexed ministers receive a visit from the two people on whom their last hopes are pinned: the tsar’s brother, Grand Duke Mikhail, and the chairman of the Duma, Mikhail Rodzianko. They meet with Prime Minister Golitsyn in private. It is proposed that Grand Duke Mikhail “assume a dictatorship over Petrograd” (i.e., take responsibility and do something to stop the mayhem). He is asked to dismiss the government and demand that the tsar appoint a new government of national confidence. Mikhail refuses to take power, but agrees to talk to his brother, although he is unsure what good will come of it. The grand duke goes to the residence of War Minister Belyaev, where there is a special communication link with Mogilev, in Belarus, where the tsar is located as commander-in-chief of the Imperial Army.
As they are leaving, the Mariinsky Palace is surrounded by insurgent soldiers there to arrest the ministers. Terrified, the officials run through the back door as the palace is stormed. The government effectively dissolves itself.
Almost simultaneously, the tsar responds to the prime minister’s telegram requesting his resignation: “I personally bestow upon you all rights necessary for civil administration. In the circumstances, I consider personnel changes to be unacceptable.” The words do not reach their audience: the telegraph is no longer working, the ministers have fled, and soldiers are ransacking the Mariinsky Palace, looting valuables and even icons.
“THE REBELS HAVE NO PLAN”
By evening, almost the entire Russian capital has been smashed. Police stations and courts have been set on fire, and many administrative buildings seized. The epicenter is the Tauride Palace, where waves of insurgents gather periodically before moving on to their next target.
The Kresty prison is taken in the morning, followed in the afternoon by another jail, Litovsky Fortress, which becomes the Russian “Bastille”—it is burnt to the ground. The house of Count Fredericks, the minister of the court, and the Hotel Astoria are also vandalized.
Throughout the city, shops are looted and vehicles are stolen. Communication lines are severed and telegrams are not delivered. “It seems that the rebels have no plan,” the naval staff officer Kapnist reports to his commander, somewhat understatedly.
In the afternoon a crowd breaks into the Mariinsky Theatre and is about to start smashing it to pieces when a noise from the ventilation pipes on the roof is mistaken for machine-gun fire. The mob backs off. The city is swirling with rumors of shootings and random killings. There is talk of a mysterious black car driving around Petrograd, shooting at the police. Yet the reality is even worse: at the corner of Znamenskaya and Basseinaya streets, a crowd bursts into a policeman’s apartment. Not finding him at home, they brutally murder his wife and two young children. Another crowd, storming the building of the gendarmerie, savagely beats and then shoots the sixty-three-year-old commander, Lieutenant-General Ivan Volkov (having sent his colleagues home, he alone is on duty).
NEW ATTEMPT
The High Command is still calm, mainly because of the lack of accurate information. Only at 7 p.m. does a message arrive from War Minister Belyaev to report that the mutiny cannot be suppressed; more and more units are joining the uprising, and the city is engulfed in flames. The head of the capital’s Military District, Khabalov, cannot cope and demands new troops loyal to the regime. An hour later Khabalov himself telegraphs to say that most units have rebelled and are refusing to fight against the insurgents.
Khabalov’s failure means he must be replaced by someone more dependable, the emperor decides. He sends a new commander to Petrograd, General Ivanov, along with two infantry regiments, two cavalry regiments, and a machine-gun crew to quell the unrest. The sixty-six-year-old Ivanov is a favorite of Empress Alexandra, who calls him a “devoted old man.” Nicholas II is sure that he will quickly suppress the uprising. Ivanov is ordered to travel to Petrograd the very next day, 28 February.
At Tsarskoye Selo, Alexandra is less sanguine. At 10 p.m. Belyaev orders that she and the children depart the royal residence immediately; morning may be too late, for an angry crowd could arrive from Petrograd at any moment. Alexandra is nervous and wants to go to her husband. But when she telegraphs the High Command, Nicholas tells her to remain where she is, because he will come to see them tomorrow.
At half past ten the telephone rings at the High Command. It is Grand Duke Mikhail, calling from the home of the war minister and insisting that Chief of Staff Alekseyev take urgent action to dismiss the Council of Ministers and appoint a new government headed by the popular Prince Lvov. The grand duke also advises his brother, the tsar, to postpone his visit for several days.
The chief of staff promises the grand duke that he will talk to the emperor. Mikhail can do nothing except wait for Alekseyev to ring back. It is remarkable how Adjutant-General Mikhail Alekseyev, the son of a rank-and-file soldier, has become the tsar’s right-hand man and the main intermediary between Nicholas and his family. Yet at the time Alekseyev is suffering from a severe cold and spends most his time on the couch, rising only to speak with Nicholas or Petrograd.
Grand Duke Mikhail waits several hours. Finally, the chief of staff calls back. The answer to everything is “no.” Nicholas refuses to delay his trip to Tsarskoye Selo (he intends to leave immediately), and there will be no changes in the government until he returns (i.e., he needs time to consult with his wife). General Ivanov is preparing to set off for Petrograd, so there is nothing to worry about, the tsar is sure.
The conversation finishes at 3 a.m., whereupon Grand Duke Mikhail leaves the house of the war minister to travel to his imperial residence at Gatchina. But the station there is already in the hands of the rebels, so he turns around and heads for the Winter Palace.
WHO’S IN CHARGE HERE?
At night, when most of the uninvited guests abandon the Tauride Palace, members of the State Duma’s Provisional Committee discuss their next move. Almost the entire Petrograd garrison has revolted, and without officers the insurgents cannot be controlled. The military is in a chaotic mess, which frightens the committee members.
But even more frightening is the prospect that the old regime could survive. They fear that Interior Minister Protopopov’s police could still materialize with their near-mythical machine guns, or that the tsar might redeploy troops from the front line to suppress the revolution. If that were to happen, the rebellious, commander-less soldiers would simply turn and flee.
According to Kerensky, Rodzianko is the most hesitant of all, for he does not want to take responsibility and declare disobedience to the emperor. So, the Provisional Committee members frighten him into action. If Rodzianko does not assume supreme authority, then the rival Petrograd Soviet, assembled in the next room, will fill the breach. Rodzianko reluctantly agrees to arrogate power to the Provisional Committee until an interim government is formed.
What to do with the rest of the country? Who is now in charge? There is mayhem in the capital; the government has fled, and the emperor is uninformed about what is happening. Members of the Provisional Committee argue until they are hoarse: “Whatever happens, one thing is certain: we have absolutely nothing in common with that bastard,” Milyukov voices his opinion of Nicholas II.
To prevent frontline veterans from returning to Petrograd, the train stations need to be seized. With all the guards gone, the task is readily accomplished by the Duma commissars.
The Provisional Committee knows nothing about what is happening outside the capital. And vice versa: the country knows almost nothing about the events in Petrograd. The Provisional Committee sends its member Alexander Bublikov to the central railway telegraph. The forty-two-year-old Bublikov, a former railway worker, helps to spread the revolution throughout Russia. On the morning of 28 February, he sends a message on behalf of Rodzianko to all railway stations across the country: the regime has collapsed. “I address you [railway workers] on behalf of the Motherland. She expects more than fulfillment of duty; she expects heroic exploits.”
Bublikov’s telegram notifying the whole of Russia of the revolution means there is no turning back for the Provisional Committee members.
LOST CONTROL
On the night of 28 February, Emperor Nicholas II hastily departs the High Command at Mogilev on board the imperial train. Not wishing to hinder the movement of troops to the capital to suppress the insurrection, he takes a detour via Smolensk, Likhoslavl, and Bologoye, assuming that General Ivanov and his men will travel the shorter route through Vitebsk.
