Red Mutiny (25 page)

Given these troubles, punctuated most forcefully by the
Potemkin,
Nicholas had to reconsider pursuing peace with Japan. Prior to the Battle of Tsushima, talk of a truce had arisen, but the words were mostly empty. In the days after the defeat, Nicholas considered the real possibility of negotiations to end the war, convening with his ministers over the prospect, but he made no decisions, favoring the opinion of his war minister that Russia needed at least one significant victory over Japan before seeking peace. Otherwise, his minister argued, the Japanese would have too much leverage at the bargaining table. Subsequent discussions with his ministers edged him closer to seeking peace, as he came to fear that his enemy would soon attack Russian soil at Sakhalin Island. But still he hesitated.

On May 25, in a private audience with Nicholas, the new American ambassador in St. Petersburg, George von Lengerke Meyer, informed him of President Theodore Roosevelt's proposal to broker a peace conference between Russia and Japan. Finally, Nicholas assented to opening talks. However, agreeing to a conference was a long way from committing to peace, particularly considering the notorious double-speak of the tsar's regime. One day, his ministers spoke of a desire for a deal; the next, they spoke of fighting the war indefinitely, a promise backed by the calling up of more reserves. This vacillation reflected Nicholas's own indecisiveness. Roosevelt expressed his frustration to his close friend Henry Cabot Lodge: "Russia is so corrupt, so treacherous and shifty, and so incompetent, that I'm utterly unable to say whether or not it will make peace, or break off the negotiations at any moment."

In the two weeks before the
Potemkin
mutiny, Nicholas debated where the meeting should be held and who should represent his government as plenipotentiary; his choice of the latter would reveal how seriously he took the talks. From the outset, he refused Sergei Witte, who would have been the best person to send to the table. Towering in height, with a booming, rough voice and grating manners, Witte had a presence similar to that of Alexander III. During his tenure, Witte had orchestrated the empire's rapid economic development
and was considered by many at home and abroad to be Russia's only hope at navigating away from ruin. His vehement opposition to war with Japan had led Nicholas to force him aside as minister of finance, and his vocal call for peace had alienated him even more from the tsar. When his name was suggested by the Russian foreign minister, Nicholas sighed, "Only not Witte!" Instead the tsar chose the ambassador to France, A. I. Nelidov, who was a diplomatic antique, ill of health, and frightfully incapable of managing the complexities of the negotiations with Japan. It was clear that Nicholas had not yet set his sights on peace.

That afternoon, June 16, after his meeting with Avelan and Chukhnin, Nicholas wrote letters to each of his ministers, requesting their opinion again on the war. The developing situation at home demanded resolution.

Nicholas received a quicker, blunter response from the international community, which was only just learning about the mutiny and the Odessan massacre. Not only a personal embarrassment for and political threat to Nicholas, the
Potemkin
could potentially have global repercussions. The tsar had a stranglehold on his own press, but he was helpless to keep news of the mutiny from the rest of world; their awareness of the crisis only deepened it.

Around the globe, newspaper front pages and editorials sensationalized the
Potemkin
story. "Fate of the Empire Depends on the Loyalty of the Black Sea Fleet," wrote John Callan O'Laughlin, a
Chicago Daily Tribune
reporter and a confidant of President Roosevelt. "Czar's Warship in Rebels' Hands—Revolution Now Feared" headlined the
New York Times.
London's
Daily Telegraph,
whose star reporter, E. J. White, was an ally of Sergei Witte, cut to the quick: "There is always in every despotism one weak spot.... It is, of course, the discipline of the troops. So long as authority can rely on the fidelity of its bayonets, it is safe against popular assault. But when monarchy loses its right arm, then, indeed, its hour of tribulation is near." The
Times
of London, an unapologetic supporter of the Russian liberals, was breathless in its coverage as well, stating that the tsarist government had brought this situation on itself and that reform must be the consequence. Paris's
Petit Journal
believed it was too late
for this course: "It had been hoped that the concessions which the tsar seemed inclined to make might avert a catastrophe. It is now perceived that the situation is desperate, that the evil has gone too far to be remedied, and that Russia is from end to end, in a state of revolution." Berlin's
Tageblatt
called the mutiny "a flashlight revealing to the dullest eye the true situation in the interior of that wide empire and the dangerous disintegration of political order." Tokyo's
Nichi Nichi Shimbun
was equally pessimistic: "What is left for the autocracy to stand upon? If the tsar is wise he will now, when it is still possible, by a bold and steadfast policy of reform, save his state from a tremendous upheaval. It looks as if he, like Louis XVI of France, will not be wise."

