The Last Tsar: Emperor Michael II (19 page)

Rodzyanko would later claim to be dismayed that Michael refused to follow his advice, complaining that the ‘irresoluteness of Grand Duke Michael Aleksandrovich contributed to a favourable moment being lost. Instead of taking active measures and gathering around himself the units of the Petrograd garrison whose discipline had not yet been shattered, the Grand Duke started to negotiate by direct wire with Emperor Nicholas II.’
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However, this picture of an ‘irresolute’ Michael and a decisive, ruthless and clear-headed Duma president depends on Rodzyanko’s own self-serving account, written long afterwards and published in 1922, when many of his contemporaries were revising their roles in the revolution of 1917. Rodzyanko was then anxious to rebut criticism that it was he who had proved irresolute and it is that which more easily explains his improbable scenario of February 27; it helped to excuse all that followed. In fact, as others would remark over these critical days, Rodzyanko was in ‘a blue funk’ with no idea of what to do.

What further coloured his account was that when it came to the choice of a new prime minister that evening, Michael nominated someone else for the post Rodzyanko believed was his by right. At Gatchina Michael had been more in touch with political opinion than Rodzyanko might have expected, and knew that the majority Progressive Bloc in the Duma had already opted for Prince Georgy Lvov. It was therefore his name which Michael put forward, and which the conference endorsed.

Lvov was not at the conference but he knew of the proposal to make him prime minister and had agreed to take the post if offered to him. Michael already knew that; Rodzyanko did not. Lvov was not a member of the Duma, though as long-time head of the powerful union of local authorities, the
Zemstovs,
he was the best known civic leader in the country and more popular and more trusted among the radical elements than the authoritarian bull-voiced Rodzyanko.

Pavel Milyukov, leader of the Kadet party, and a powerful voice in the Duma, believed that the choice of Lvov was ‘made easier by his reputation everywhere in Russia; at the time he was irreplaceable. I cannot say, however, that Rodzyanko was reconciled to the decision.’
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Rodzyanko would still behave as if he were leader, but his real power died that night.

Nevertheless, the two-hour conference in the Marie Palace did adopt in a broad sense the measures of which Rodzyanko would later boast himself author. Michael would telegraph his brother and convey the proposals, supported as they were by his present prime minister, that he should act as Regent in the capital, with the power to appoint a new prime minister but one competent to choose his own Cabinet, unlike those which had gone before. With his high reputation in the army, Michael as lawful Regent was well-placed to win over the vast number of troops who had stayed in their barracks; a new ‘responsible ministry’ under a respected man at its rudder, would isolate the extremists behind the disorder. The real question, however, was whether the Tsar would accept any of this.

Michael had, of course, repeatedly pressed on his brother privately the necessity for a new responsible ministry, but this was the first time he would be saying so not only openly but as spokesman for the political leadership in Petrograd. He would wrap it up in the politest of language but his message to the Tsar would be clear: the days of autocracy were over.

The next four hours would be decisive. If Nicholas accepted the reality of the disaster confronting them all, there could be a new government by the next morning, with every chance that by the end of the day, with the majority of troops who had not left their barracks rallying to Michael, the revolutionaries would have slunk off into the night. Otherwise the revolution unchecked might prove impossible to contain.

Leaving the Marie Palace, Michael crossed the square to the nearby residence of the war minister on the Moika and there at 10.30 p.m. he began his despatch to his brother.
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He was using the Hughes apparatus, a kind of primitive telex, with a keyboard, in which one party typed out a tape and then waited for a reply tape. It was slow but it was all they had for communication over such a long distance. At the receiving end in Mogilev was the sympathetic chief-of-staff Alekseev and Michael ‘talked’ to his brother through him.

Grand Duke Michael Aleksandrovich on the apparatus. I beg to report the following to His Majesty the Emperor on my behalf. I am firmly convinced that in order to pacify this movement, which has
assumed huge proportion, it is essential to dismiss the whole Council of Ministers, a course urged on me by Prince Golitsin.