However, the meticulous General Ivanov is in no hurry. On the morning of 28 February, he telephones General Khabalov: “Which units are causing a nuisance?” he asks, completely unaware of the situation in the capital. Khabalov answers that he has lost control of all of them: the stations are in the hands of the revolutionaries, there is no telephone link to the city, ministers have been arrested, and all artillery is controlled by the rebels.
At 8 a.m. Khabalov informs Alekseyev that no more than six hundred infantry and five hundred cavalry troops remain loyal to the government, with fifteen machine guns and eighty cartridges between them. The last bastion of the regime in the capital is the Admiralty, from where Khabalov intends to fight to the bitter end.
Meanwhile, the imperial train leaves Mogilev in the direction of Tver, halfway between Petrograd and Moscow.
THE MORNING AFTER
The next day, almost everyone in Petrograd is hungover, either literally or metaphorically. The euphoric bravado of the day before now turns to fear. Mikhail Rodzianko has declared himself the head of the self-proclaimed government; Alexander Kerensky has begun to arrest former officials; Alexander Bublikov has sent a nationwide telegram about the transfer of power to the Duma. Yet they were all acting on the spur of the adrenaline-filled moment, and are now having second thoughts. The question on everyone’s lips is when will the regime strike back; when will the tsarist troops begin the long-awaited assault on Petrograd?
In the morning of the second day of the revolution, almost nothing happens. The violence raging through the night comes to a temporary halt. The soldiers who disobeyed and shot their officers, the students who thronged around the Tauride Palace, and the workers who smashed and looted stores seem shocked by their own recalcitrance. Almost everyone spends the day at home, waiting for the tsarist troops’ savage crackdown. But it does not materialize.
By midday Petrograd is alive again, and the violence begins anew. Now police stations and police archives are on fire: former stool pigeons terrified of being unmasked are trying to save themselves. In the afternoon, a crowd bursts into the Central Police Department and begins smashing it up.
The new authorities do nothing to stop the disorder. By evening almost all the imperial ministers have been arrested. Finance Minister Pyotr Bark even suffers the ignominy of being detained by his former footman. The justice minister is found and arrested at the Italian Embassy, and, despite his resistance, Commander of the Petrograd Military District Khabalov is detained at the Admiralty. The French and English ambassadors go to see Foreign Minister Pokrovsky. “You’ve just passed through the city,” says the foreign minister. “Do you think the emperor will retain his crown?” Paléologue replies that anything is possible, but the emperor must “acknowledge the fait accompli,” appoint members of the Provisional Committee as ministers, and amnesty the insurgents. “If he personally appears before the army and the people, if he states from the parvis of Kazan Cathedral that a new era has begun for Russia, it would be welcomed.… But tomorrow will be too late.”
At 11 p.m. a man in a fur coat arrives at the Duma and addresses the duty officer: “Please take me to the executive committee of the State Duma. I am the former interior minister, Alexander Protopopov. I wish only the best for the country, and so have come on my own volition. Take me wherever I must go.” Protopopov is assigned to the government pavilion, which saves his life from the marauders.
NOT THE TSAR’S ESTATE ANYMORE
Throughout the whole of 28 February Tsarskoye Selo is in a state of fear, although not much happens. In the morning, the condition of Tsarevich Alexei worsens—he has a high temperature. Empress Alexandra asks the servants to prepare everything for the move to Gatchina (imperial residence, more distant from Petrograd than Tsarskoye Selo). Half an hour later she is informed that everything is ready, but now she changes her mind. Her entourage unanimously advises her to flee, if not to Gatchina, then perhaps to Novgorod, where a couple of months ago she was received enthusiastically by the local population.
At 3 p.m. soldiers from the Tsarskoye Selo garrison leave the barracks. They intend to release prisoners from local jails and smash some wine shops. The imperial guards do not leave the palace, since they do not know what is happening in the city. Alexandra says that all the children are sick and, in her capacity as a “sister of mercy,”* turns the palace into a makeshift hospital.
In the evening the empress calls Grand Duke Pavel, the father of Rasputin’s killer, Grand Duke Dmitry, who has just been exiled to Persia. She has no one else to turn to, since all her relatives have left Tsarskoye Selo. When he arrives, she starts blaming the family for everything that is happening, to which Pavel answers that she “has no right to doubt his loyalty, and now is not the time to drag up old quarrels.” The main thing, he says, is for the tsar to return as soon as possible. Alexandra informs him that her husband is due to arrive at 8 a.m. the next morning, and Pavel promises to meet him at the station.
The grand duke’s wife, Olga Paley, tells her husband that workers from the city of Kolpino are said to have rebelled and to be on their way to loot Tsarskoye Selo. The terrified family leaves the estate and spends the night elsewhere with friends. The rumors do not end there: Protopopov is said to have fled and to be in hiding with Anna Vyrubova; workers everywhere are supposedly on the rampage.
In the evening a crowd of insurgent soldiers comes to the Alexander Palace at Tsarskoye Selo. The guards, loyal to the empress, remain on duty around the perimeter. The soldiers and the guards hold talks, after which both sides agree to dispatch representatives to the Petrograd Duma. The tension subsides.
At 10 p.m. a telegram arrives from Nicholas II: “I hope to be home by tomorrow morning.” Alexandra is relieved and decides to go outside, along with her seventeen-year-old daughter, Grand Duchess Maria, to see the troops guarding the palace. The other children are too unwell. They walk among the ranks, nodding silently at the men in uniform.
The whole retinue decides to spend the night at the palace. Late that night Count Apraksin, a courtier, asks the empress to send Vyrubova away from the palace, for he believes that she is cursed and will bring the wrath of the people upon the imperial family. “I do not betray my friends,” replies the empress tearfully.
STOP THE EMPEROR
At 1 p.m. on 28 February, General Ivanov, the new “military dictator” (i.e., head of the capital’s Military District), leaves Mogilev for Petrograd to put down the rebellion and restore order in Petrograd. Station managers have already received the telegram from the new Railway Transport Minister Bublikov requesting that all trains moving to Petrograd be reported and, if found to be carrying troops or ammunition, halted.
In Petrograd confusion reigns. Bublikov’s assistant, Yuri Lomonosov, recalls how the new railway bosses tried to get instructions from the Duma about whether to allow the imperial train through to Tsarskoye Selo or direct it elsewhere. The Provisional Committee members cannot decide and do not give any orders.
In the meantime, the decision to turn the train around is taken by the emperor himself. In the town of Malaya Vishera, a railway guard stops the train, since the next station, Luban, is in the hands of rebellious soldiers. The head of the imperial train wakes the tsar to inform him that the route is blocked, so Nicholas II orders the train to go to Pskov.
Only at 9 a.m. on 1 March does the Petrograd Duma take the decision to detain the train. Bublikov sends a telegram to block the route between the stations of Dno and Bologoe. He sends another to the wireless telegraph aboard the imperial train, instructing it to remain at Bologoe and wait for the arrival of Duma Chairman Rodzianko, who hopes to persuade Nicholas II to recognize the authority of the Provisional Committee.
Petrograd is awash with rumors that the emperor’s real intention is to head for the bastion of Moscow, from where he will lead a campaign on Petrograd together with regiments still loyal to him. This version is recounted in the diary of the French ambassador, Paléologue, adding some typically blasé words allegedly spoken by Nicholas: “If the revolution triumphs, I will renounce the throne. I shall go to Livadia (imperial summer palace in Crimea); I adore flowers.”
Bublikov’s order is ignored, and at 7 a.m. the imperial train passes unhindered through Bologoe towards Dno. Already there, having come by a different route, is General Ivanov. In anticipation of the emperor’s arrival, he and his troops have restored order at the station, just as the Kronstadt mutiny was suppressed twelve years previously: he approaches the “nuisance” soldiers and yells: “On your knees!”