Much as ill-fed, mistreated sailors shooting their officers and instigating a massive riot in one of Russia's biggest cities made for exciting copy and provided fodder for editorial writers, world political leaders took the
Potemkin
uprising very seriously. In the realm of finance, a mutinous battleship on the Black Sea threatened the region's substantial commercial trade, and the fire in Odessa's port damaged more than just Russian business. Stock markets nose-dived as soon as reports of the mutiny broke. Grain prices skyrocketed. The events provoked a sharp exchange in the British Parliament on June 16. Some raised the possibility of the
Potemkin's
bombarding Odessa and questioned whether the British government was taking precautionary measures to protect its citizens and shipping interests. Revealing a sentiment shared by other leaders, Prime Minister A. J. Balfour succinctly responded, "It seems difficult to see what precautions can be taken in regard to disorders taking place in a town not under British jurisdiction."

The potential consequences in the sphere of international relations were even greater, given Russia's prominent role. France depended on its alliance with Russia to stave off Germany's bullying. Great Britain, which had a long history of troubled relations with Russia, most recently over the tsar's territorial ambitions in the Far East, was bound to friendly relations with Japan. Yet Balfour's government had recently brokered the Entente Cordiale with its long-time adversary France, to check Germany's dominance in Europe. Kaiser Wilhelm II wanted Nicholas focused on—and weakened by—his war with Japan, thereby reducing Russian influence in Europe, particularly in the Balkans and Austria-Hungary, where Wilhelm was seeking a stronger hand. However, given the new relationship between France and Britain, the kaiser was also interested in securing his ties with his cousin Nicholas. The sultan of the Ottoman Empire, Abdul Hamid II, the last of the true autocrats alongside the tsar, was split between his fear of Russian power and concern that his country's own revolutionaries would sweep him from his throne if this were to be Nicholas's fate. As for the United States, Roosevelt was sympathetic to the plight of the 150 million Russians whose ruler, as he had recently written to Secretary of State John Hay, was a "preposterous little creature" who "has been unable to make war, and now he is unable to make peace." Yet Roosevelt was a realist, understanding that without the tsar's interest in the Far East, Japan might become too powerful in the region. If Nicholas lost control of his empire, this fragile balance of power and web of alliances might unravel. The status quo was preferable to the alternative of new Russian leadership, socialist or otherwise, with its own unpredictable interests.

That was why a mutinous battleship flying a revolutionary flag on the Black Sea sowed trepidation at the highest levels. The French ambassador to Russia, Maurice Paleologue, was terrified of the "revolutionary tornado" storming across the country. He relayed to Paris that the
Potemkin
was another serious sign that Nicholas was lost if he neglected to pursue peace with Japan, followed by a stiff prescription of reform. Government circles in Berlin mirrored this sentiment, watching developments closely. Wilhelm II persistently urged Nicholas toward a deal with Japan. British ambassador Charles Hardinge predicted that more repression—not reform—would follow in the mutiny's wake. American ambassador Meyer drafted a letter to Roosevelt about the navy rebellion, believing the army might follow suit. Despite this danger, Meyer wrote that Nicholas and his ministers held to form, equivocating and delaying over the peace talks, trying the very "patience of Job." Meyer promised to press the regime nonetheless. Sultan Abdul Hamid II took rapid steps to reinforce his defenses along the Bosphorus Strait and heightened the watch on his own armed forces. As for the Japanese, the Black Sea crisis only strengthened their position, a fact that even the Russian ambassador to the United States admitted to a reporter: "Japan has had the luck of
the devil. We are in the position of a man in a poker game who has had fortune against him in every hand." Others would see opportunity as well in the mutiny.

