The Last Tsar: Emperor Michael II (18 page)

He got up, kissed her, received no kiss in reply, and strode out in anger. He would never see Alexandra again.

Passing through the mauve salon he went straight to the library, ordered a pen and paper and sat down to write a report on his meeting for Michael. As he did so, he looked up and saw the Tsar’s ADC watching him, as if on guard. The aide refused to leave, and ‘in a fury’ Sandro stood up and stormed out of the palace.
²

The next day he returned with Michael. Meeting them in his study, Nicholas smoked, listened impassively, but seemed deaf to anything that Michael said as he tried in vain to impress upon his brother that without change he faced disaster. Sandro judged that they were ‘wasting his time and ours’ and when it came his turn to support Michael’s arguments he found by the end that ‘I was hardly able to speak...emotion choking me’.
³

With that, Sandro gave up in despair. However, Michael told him he would try yet again, hopeless though it seemed, and on Friday February 10 — six days after coming back from the front — he drove once more to Tsarskoe Selo.
⁴
The meeting in Nicholas’s study was as pointless as the earlier one, though it was interrupted by the arrival of Rodzyanko. Nicholas agreed to see him, and went out into the audience chamber.

Rodzyanko was standing with a report from the Duma which simply underlined the points which Michael and Sandro had been making, but ‘the Emperor listened not only with indifference but with a kind of ill-will’, recounted Rodzyanko. ‘He finally interrupted me with the request that I hurry a bit, as Grand Duke Michael Aleksandrovich was waiting for him to have a cup of tea.’
⁵

Four days later Sandro wrote to his brother Nicholas about his depressing meetings at Tsarskoe Selo, and added that Michael ‘can also see no way out, except sending her to Livadia’
⁶
— the imperial estate in the Crimea. Yet suddenly a week later there was a moment of hope that in fact Nicholas had been listening and had finally yielded to the arguments put to him that change was imperative. He told his prime minister Prince Golitsin that he was prepared to go to the Duma next day, Tuesday, February 22, and concede to the demands for a responsible ministry. But just as suddenly he changed his mind, and instead of going to the Tauride Palace he ordered his train and went off in the opposite direction — disappearing back to
Stavka.

Next day Alexandra dashed off a letter to him, urging him as she had always urged him — ‘Be firm...’
⁷

His reply showed a touch of irritation but also the extent of his own self-deception. ‘What you write about being firm — the master — is perfectly true. I do not forget it — be sure of that, but I need not bellow at the people right & left every moment. A quiet sharp remark or answer is enough very often to put the one or other in his place...’
⁸

That would never be enough ever again.

THE revolution intended to come from above came instead from below and without any real warning. It was a spontaneous rising, with no master-plan or even a decisive leader who could be identified afterwards. Unrest become disturbance, disturbance grew into rebellion, and then in turn into revolution. And yet all this was in large part confined to the capital, with the rest of the country unaffected, at least in the beginning, and with some regions unaware of events until they were all over. The ostensible cause was fear of a bread shortage; although supplies were adequate the fear was self-fulfilling in that housewives hoarded, creating the shortage. But that was only one of many factors. There had been large-scales strikes, following a lock-out of workers at the giant Putilov factories, with an estimated 158,000 men idle by late February. Petrograd itself was a vast military camp, with 170,000 armed troops in barracks, many of them susceptible to agitators — among them German agents actively fermenting resentment in the hope of bringing about a revolution that would remove Russia from the war.

In Gatchina on Saturday February 25 — just three weeks after returning from the front — Michael noted that ‘there were disorders on Nevsky Prospekt today. Workmen were going about with red flags and throwing grenades and bottles at the police, so that troops had to open fire. The main cause of disorders is — lack of flour in the shops.’
⁹
The day left six dead and some 100 injured.

But what was most alarming was that one of the dead was a police inspector who, intent upon seizing a red flag, was killed by a Cossack trooper as he rode into a crowd of demonstrators gathered around a statue of Alexander III in a square beside the Nicholas station, the main terminus for Moscow.
¹⁰
The Cossacks were the traditional scourge of rioters and demonstrators — and if they were no longer reliable, no one was.

Next day, Sunday, there were placards all around the city, forbidding meetings or gatherings, with notices that troops were authorised to fire to maintain order. The crowds took no notice of these warnings and that evening Michael noted in his diary that ‘the disorders in Petrograd have gathered momentum. On the Suvorov Prospekt and Znamenskaya Street there were 200 killed.’
¹¹

More ominously, a company of the élite Pavlovsk Guards had mutinied in their barracks, and when their colonel came into confront them he was attacked and his hand cut off.
¹²
With that, the mutineers had no way back: it was revolution or the hangman’s noose.

A desperate Rodzyanko telegraphed the Tsar. ‘The capital is in a state of anarchy. The government is paralysed...General discontent is growing. There is wild shooting in the street. In places troops are firing at each other.’ There must be a new government, under someone trusted by the country’, he urged as he had so often urged before, except that this time he warned that ‘any procrastination is tantamount to death…’
¹³

Reading that, Nicholas dismissed it as panic. ‘Some more rubbish from that fat Rodzyanko’.
¹⁴
However he did decide to put together a loyal force and despatch it to the capital, and to return to Tsarskoe Selo himself. That should settle matters. The rebel soldiers were no more than an armed rabble. They would never stand against proper frontline troops.