The revolutionaries immediately obey. They are disarmed, and the unruliest among them are put on Ivanov’s train. One of them bites the general on the hand. Pausing for a moment, he decides to spare the man’s life. A total of seventy armed soldiers (some drunk) are arrested, and the weapons they stole from their officers are confiscated. Having subdued the soldiers, Ivanov moves on towards Tsarskoye Selo.
VICTORY DAY
At 8 a.m. on 1 March, the tsar’s uncle, Grand Duke Pavel, having promised the empress to meet Nicholas II, goes to Tsarskoye Selo station. Neither he nor anyone else knows that the train was turned around at Malaya Vishera and is now on its way to Pskov. Having waited some time for his nephew, the grand duke leaves the station.
Psychologically, 1 March is make-or-break day. Petrograd sees the publication of the newspaper published by the so-called Committee of Petrograd Journalists, which reports that “soldiers have entered the Tsarskoye Selo Palace” and the imperial family is in the hands of rebel forces. It is not true, but has the effect of making the revolution seem irreversible. If the imperial troops have not arrived by now, they never will, the people of Petrograd think to themselves. There begins a wave of oaths of allegiance to the new government.
On that day, according to Kerensky’s memoirs, military units file into the Duma one by one, filling the Catherine Hall. Rodzianko’s address, calling for them to put their trust in the new authorities and maintain discipline, is drowned in a squall of overenthusiastic cries and applause. The jubilant soldiers demand speech after speech. “Finally having the opportunity to talk freely with the newly liberated people, I felt a sense of giddy delight,” recalls Justice Minister Kerensky.
The main symbol of the revolution is the red ribbon: on clothes, cars, horses. On apartment blocks and houses, red flags are flown.
One of the first divisions to swear allegiance to the Duma is the Cossack detachment of the imperial guard. This is highly symbolic, because Nicholas II has not yet abdicated; yet his personal security is already loyal to the new government. The apogee of the parade of loyalty is the appearance of Grand Duke Kirill, the tsar’s cousin and the fourth in line to the Russian throne. He enters the hall at the head of his own detachment with a red ribbon pinned on his chest, and submits to the authority of the State Duma.
The capital is daring to hope that the tsarist regime is gone for good. Matilda Kschessinskaya’s mansion has been looted. Ambassador Paléologue recalls that, close to the Summer Garden imperial residence, he saw one of the Ethiopians* who used to stand guard at the emperor’s door. The “dear negro” is now dressed in civilian clothes, and there are tears in his eyes. Paléologue tries to comfort him and shakes his hand in farewell. “Surrounded by the collapse of the entire political and social system, he stands for the monarchical splendors of yesteryear, the charm of the now meaningless words, ‘Russian Court,’” recalls the ambassador. Clearly the French ambassador considers the imperial doorkeeper to be far more civilized than most Russian folk.
NEW GOVERNMENT
State Duma member Vasily Shulgin says that Rodzianko and the entire committee are paralyzed by distractions: “Instead of working, every minute the head of the Provisional Committee has to run into the street and shout ‘Hurrah!’, and members of the government are overwhelmed by the number of supplicants they have to deal with.”
Nestled inside two small rooms at the Tauride Palace, the committee is supplied with nuggets of information by Kerensky: for instance, a document that has been obtained from the Foreign Ministry pertaining to secret negotiations between Russia and foreign powers during the war. Nobody knows what to do with the priceless text. There is not even a filing cabinet in the room, so the papers are “hidden” under a tablecloth. Next, Kerensky brings a suitcase full of money: “Two million roubles* from some ministry or other,” he says. “Right, we need to appoint commissioners. Where’s Mikhail [Rodzianko]? Outside shouting ‘Hurrah’? No time for that. Gentlemen, to business!”
Shulgin persuades Milyukov “not to run the country from under the table,” but to form a government. Literally on a napkin, Milyukov begins drawing up a list of commissioners. “Milyukov’s mind gave birth to this list on the edge of a table in a whirlwind of madness. He clutched his head in both hands as if squeezing out the thoughts. Future historians and Milyukov himself will say that it was the fruit of profound insight, but I’m telling it how it was in reality,” recalls Shulgin.
In the morning of 1 March, a long-expected guest arrives in Petrograd. Very few can recognize him, but almost everyone has heard his name. It is Prince Georgy Lvov from Moscow, head of the Zemstvo Union and the leading candidate to head the new government. He arrives just as the new cabinet is taking shape and Milyukov’s list is being discussed. The hardest part is the negotiations with the executive committee of the Petrograd Soviet, which also sits at the Tauride Palace and enjoys greater influence over the masses than does the Provisional Committee.
Milyukov offers two seats in the new government to the socialists Kerensky and Chkheidze. The latter, although part of the Provisional Committee, does not take an active role in its business. He chairs the executive committee of the Petrograd Soviet, and so decides to decline the post of labor minister. Instead, he puts forward some demands: the Petrograd Soviet will support the soon-to-be Provisional Government if it declares a general amnesty, guarantees freedom of expression, holds elections to a Constituent Assembly, and promises not to withdraw and disarm the rebel troops of the Petrograd garrison. All the points are accepted.
The post of war minister goes to the politician with the most extensive military connections, Alexander Guchkov, while Milyukov himself becomes Russia’s new foreign minister. But there are some surprises: the new finance minister is the thirty-two-year-old sugar empire heir, art collector, socialite, and Freemason Mikhail Tereshchenko.
However, the carving up of the ministerial posts is not the most important event taking place at the Tauride Palace. What is happening in the next room is of greater interest.
SOLDIERS VERSUS OFFICERS
Most military units are delighted by the transfer of power to the State Duma, but some consider it insufficient. Many soldiers want more authority for themselves and do not want to remain subordinate to the officer corps. The shine is beginning to wear off the Provisional Committee as a result of its reconciliatory efforts to restore order. In the afternoon of 1 March, the military commission of the Provisional Committee issues an order forbidding soldiers to seize weapons from officers. A couple of hours later, the Preobrazhensky Regiment, the one that initially started the uprising, again rebels. While rehearsing their oath of allegiance, the soldiers take away the officers’ sabers.
The attitude of the Petrograd Soviet of Workers’ Deputies towards the State Duma begins to mirror that of the soldiers towards their officers. The Petrograd Soviet is becoming an alternative center of power and a rival to the Provisional Committee. Its members decide to bring in more soldiers’ representatives, renaming the body the Petrograd Soviet of Workers’ and Soldiers’ Deputies in the process. Whereas in the early days it was a place for letting off political steam with little to show for it, the Petrograd Soviet now has a distinct purpose: to support the soldiers in their struggle against the officer corps.
The soldiers’ representatives sit apart from the others, who still assemble in room No. 13 at the Tauride Palace. The lawyer Nikolai Sokolov, a former ally of Kerensky and Chkheidze, presides over the soldiers’ meetings. The soldiers, each more radical than the one before, take turns to speak from the podium to great applause. The speeches are so rapid-fire that the stenographer can barely keep up.
The soldiers’ deputies believe that General Ivanov’s troops are advancing on Petrograd, and that the officers should be disarmed in case they switch sides again. The Provisional Committee is trying to re-establish the old order, they think, which must be stopped. The soldiers demand that authority be transferred from the officers to elected soldiers’ committees, which are to have custody of all weapons, and that equal rights be granted to the “lower ranks.”
Sokolov takes the hastily written text to the editor of Izvestia (a newly founded newspaper, mouthpiece of the Petrograd Soviet of Workers’ Deputies)* and refers to the proclamation as an “Order.” The next morning “Order No. 1,” addressed to the soldiers of the Petrograd garrison, appears in the newspaper and is replicated on leaflets. The Petrograd Soviet distributes the text to prevent General Ivanov and his tsarist troops from suppressing the uprising. Nobody pays attention to the fact that the “Order” is addressed solely to the Petrograd garrison, for all soldiers in the Russian Empire will get the message to disobey their officers. The “Order” has a powerful impact. The officers will later say that it destroyed the army, but members of the Petrograd Soviet recall that the decision was made deliberately to avert a counter-revolution and the restoration of the old regime.