From his small Geneva apartment, Lenin fought his revolution against the Tsar of All the Russias. On the morning of June 16, he finished his daily exercises (forward bends and chest presses), shared a pot of hot tea with his wife, Krupskaya, and then cleared off his desk after another long night of writing. Afterward, dressed in a coat and slacks, he headed out of his tenement building to go to the library and read the morning newspapers.

With his bald, egglike head, copper-red beard, and dark slanted eyes, Lenin cut an easily recognizable figure in the neighborhood where many exiled Russian intellectuals lived in 1905. Often they congregated at night in the Café Landolt, Mensheviks in one back room, Bolsheviks in another, fighting their doctrinal wars far from the frontlines of the workers they claimed to represent.

Born in 1870 in a small town alongside the Volga River, Lenin came from a family whose high position was earned by the dogged efforts of his father. Although a brooding introvert, Lenin enjoyed an easy childhood and won good marks in school. He might never have turned to revolution were it not for his older brother, the family favorite, who was hanged while still a student in St. Petersburg for plotting to kill Alexander III with a homemade bomb. Lenin was seventeen; the family name was smeared. He was expelled from the University of Kazan for participating in a minor student demonstration. While in jail, a fellow student asked him what he thought he was going to do with his life. Lenin responded, "What is there for me to think? My path has been blazed by my brother."

Seeking solitude, Lenin moved with his mother to Samara, studied law on his own, and read constantly. His first influences were the writings of Russia's early revolutionaries. Of particular impact was Nikolai Chernyshevsky's
What Is to Be Done?,
a novel in which the hero, Rakhmetov, finds redemption through revolution, devoting himself to a life absent of pleasure, clear in purpose, and immune to human suffering, all in the name of progress. Lenin also fell under the spell of Pyotr Tkachev, who believed in capturing power violently, establishing a dictatorship run by an elite revolutionary vanguard, and then advancing socialism. These writings had crystallized in his mind long before he took to reading and interpreting the works of Karl Marx.

In 1893, Lenin passed the bar exam and left for St. Petersburg, joining a revolutionary study group almost before unpacking his bags. He met his future wife, Krupskaya, there and embraced Marx's teachings. In his earliest writings and activities, Lenin revealed himself to be fiercely analytical, a brilliant broad-ranging thinker, politically agile, and supremely determined to dominate every argument. This fire intensified after his arrest in 1895, a year in a St. Petersburg jail, and then three more in Siberian exile, where he spent his time studying and writing. On his release, many considered him one of the leading Social Democrat intellectuals. Shortly afterward he left Russia for Europe to join others in exile.

There he followed a road that led away from Julius Martov, one of his closest friends, as well as away from the father of Russian Marxism, Georgy Plekhanov. All of them wanted revolution, believed in a centralized organization, and despised the soft stance of liberals. But Lenin, hearkening back to his earliest influences, battled for a tightly controlled, militaristic command structure. In July 1903, at a formal party meeting in Brussels, the Social Democrats split into two parties, taking the names Bolsheviks ("Majoritarians") and Mensheviks ("Minoritarians") after Lenin won a floor vote on the definition of party membership. Lenin wanted only those who actively participated in the organization to be included, while Martov preferred to admit anyone who endorsed their efforts.

Having witnessed Lenin's ruthless moves to dictate the party's direction, Plekhanov commented prophetically, "Of such dough, Robespierres are made." After the meeting, Lenin was forced off the editorial board of
Iskra,
the revolutionary paper he had helped create to focus the mission of the Social Democrats. For the next eighteen months he struggled almost alone to build his new party, an effort that brought him close to mental collapse and deepened his rift with Martov and the other Mensheviks.

At the start of 1905, Lenin published a new revolutionary organ,
Vperyod (Forward),
and his spirits lifted. In the first issue, Lenin wrote, "A military collapse is now inevitable, and with it there will
inevitably come a tenfold increase of unrest, discontent and rebellion. For that moment we must prepare with all our energy." Lenin espoused the street-fighting techniques of Paris Commune leader Gustave Cluseret: "Squads must arm themselves, each man with what he can get: a rifle, revolver, bomb, knife, stick, a rag dipped in kerosene."