That complacent view was easier held in Mogilev than in the streets of Petrograd. The rebels indeed were not frontline soldiers but depot reservists, many of them new recruits, the scrapings of the military barrel. Their officers were mainly men convalescing after being wounded at the front, or young inexperienced subalterns fresh from the military academies. It was certain, observed the British military observer Colonel Alfred Knox, that ‘if the men went wrong, the officers were without the influence to control them’.
¹⁵

Military discipline was a thin veneer which was easily stripped away, turning such troops into a uniformed mob. Nevertheless, they had guns and were as well-armed as any soldiers being sent to face them. By noon on Sunday, only some 24 hours into the disorders, 25,000 troops had gone over to the side of the demonstrators; however among the rest there were few willing to march out either for them or against them. The bulk of the available forces simply stayed in their barracks as the rebels and the mob took command of the streets.

The Arsenal on the Liteiny was captured, putting into the hands of the rebels thousands of rifles and pistols, and hundreds of machine-guns. The headquarters of the
Okhrana
, across the Neva and opposite the Winter Palace, as well as a score of police stations, were overrun and set on fire. The prisons were opened and their inmates freed, criminals as well as political detainees. By the evening of that second day, only the very centre of the city, around the Winter Palace, could be said still to be in government control.
¹⁶

Michael would begin his diary entry for Monday, February 27, by writing that it was ‘the beginning of anarchy’.
¹⁷

AS Michael was composing his diary, Nicholas was puffing on a cigarette in his quarters at
Stavka
, reading a letter newly arrived from Alexandra. Having told him that three of the children had gone down with measles, she was otherwise cheerful and confident about the events in the capital, for all around her agreed that it was nothing like as serious as the revolution of 1905, which had begun with a massacre of demonstrators in front of the Winter Palace on what history remembered as ‘Bloody Sunday’. The difference was ‘because all adore you & only want bread...it seems to me it will be alright — the sun shines so brightly.’ There was also the consolation of her prayers at the grave of Rasputin. ‘I felt such peace & calm on His dear grave — He died to save us.’
¹⁸

Nicholas was also striving to be calm. The day before, in church, he had felt ‘an excruciating pain in the middle of my chest, which lasted for quarter of an hour. I cannot understand what it was, as I had no heart beating, but it came & left me at once when I knelt before the Virgin’s image.’
¹⁹
Writing to say ‘how happy I am at the thought of meeting you in two days’ he then reported that ‘after the news of yesterday from town — I saw many faces here with frightened expressions.’ Not knowing that his chief of staff had been involved in a plot with Prince Lvov to get rid of him, he added: ‘Luckily Alekseev is calm...’
²⁰

There was also reassuring news from the capital. Early that afternoon the war minister General Mikhail Belyaev cabled Mogilev to tell Nicholas that while ‘it has not yet been possible to crush the rebellion...I am firmly convinced that calm will soon arrive. Ruthless measures are being adopted to achieve this. The authorities remain totally calm.’
²¹
If he had written ‘totally panic-stricken’ it would have been nearer the mark, but Belyaev, appointed only seven weeks earlier, could not bring himself to admit that he had already lost control of the army in Petrograd.

At the Tauride Palace the Duma was in uproar. Just 13 days after its new session had begun, deputies arrived to find that the Duma had been shut down again. Prince Golitsin, the third prime minister in the past year and a reluctant appointee, had used a ‘blank’ decree to prorogue the Duma, thinking it would defuse tension by silencing the more radical elements.
²²

However, the deputies refused to disperse, adjourned to another chamber in the building, and set up a ‘temporary committee’ under the chairmanship of their president Rodzyanko. Within 24 hours this would claim to be the
de facto
government.

That said, none of them had any idea of what their role could be.
‘What shall I do? What shall I do?’
Rodzyanko cried out in vain hope of any answer.
²³
Another Duma member recalled that ‘we did not have an idea of what was happening and certainly no plan or idea of how to deal with it’.
²⁴

So Rodzyanko then turned to the only man he thought could rescue them. He slipped out of the chamber and telephoned Michael in Gatchina, urging him to come to the capital immediately. The call would appear to have been around 3.45 p.m. for that was when Michael telephoned his brother-in-law Matveev at his embankment law office in Petrograd, only to be told that he had left at 3.30 p.m. and was on his way home to the Fontanka. Instead, Michael spoke to his chauffeur, telling him to be with a car at the Warsaw railway station just after six p.m. By the time Matveev was home, and telephoned Gatchina to find out what was happening, Natasha told him that Michael had already left for Petrograd with his secretary Nikolai Johnson.
²⁵
Their special train left at 5 p.m.

Just over an hour later they were at Petrograd’s Warsaw station, with Michael relieved to find that ‘things were comparatively quiet.’
²⁶
Met by Matveev’s chauffeur, he was whisked away to the Marie Palace on St Isaac’s Square to join an emergency conference attended by the prime minister, war minister Belyaev, Rodzyanko and other leading members of the Duma’s new ‘temporary committee’.

In the government there was only resigned defeatism. That evening the hated interior minister Protopopov had been persuaded to resign and as he shuffled off into the night he muttered that there was nothing now left to him ‘but to shoot myself’.
²⁷
No one cared what he did and no one bothered to say goodbye to the man so trusted by the Empress, so despised by the nation. Yet his departure was also its own signal that the government was no more. Golitsin accepted that his ministry was finished, but did not know how to write out the death certificate. He hoped Michael would do that for him.

There was not a moment to lose. As Michael would note afterwards, ‘By 9 p.m. shooting in the streets began and almost all the armed forces became revolutionary and the old rule ceased to exist.’
²⁸

So what was to be the new rule? In the conference which followed Rodzyanko would later claim that he urged Michael ‘to assume on his own initiative the dictatorship of the city...compel the personnel of the government to tender their resignations and demand by telegram, by direct wire from His Majesty, a manifesto regarding the formation of a responsible cabinet.’
²⁹
These were dramatic proposals: the Duma president— who had prided himself on refusing to be a rebel — was proposing that Michael should seize power, effectively proclaim himself Regent and present his brother with a
fait accompli.