The Provisional Committee is horrified. “Those bastards are in league with the Germans.… They’re traitors.… What will happen now?” cries Rodzianko. There is nothing they can do. The text is already plastered all over the city.
REFORMS OF GENERAL ALEKSEYEV
The chief of staff of the supreme commander, General Mikhail Alekseyev, who only a day before was in control of the tsar, now cannot contact him. Ill with fever, he receives information at his sickbed in Mogilev in dribs and drabs. “There is total revolution in Moscow,” reports the head of the Moscow Military District. News arrives from Kronstadt that the port commander has been killed by the anarchists. The Baltic Fleet has recognized the authority of the Provisional Committee of the State Duma.
“If I am offered a choice between the Sovereign and Russia, I will choose Russia,” said General Brusilov in late 1916, furious at the ignominious failure of his frontline offensive and hypothetically ready to choose between country and emperor. Come the end of February 1917, almost all officers are thinking along the same lines. The main priority for them is victory over the Central Powers. For that, they are ready to do anything, including insubordination. General Alekseyev already knows that the army is threatened by anarchy, which is undermining the war effort against Germany and Austria-Hungary. These words he repeats again and again in his telegrams to Nicholas II.
In the afternoon of 1 March, Nicholas finally arrives in Dno, where he is due to meet with Rodzianko. But the latter is late, so Nicholas goes on to Pskov, where the headquarters of the northern front are located. Alekseyev telegraphs Pskov, detailing the horrors that inaction will incur and asking the emperor to appoint a “person whom Russia will believe in” as the head of the government. When Nicholas arrives in Pskov in the evening, a staff officer informs him of Alekseyev and Grand Duke Sergei’s request for him to appoint Rodzianko as the head of the new government.
The commander of the northern front, General Nikolai Ruzsky, spends the whole evening discussing Alekseyev’s telegrams with Nicholas, urging him to assent to the “government of national confidence.” Ruzsky tries to persuade the tsar to surrender unconditionally to the Provisional Committee, but Nicholas is having none of it.
The general loses his temper and openly blames Nicholas for bringing the situation upon himself, above all through his blind faith in Rasputin. The emperor and his entourage are shocked by such impudence. Admiral Nilov, deeply affected by the conversation, believes that Ruzsky should be demoted, arrested, and executed. With someone more loyal in charge, things will sort themselves out, he thinks.
At 10:30 p.m. on 1 March, Alekseyev sends the tsar a draft imperial royal decree on the appointment of Rodzianko as prime minister. Nicholas II informs Ruzsky that he has agreed to sign it. A phone call to the Tauride Palace immediately follows, requesting that the new chairman of the State Duma report at once to the emperor in Pskov. The response from Petrograd is that Rodzianko will not go anywhere.
Far more disturbing for the emperor, however, is that he cannot get to Tsarskoye Selo to see his family. “It’s shameful and disgraceful that I cannot get to Tsarskoye. All my thoughts and feelings are there! It’s terrible for poor Alix to have to bear all these event alone. Lord, help us!” he writes in his diary.
The evening of 1 March is pivotal not only for Petrograd, but for the emperor and his entourage, too. Hitherto, they have been sure that, if all else fails, they will be able to drown the revolution in blood. The thought that the soldiers might refuse to fire on the insurgents never crosses anyone’s mind.
LIBERALS VERSUS SOCIALISTS
Rodzianko is really unable to go anywhere. For years he has been nervously expecting the tsar to dissolve parliament, and now that the moment has arrived his confidence totally deserts him. Ever since 27 February when, in front of his very eyes, Kerensky arrested the chairman of the State Council, Ivan Shcheglovitov, Rodzianko has understood the precariousness of his own position. For Kerensky, the former Justice Minister Shcheglovitov is a personal enemy, but for the refined nobleman and court chamberlain Rodzianko, he is a kindred spirit. The recent events in Petrograd are a living hell for Rodzianko and many other members of the State Duma. They are terrified of the crowds, which today are smashing up someone or other’s mansion. Tomorrow it could be theirs.
The threat hanging over the revolutionary capital is symbolized by the Petrograd Soviet. This wholly unelected body assembled in the Tauride Palace is a magnet for revolutionaries, but a dangerous gang of impostors in the eyes of the Duma. Its members do not yet know about “Order No. 1,” which will be published on 2 March and plunge them into a state of catatonic fear.
The dislike is mutual. Barred from all previous elections, the “non-systemic opposition”* inside the Petrograd Soviet has never tasted power before now. To the Petrograd Soviet, the tsarist Duma is a mockery of democracy, a puppet parliament elected exclusively by the propertied classes, meaning that most residents in the insurgent Petrograd can rightfully say: “You do not represent us.”
Shulgin recalls how one of Rodzianko’s speeches to a crowd at the Tauride Palace was suddenly interrupted: “The chairman of the State Duma [Rodzianko] asks you, comrades, to save the Russian land.… Mr. Rodzianko does indeed have something to save, for he owns a nice chunk of this very land of which he speaks.… Rodzianko and other landowners in the State Duma—princes, counts, barons—describe their domains as ‘Russian land’.… In that case, comrades, you should indeed save it.”
Rodzianko’s nerves are playing up: “Bastards! We sacrifice our sons for this country, and they think we begrudge a bit of soil. Damn the wretched soil. What good is it to me if there is no Russia? Filthy scum, the lot of them. I’d give the shirt off my back to save Russia.”
On another occasion a group of revolutionary sailors tells Rodzianko to his face that he, as a “bourgeois,” should be shot. Whereas yesterday the capital was gripped by fear of a tsarist crackdown, now the overriding feeling is mutual loathing between the haves and the have-nots. Zinaida Gippius writes that during the revolution her home turned into a “command center for acquaintances and semi-acquaintances (sometimes non-acquaintances) trudging towards the Duma.” They—the Merezhkovskys and Filosofov—supplied food and tea, and a chance to get warm. In the morning of 1 March, Gippius is optimistic about the revolution, but by evening that feeling is gone. She is paid a visit (again to warm up) by the writer Ivanov-Razumnik, who says “with horror and disgust” that the Petrograd Soviet is a bunch of rebels.
Many hate Rodzianko with equal passion. “I’d like to strangle that son of a bitch with my own hands. Noble spawn! He’s a royal footman who wants to sit on his master’s throne,” writes the peasant poet Nikolai Klyuev. “He will oppress the peasants as his master was oppressing him.… Heavy it is to wear the cap of Monomakh,* but to let go is heavier still.”
Sensing the threat and rivalry from the socialist Petrograd Soviet, the liberal Provisional Committee meets in secret late on 1 March to agree on the future form of government. All present are unanimous that the monarchy must be preserved, only without Nicholas II. “The tsar must not be overthrown by force,” says Alexander Guchkov. “Only through his voluntary abdication in favor of his son or brother can a new order be established without major upheavals.” It is decided at the secret meeting that Guchkov and Shulgin—the two staunchest monarchists—shall visit the emperor to persuade him to abdicate in favor of his son.
THE MOST IMPORTANT PHONE CALL IN RUSSIAN HISTORY
At 3 a.m. on 2 March, General Ruzsky telephones Rodzianko to say that he is disheartened by the latter’s failure to travel to Pskov. It was not possible, explains Rodzianko: General Ivanov’s regiments had disembarked at Luga Station and blocked all the approaches to the capital.
Ruzsky says that Nicholas II has decided to appoint him the head of the new government and has already drafted a manifesto to that effect. Rodzianko asks to receive it forthwith, adding: “His Majesty and your good self are clearly unaware of what is happening here.” He says that the emperor’s inaction has led to anarchy, which can no longer be stopped: the demoralized soldiers are killing their officers, hatred for Empress Alexandra knows no bounds, and almost every minister has had to be locked up in the Peter and Paul Fortress for his own safety. “I greatly fear that a similar fate shall befall me,” says Rodzianko. “What you offer is too little, too late. The very future of the dynasty is now at stake.”
What this means is that the people are demanding the abdication of Nicholas II in favor of his young son under the regency of Grand Duke Mikhail Alexandrovich. Rodzianko explains that hatred for the imperial family runs deep, and the people want the war against the Central Powers brought to a victorious end. He proceeds to list all the errors of judgment committed by Nicholas II and Alexandra, including unwise appointments to key posts, the role of Rasputin, the purges and crackdowns that caused the revolution in the first place—in short, everything that “alienated His Majesty from the people.”
Ruzsky says that the emperor has already sent a telegram to General Ivanov not to use force, and reads out the draft manifesto: “Striving to unite the forces of the people to achieve swift victory, the Emperor deems it necessary to form a government responsible to the people, headed by Mikhail Rodzianko, made up of persons having the confidence of the whole of Russia.”
Ruzsky says that he has followed his heart and done everything he can to restore order for the sake of the army. Spring is approaching, which means it will soon be time to launch another frontline offensive.
“My heart is torn, Nikolai Vladimirovich [Ruzsky],” says Rodzianko. “You can imagine the enormity of the task in front of me. I am hanging by a thread, and power is slipping out of my hands; the anarchy is such that I must now appoint an interim government in the dead of night. Unfortunately, the manifesto was late, it should have been released immediately after my first telegram; the moment is lost, there is no going back.… I pray that God grant the strength to at least stay within the borders of the present disorder of minds, thoughts and feelings, though I fear worse is to come.”
Rodzianko’s heart really is torn. Deep down he longed to be appointed the head of government under Nicholas II. But he has only just attended a meeting at which the decision was taken to demand the tsar’s abdication, and that cannot be undone.
THE MARCH OF IVANOV
Ruzsky learns from Rodzianko that General Ivanov was unable to get to Tsarskoye Selo: his troops apparently left the train at Luga and went over to the rebels. But this is not true.
Approaching Tsarskoye Selo aboard the train, General Ivanov is shocked to receive the news that the Tsarskoye Selo garrison has mutinied. At 1:30 a.m. he receives a telegram from Nicholas II: “Do not take any action until my arrival.” He shows the telegram to Empress Alexandra, when they meet later that night. The highly-strung Alexandra Feodorovna asks him to leave the town to avoid bloodshed and not to endanger her and the children.
General Ivanov orders his units out of the train at Vyritsa Station and sends telegrams to the frontline commanders asking for reinforcements. He does not know that they will not arrive, for on the morning of 2 March Nicholas II recalls all troops brought in to suppress the rebellion back to the front line.
KERENSKY ON THE EDGE OF A NERVOUS BREAKDOWN
On the night of 2 March, when Ruzsky is talking with Rodzianko, and General Ivanov with Empress Alexandra, Alexander Kerensky is close to a nervous breakdown because of the overwhelming stress of the past few days.
The reason is because Kerensky is desperate to please both the liberals of the Provisional Committee and the socialists of the Petrograd Soviet. He goes here and there, mixing with all, reveling in the exceptional role that has befallen him. Yet there is one insurmountable problem: his comrades from the State Duma are increasingly at odds with his comrades from the Petrograd Soviet. That night, 2 March, he realizes that he is falling between two stools. He has to make a choice.
He does not want to be left out of the Provisional Government, especially since he has been offered the post of justice minister. But the Petrograd Soviet is adamant that he, like his State Duma comrade Nikolai Chkheidze, should refuse the offer of a ministerial post without hesitation. Kerensky feels obliged to do so as not to lose credibility in the eyes of the workers and soldiers, the SRs and the Mensheviks. The dilemma is driving him crazy. Having decided nothing, he sets off home.
“It was strange walking down familiar streets without the usual escort of secret police agents,” recalls Kerensky, “walking past the sentry posts and seeing smoke and tongues of flame still gushing from the building of the gendarmerie, where I was interrogated in 1905.”
After lying in bed for two to three half-conscious hours, he comes up with a potential solution: he will accept the government post and then defend the decision before the Petrograd Soviet, explaining the benefits of having someone inside the government. He calls Milyukov, his Provisional Committee fellow member, in the middle of the night to tell him about his decision.
In the morning, Kerensky goes to the Duma. There, he meets members of the executive committee of the Petrograd Soviet, who greet him “with sour faces.” Kerensky announces that he has decided to become a minister. They try to dissuade him, but he has already figured out how to overcome their veto. He goes into the next room, where a meeting of the Petrograd Soviet is in full swing, like a never-ending political rally. He asks for permission to address the meeting and climbs onto the table (otherwise no one will see or hear him). He delivers a fiery speech, saying that he has decided to represent the workers and soldiers in the new government, and asks for approval. The ordinary workers give their hero Kerensky an ovation, but the hardened revolutionaries of the executive committee are outraged: Kerensky has deceived them—he agreed to boycott the liberal Provisional Government and has now spat that promise back in their faces. But there is nothing they can do about it.
“NO TIME FOR PLEASANTRIES”
When Ruzsky and Rodzianko are having their nocturnal telephone conversation, the tsar is asleep. The first to receive a shorthand transcript of the conversation is Alekseyev in Mogilev. He demands that the emperor be woken immediately (“This is no time for pleasantries,” he says) and be informed of Rodzianko’s words: “The only option left is abdication.” Alekseyev believes the myth propagated by Izvestia that Tsarskoye Selo is in the hands of the rebels, and that, if the emperor does not agree to abdicate, they will kill his children and spark a civil war, whereupon the German juggernaut will crush Russia.
However, Alekseyev is informed that Nicholas II has just fallen asleep and will not be disturbed for at least half an hour. So he takes the initiative into his own hands, and by 3 a.m. has received telegrams from Evert, Brusilov, and even Grand Duke Nikolai Nikolaevich—the three frontline commanders in the war. All of them, including the tsar’s uncle, beg the emperor to abdicate. The generals have one objective: to continue the war at all costs. For them, the prospect of the army refusing to fight is too terrible to contemplate. They believe that the abdication of the toxic tsar will help secure victory. The very next day some of them will realize how wrong they were.
THE CHOICE OF KERENSKY
On the morning of 2 March, Pavel Milyukov addresses an audience of workers, soldiers, and bystanders in the Catherine Hall of the Tauride Palace. He announces that the Provisional Committee has taken the decision to form an interim government.
The softly spoken fifty-eight-year-old professor with old-fashioned diction is not the most electrifying orator, certainly not in comparison with the young Kerensky. Milyukov does not feel the crowd and does not know how to say what it wants to hear. He reads out a list of members of the new Provisional Government, adding that Nicholas II is abdicating in favor of his son under the regency of Grand Duke Mikhail and that a constitutional monarchy will be established in Russia. This is not at all what the audience wants to hear, and Milyukov’s speech is drowned in cries of indignation.
“Who elected you?” asks a caustic voice from the crowd. “The Russian revolution elected us,” responds Milyukov pompously. At a hastily convened meeting of the executive committee of the Petrograd Soviet, Kerensky is quizzed as to why he concealed from them the Duma’s desire to preserve the monarchy and make Grand Duke Mikhail regent. For the socialists, it means a complete rollback to the old ways. They want to establish a republic and fear that the Duma is in collusion with the old elite.
Kerensky tries to convince his comrades that he knows nothing and that there is no cause for alarm. He is lying, of course. He knows everything that goes on inside the Provisional Committee, and is aware that the Duma emissaries Guchkov and Shulgin are planning to go to Pskov to request the tsar’s abdication. His now not-so-comradely fellow socialists realize that Kerensky is two-faced, and announce that they will send their own delegation to Pskov, or at least hamper the efforts of the Duma.
When Kerensky departs, he is now sure which side he is on. He feels like a member of the new government and senses that the insurgents of the Petrograd Soviet are a threat. He needs to ensure that Guchkov and Shulgin get to the tsar before the Soviets do.
THE FIRST ABDICATION
The next morning, in Pskov, Nicholas II reads the transcript of the nighttime talk between Ruzsky and Rodzianko, proposing for the first time that he should abdicate. The prospect does not seem totally unacceptable to the tsar.
The day before, he has taken the far more painful decision to appoint a government of national confidence: the idea to curb his own power always seemed like a crime to Nicholas. Since childhood, he has been inculcated by his father and Pobedonostsev with the belief that the monarch bears responsibility for Russia before God. To adopt a constitution would be to violate his coronation oath. Despite being unable to influence the situation in the country, he—not the government—is responsible before God. For Nicholas, his oath to God precludes even the idea of a constitutional monarchy. His wife adheres to autocracy no less dogmatically than he does. For her, the adoption of a constitution would be a crime against her son and a violation of his birthright. Paradoxically, abdication seems less daunting a prospect. Vacating the throne will relieve him of his divine responsibility, and, hence, whatever he does thereafter will not be a crime in the eyes of God.
At 1 p.m., walking along the platform of Pskov station, the tsar says to Ruzsky that he is seriously considering abdication. An hour later, Ruzsky receives the telegrams from the frontline commanders (the ones already sent to Alekseyev), and takes them to the tsar. The message is clear. Nicholas II orders the drafting of a manifesto by which he shall pass the throne to his son and appoint his brother Mikhail as regent. The manifesto is to be sent immediately to Duma Chairman Mikhail Rodzianko in Petrograd and Chief of Staff Mikhail Alekseyev in Mogilev.
At 3 p.m. Ruzsky leaves the tsar with the signed text in his hand, but is stopped by members of the royal entourage. Court Commandant Voeikov, Court Minister Fredericks, and others are completely unprepared for such a step. They are shocked by the ease with which the tsar has abdicated (“How is it possible to give up the throne as if handing over command of a squadron?” says one of the generals). “What was I supposed to do when I’ve been betrayed by everyone,” the tsar explains his action to Voeikov.
Voeikov requests that the telegram not be sent immediately. He knows that the Duma emissaries Guchkov and Shulgin are on their way from Petrograd, and the court commandant believes that there is a chance to undo the decision—the Duma representatives are bound to be more compliant than Ruzsky and will surely not insist on abdication.
Meanwhile, Nicholas is pondering what to do next. He dreams of sitting out the war somewhere abroad, coming back to Russia, and settling in Crimea to raise his fragile son in the temperate climate. But he is informed that that is out of the question; he will not be able to live with his son for he will be forced into exile. Troubled by the thought of separation, he inquires about the chances of Alexei ever recovering from his illness. The family doctor, Fedorov, replies that modern science has yet to find a cure for hemophilia. Belatedly, he starts to think that abdicating in favor of his son is a mistake.
THE SECOND ABDICATION
Meanwhile, Guchkov and Shulgin are traveling to Pskov. It takes a long time, for they have to keep stopping at stations along the way to speak to the assembled crowds. At one stopping point, they receive a phone call from General Ivanov. To their surprise, he complains that he was ordered to suppress the revolt and wait for two divisions recalled from the front, but they never arrived. Moreover, the two battalions in his command are now refusing to obey orders. Ivanov wants to meet with the deputies, which they decline.
Guchkov and Shulgin get to Pskov by 10 p.m. in a state of severe nervous exhaustion: after several sleepless nights Shulgin has severe headaches. Nevertheless, they are immediately taken to the tsar. In a highly respectful tone, Guchkov informs Nicholas of the situation in the capital. He says that no one planned the uprising; it simply flared up spontaneously and turned into anarchy. Sending troops from the front is bound to fail. The only feasible option is abdication in favor of Tsarevich Alexei under the regency of Grand Duke Mikhail.
Shulgin describes what is happening at the Tauride Palace and the Duma’s attempts to restore order and save arrested members of the old regime from mob law, adding that it needs assistance in the fight against “leftist elements.” When Guchkov says that the tsar has twenty-four hours to think it over, the latter replies that he has already decided to abdicate in favor of his son. But now, realizing that he does not want to be parted from his son, he changes his mind and renounces the throne on behalf of both himself and his son in favor of his brother.
There is a somber silence, after which Ruzsky asks Guchkov if the Duma can guarantee that Nicholas will not be separated from his son. He replies in the negative. A short while later, Guchkov addresses a crowd of curious onlookers in Pskov: “Do not worry, ladies and gentlemen. The emperor has agreed to do more than we expected.” They had expected more resistance to the idea of abdication.
Later, legal experts will state unanimously that abdication on behalf of an infant heir is contrary to the laws of the Russian Empire and the manifesto of succession signed by Emperor Pavel I. However, Guchkov and Shulgin do not think about that.
Finally, around 11 p.m., Nicholas signs the last set of manifestos. When it comes to appointing a new prime minister, he has reached the point of indifference: “Who do you think?” he asks. “Prince Lvov,” replies Shulgin. “Ah, let it be Lvov,” Nicholas says, signing the paper. Another document appoints Grand Duke Nikolai Nikolaevich as the new supreme commander of the armed forces.
Meanwhile, the new authorities in Petrograd are developing a new policy. Justice Minister Alexander Kerensky sends telegrams to prosecutors throughout the country freeing all political prisoners and offering the new government’s congratulations. A priority is the immediate release of “Babushka” Yekaterina Breshko-Breshkovskaya and five members of the Social Democrat Party, who were exiled to Siberia in 1915.
The very next day, Babushka, who lives in Achinsk in Siberia, receives an official notification of her release. “When news arrived of the overthrow of the old regime, all local officials evaporated,” recalls Breshko-Breshkovskaya.
There was no one shouting at us. There was no one to salute to. There was no one to be afraid of. At one station I met a tall man who bowed to me and said in a low voice:
‘Is it true?’
‘Looks like it. And who are you?’ I asked.
‘I am the gendarme who brought you here.’
‘And what are you going to do now?’
‘I’m going to war. We, the gendarmes, have long wanted to serve at the front, but we were always refused.’
He was the last representative of the tsarist bureaucracy I ever met. They all crawled away like miserable, beaten dogs to hide until the storm blew over.
The old-regime prisoners are quickly replaced by new arrestees. “The victims of the anointed sovereign were released from Siberia. The plan was to replace them with new, more ‘contemporary’ [exhibits],” the modern artist Kazimir Malevich notes ironically in his diary.
Throughout the day the most odious members of the tsarist government are taken into custody, including former War Minister Sukhomlinov, former Prime Ministers Stürmer and Goremykin, former Interior Minister Maklakov, and Dubrovin, the head of the Union of Russian People (the world’s first fascist organization).
By 2 March there are so many detainees that Kerensky decides to transfer them all to the Peter and Paul Fortress to stop them from being lynched. For many ministers, being arrested is salvation from death. War Minister Belyaev asks the Provisional Government for protection after an armed mob breaks into his apartment and smashes it up. He is told that the safest place to be is at the fortress. The next day Bublikov receives a call from former Prime Minister Trepov, asking to be arrested. He laughs in response, but sends a detachment to take Trepov to the fortress.
“RUSSIA NEEDS A TSAR”
Late in the evening the Tauride Palace is hosting a session of the new government when news arrives from Guchkov and Shulgin. Kerensky recalls that the first to break the silence was Rodzianko, saying that Grand Duke Mikhail cannot ascend to the throne for he has never shown any interest in public affairs and is married to a woman of lower social rank, for which, officially, he is even forced to an exile. This is pure court rationale, and many members of the imperial family think likewise. Kerensky is about to interrupt him to say that at this stage of the revolution there can be no tsar in any shape or form, but instead Milyukov takes the floor. He starts to argue that “Russia needs a tsar. The Duma never aspired to found a republic, but simply to see a new figure on the throne. In close cooperation with the new tsar, the Duma can calm the raging storm.”
It is already morning when the session breaks up. Kerensky wants to use the pause to prevent the publication of the tsar’s abdication manifesto in favor of his brother. Rodzianko travels to the home of the war minister, from where he can contact Alekseyev. The latter reports that the manifesto is being distributed among the frontline soldiers and many have already sworn allegiance to Emperor Mikhail II. Rodzianko asks him to stop the process immediately.
Alekseyev inquires as to why the tsar’s order is not to be divulged. Rodzianko explains evasively that Petrograd society would accept the accession of Tsarevich Alexei, but never that of Grand Duke Mikhail.
Alekseyev cannot believe what he is hearing. He is horrified that he trusted Rodzianko and persuaded the tsar to abdicate: “I will never forgive myself for having faith in the sincerity of certain people and for sending a telegram about the tsar’s abdication to the commanders,” he says.
Rodzianko contacts Ruzsky with the same request not to distribute the abdication manifesto. “A soldiers’ mutiny has flared up, the like of which we’ve never seen,” exaggerates Rodzianko to substantiate his request. “The crowd is shouting ‘Down with the dynasty,’ ‘Down with the Romanovs.’” It is not true.
MIKHAIL II
At 6 a.m. Rodzianko returns to the Duma building. The Provisional Government is pondering how to get in touch with Grand Duke Mikhail, who does not know that during the night he became emperor. He is still a resident in Petrograd, but not at the Winter Palace. He now stays for a night in the mansion of Princess Putyatina on Millionnaya Street.
When the government delegation goes there to meet him, the grand duke greets them with the words: “I’m like the king of England, eh?” “Yes, Your Highness, it’s easy to rule when there’s a constitution to abide by,” says Milyukov, smiling.
Rodzianko and Lvov spell out the majority view: the grand duke, in their opinion, must abdicate. Then, to everyone’s surprise, Milyukov launches himself into a long and flowery speech urging the grand duke, on the contrary, to accept the throne. He talks and talks without end, which greatly irritates Mikhail.
In fact, Milyukov is holding out for the arrival from Pskov of Guchkov and Shulgin, who will back him up and maybe convey to the grand duke a personal message from his brother, after which he will dare not renounce the throne. But they are nowhere to be seen.
The fact is that the Provisional Government emissaries have been detained by the crowd at the station. Upon learning that the emissaries have in their possession an abdication manifesto in favor of the tsar’s brother, the angry workers detain Guchkov and Shulgin, and want to destroy the document: they do not want the tsar replaced; they want the monarchy abolished. The original document survives the ordeal by being crumpled in the pocket of Bublikov’s assistant, Lomonosov. Guchkov and Shulgin are not detained for long, however. Some workers are on their side: “We ourselves invited them.… They trusted us and came here.… And what do you do? Try to lock them up? I tell you, comrades, you are worse than the old regime,” recalls Lomonosov.
Shulgin and Guchkov arrive at the house on Millionnaya Street just as Milyukov’s long speech is coming to an end. They express their support for Milyukov’s position, but Kerensky immediately interjects: “I beg you in the name of Russia to make this sacrifice.… Otherwise, I cannot vouch for the personal safety of Your Highness.… Your life will be in danger should you accept the throne.”
Mikhail retires to a separate room with Lvov and Rodzianko. On returning, he announces that he is ready to accept the throne only at the request of the Constituent Assembly when it is convened by the Provisional Government. From this point on, Russia de facto becomes a republic.
Sitting in the antechamber is the specially summoned law professor Vladimir Nabokov, father of the future world-famous writer; Prince Lvov has asked him to draw up an act of renunciation. Mikhail ponders for a long time how to sign the document: Grand Duke Mikhail Alexandrovich or Emperor Mikhail. In the end, he chooses the former. Half an hour later, placards are posted around the city: “Nicholas abdicates in favor of Mikhail. Mikhail abdicates in favor of the people.” “God knows who put him up to signing such a vile thing,” Nicholas writes about his brother’s decision.
RUSSIA WITHOUT A TSAR
The news that the tsar is no more is greeted by yesterday’s subjects with delight. The red flag is raised above the Winter Palace, and along Nevsky Prospekt all heraldic eagles and signs reading “Supplier of the Imperial Court” are removed from shops and pharmacies.
In addition to the red ribbons pinned to the chests of Russia’s former subjects (now citizens), a second symbol of change appears: sunflower seeds. Soldiers and workers freely roam the streets constantly snacking on seeds. There are no police to maintain order, so the streets are not cleaned. As a result, a thick layer of husks is deposited on the pavement and trampled underfoot.
Zinaida Gippius, who only yesterday was afraid of the Petrograd Soviet, now rejoices: she waves a red rag and throws red ribbons and flowers at demonstrators under her balcony. She and Filosofov pin all their hopes on Kerensky, who for them is “the living incarnation of the revolutionary pathos. He is guided by intuition, and every time it is the intuition of genius.”
The artist Alexander Benois is amazed at the swiftness of the succession: “It’s as if the tsar never reigned. Everyone has taken the news in their stride.”
According to Paléologue, the imperial family was abandoned: “All the courtiers, senior officers and dignitaries, who once acted as the heaven-born defenders of the throne, simply fled.” Others assert that it is not the court that betrayed the emperor, but the emperor who betrayed the court, his family, and the entire Russian people.
However, every rule of thumb has the odd exception. Sergei Zubatov, the disgraced founder of the first trade unions and security policing in Russia, on hearing the news from his wife of the tsar’s abdication, gets up, leaves the room, and shoots himself.
“THEY’RE INFECTED BY SOME KIND OF MICROBE”
On the morning of 3 March, the tsar’s uncle, Grand Duke Pavel, visits Alexandra, who is still dressed as a sister of mercy and caring for her children. The seventeen-year-old Grand Duchess Maria, who was the only healthy child, now, too, is seriously ill with a fever. The former empress has not yet been informed of her husband’s abdication.
Pavel has good reason to dislike Alexandra. Fifteen years previously, in the wake of his secret wedding, it was she who insisted on his exile from Russia and opposed his second wife ever being admitted to the Russian court. It was she who ordered the arrest of his son Dmitry after the murder of Rasputin, and insisted on the latter’s exile to Persia, then considered the equivalent of the death penalty. However, despite having suffered from Alexandra’s ill disposition towards him, the grand duke is the only relative to visit her in the days after the revolution.
“The grand duke quietly approached her and pressed a lingering kiss on her hand, unable to utter single a word. His heart was ready to burst,” recalls his wife, Olga Paley, whom Alexandra so despised. “Dear [Alix],” says the grand duke at last. “I wanted to be by your side at this difficult time for you.”
Alexandra does not believe the news at first. After speaking to the grand duke, she runs to her room. Her friend Lili Dehn has to catch hold of her to stop her from falling. Leaning on her desk for support, she repeats in French, “Abdiqué!” “My poor dear is suffering all alone.… God, how he must be suffering!” she sobs.
The situation becomes more complicated with each passing day. There is no news from Nicholas. Alexandra’s own telegrams are returned with the inscription in blue pencil: “Addressee whereabouts unknown.”
Lili Dehn advises Alexandra to burn her diaries and letters, so they do not fall into the hands of the revolutionaries. And during the next three days, together they burn everything that the former tsarina has carefully compiled over the years. Not knowing where her husband is, Alexandra writes countless letters to different addresses and dispatches servants on missions to find him.
“The Duma and the revolutionaries are two snakes that, I hope, will bite each other’s heads off—that would rescue the situation,” she writes in one of her letters. “I feel that God will do something. What a lovely sunny day it is today, if only you were here! Even the equipage left us today—they don’t understand anything; they’re infected by some kind of microbe.” To Alexandra, the revolution is unnatural, even supernatural.
THE EMPEROR’S FAREWELL
Having signed the abdication, Nicholas returns to the High Command. This prompts a nervous reaction in Petrograd, where it is feared that he is gathering loyalist troops to launch a counter-revolution. However, Nicholas is far from such thoughts. Instead, he sends a telegram to his mother, Maria Feodorovna, who lives in Kiev, asking her to come to him in Mogilev.
Tormented by what has happened, a couple of days later he summons Alekseyev and tells him that he has changed his mind and wants to abdicate in favor of his son, handing his chief of staff a corresponding telegram addressed to the Provisional Government. Alekseyev politely but firmly declines to send it, explaining that they will both look ridiculous. After hesitating for a while, Nicholas again asks Alekseyev to send it and walks off.
Instead, Alekseyev sends his own telegram to Petrograd asking for Nicholas to be allowed to return to Tsarskoye Selo and be reunited with his wife and sick children, before traveling to Murmansk and sailing to England. The Provisional Government acknowledges the request.
British Ambassador Buchanan informs Milyukov that King George V has agreed to provide his cousin and family shelter in England, provided their upkeep is paid for by Russia’s Provisional Government.
Justice Minister Kerensky arrives in Moscow and addresses a crowd, during which he is asked about what will happen to “Nikolai Romanov”: “The revolution has been bloodless so far, and I shall not be the one to stain it. Soon, under my personal supervision, the former tsar shall be taken to a harbor and from there by boat to England.”
But inside the Petrograd Soviet, other conversations are taking place. Its resident Bolsheviks (primarily Molotov, Stalin’s future foreign minister) demand the immediate arrest of the imperial family. The Provisional Government reconsiders and, on 7 March, authorizes the arrest to go ahead. This is the first order drawn up by the chief administrator of the Provisional Government, Vladimir Nabokov.
In Mogilev, meanwhile, Nicholas is communicating not with the officer corps, but with his mother and childhood friend Sandro, who have arrived from Kiev to offer their support. In the evening of 7 March, a group of commissioners headed by Bublikov arrives from Petrograd to arrest the former tsar. Nicholas addresses the troops one last time: “Anyone who thinks now of peace is a traitor. Perform your duty well, defend our great Motherland, serve the Provisional Government, obey your superiors, and remember that any weakening of the chain of command only benefits the enemy.” Chief of Staff Alekseyev and many others are in tears; some fall to the ground.
That same evening, the new commander of the Petrograd garrison, General Lavr Kornilov, arrives at Tsarskoye Selo to inform Alexandra that she, too, is under arrest.
The tsar’s abdication is welcomed by all classes of Russian society, including the nobility and clergy. “It is God’s will,” reads an official statement of the church. “The Holy Synod prays devoutly that the Almighty bless the initiatives of the Russian Provisional Government.”
Only among the officer corps is there discontent, but not much. General Denikin recalls that he was aware of only two senior officers who placed themselves and their forces at the former emperor’s disposal. Count Fyodor Keller and Huseyn Khan Nakhichevansky send a telegram to Nicholas requesting permission to dispatch their units to Petrograd to suppress the revolution. Nicholas does not accept the offer. In any case, it is unlikely that the rank-and-file soldiers under their command would show the same loyalty to the old regime.
Count Keller refuses to swear allegiance to the Provisional Government. Gustaf Mannerheim, the future first president of independent Finland, who at that moment is a general in the Russian imperial army, tries to convince him to see reason. Keller does not, and resigns from his post.
Nakhichevansky is the only one who tries to mount a resistance against the Provisional Government. Together with Prince Yusupov Sr., the father of Rasputin’s murderer, he travels to Kharkov, where Grand Duke Nikolai Nikolaevich, the newly appointed supreme commander, receives them. The latter is journeying from Tiflis (modern-day Tbilisi) to the High Command in Mogilev, via Kharkov. Yusupov and Nakhichevansky meet him at the station and ask him to remain in Kharkov to lead the fight against the Provisional Government. The grand duke consults with his brother Petyusha, General Yanushkevich, and other members of his entourage before eventually deciding to continue onwards to the High Command.
He arrives in Mogilev on 10 March and even has time to take the oath of supreme commander, but in vain. He soon receives a telegram from Prime Minister Lvov requesting his immediate resignation for the sake of public order. Petrograd society, especially the Petrograd Soviet, is outraged that the new supreme commander is another Romanov. And although the grand duke still enjoys enormous prestige at the front, common sense prompts him to hand over his post to General Alekseyev. His next destination is Crimea.
THE POWER OF TOLSTOY
At one of the first meetings of the Provisional Government, Justice Minister Kerensky delivers a short speech proposing to abolish the death penalty. Vasily Shulgin, who is not a member of the government but in attendance as a guest, asks: “Alexander Fedorovich [Kerensky], in proposing to abolish the death penalty, do you mean for all? Do you understand what I am getting at?”
Shulgin is, of course, referring to the Romanov family. “I understand, and my answer is yes, for all,” replies Kerensky. The death penalty is abolished unanimously.
At a time of war and revolution, when human life is practically worthless, it is a landmark decision. Not far from the capital, at Kronstadt, Helsinki, and Tallinn, the Baltic Fleet is revolting against the new authorities. Dozens of officers have been killed, including the commander-in-chief, Admiral Nepenin, the first of the tsarist military leaders to recognize the Provisional Government. He is knifed in the back on his way to a meeting with a group of commissioners from Petrograd.
Non-violent resistance to evil is a core principle of the new government headed by the Tolstoyan Prince Lvov. “The government has displaced the old governors and shall not appoint replacements,” the prime minister telegraphs to the regions. “Such matters should be decided locally by the people, not by the center.”
“Listening to Lvov, I realized for the first time that his great strength comes from faith in the common man—reminiscent of Kutuzov’s faith in the common soldier,” recalls Kerensky. “We really had nothing else other than faith in the people, patience and a decidedly unheroic realization that there was no turning back.”
On 17 March the Provisional Government announces a program of unprecedented reforms that only yesterday were unimaginable: guaranteed freedom of the press and freedom of assembly; a general amnesty; the immediate convocation of a constituent assembly based on universal, equal, and direct suffrage by secret ballot; and the formation of people’s militia units to replace the police (recently disbanded by the Provisional Government).
Russia is the first country in the world to outlaw the death penalty and one of the first to give women the vote.* Neither Britain, nor France, nor the United States has anything like it at the time. Almost overnight, the legally and politically backward Russian Empire turns into the most humane and democratic country in the world.
* The term used to describe Russian nurses in World War I.
* Dating back to Peter the Great, the Abyssinian Guards were a regiment of Ethiopian troops hired to guard the Russian tsar.
* About $26,366,667 in 2017.
* The newspaper will become one of the most important daily news publications of the Soviet period, and in 2007 will be bought by Yury Kovalchuk, president Putin’s close friend and Russia’s most influential media tycoon.
* The term used in today’s Russia to describe real, non-fake opponents of the Kremlin.
* A quote from Pushkin’s historical play Boris Godunov, written under the influence of Shakespeare; the line is said to have been inspired by: “Uneasy lies the head that wears the crown” (Henry IV, Part 2).
* In 1917 only citizens of Australia, New Zealand, Denmark, and Norway had electoral rights; in one part of the Russian Empire (Finland), women’s suffrage had existed since 1906.
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