That in itself already said much. Michael, using a war ministry machine, quoting the support of the prime minister, was not in fact acting on his own behalf, but as representative voice of those the Tsar believed to be acting for him. It was a slap in the face. Michael went on:
If the Cabinet is dismissed, it will be essential to appoint replacements at the same time. All I can suggest in current conditions is to settle your choice on someone who has earned Your Imperial Majesty’s trust and enjoys respect among wide sections of the population, entrusting him with the duties of the Chairman of the Council of Ministers and making him solely accountable to Your Imperial Majesty.

It is essential that he be empowered to appoint a Cabinet at his own discretion. In view of the extraordinarily serious situation, Your Imperial Majesty may wish to authorise me to announce this on behalf of Your Imperial Majesty as a matter of urgency. For my part, I would suggest that the only possible candidate at this moment is Prince Lvov. ADC General Michael.

Stripped of its apparent deference, the message could not be clearer; Michael was publicly promoting a new and responsible ministry under Prince Lvov, with a Cabinet picked by him not by Nicholas or Alexandra. For the first time, Michael was openly telling his brother that he had to sack his government, and that the days of autocracy were over.

Alekseev’s reply came back on the tape. ‘I will report Your Imperial Highness’s telegram to his Imperial Majesty immediately. His Majesty the Emperor is leaving for Tsarskoe Selo tomorrow.’

Leaving
Stavka
tomorrow in the middle of a crisis and out of touch while he travelled 450 miles in a train? Every hour was vital, every hour lost potentially fatal. Michael replied immediately. ‘I am convinced that it may be advisable to delay His Majesty the Emperor’s journey to Tsarskoe Selo for several days.’
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Forty minutes later General Alekseev passed on Nicholas’s reply. It was uncompromising, almost dismissive.

Firstly. In view of the extraordinary circumstances His Majesty the Emperor does not consider it possible to delay his departure and will leave tomorrow at half past two p.m. Secondly. His Imperial Majesty will not deal with any measures touching on changes to his personal staff until his arrival in Tsarskoe Selo. Thirdly. ADC General Ivanov is leaving for Petrograd as Commander-in-Chief of the Petrograd Area and has a reliable battalion with him. Fourthly. As of tomorrow four infantry regiments and four cavalry regiments from amongst our most reliable units will begin moving from the Northern and Western Fronts to Petrograd.

Reading that, Michael knew that his brother had ignored everything he had said, and that his wire had been a waste of time, as had the discussion at the conference in the Marie Palace. Michael had been told to mind his own business.

Alekseev was clearly unhappy for he added a message of his own, directly supporting Michael’s original proposals.
Allow me to conclude with a personal request that, when making personal reports to His Imperial Majesty, Your Imperial Highness will be so kind as to give firm support to the ideas which you expressed in your preceding message, both as regards to the replacement of the present members of the Council of Ministers and as regards the method by which a new Council is to be selected and may the Lord God aid Your Imperial Highness in this important matter
.

Michael in reply repeated his concern that Nicholas was leaving Mogilev ‘since under the present conditions literally every hour counts...’ Alekseev agreed and promised to raise the matter at the morning conference because ‘I realise perfectly well...that time lost cannot be compensated for’.
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It was a dispiriting end to a long night, in which Michael had achieved precisely nothing. He summarised his efforts in his diary, concluding with one word:
Alas.
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And alas indeed, for by refusing to empower his brother the Tsar now had no government at all. When the lights failed at around midnight in the Marie Palace the last of the ministers there simply drifted away into the night and they never met again. Thus, when at 11.35 that evening in Mogilev the Tsar sent off a telegram to his prime minister saying that ‘I personally bestow upon you all the necessary powers for civil rule’,
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there was no prime minister, no power and no rule. Prince Golitsin had gone home. Over the next 24 hours he and most of the Tsar’s other ministers would be arrested by the revolutionary mob and for some their ultimate fate would be a firing squad.

THE immediate question for Michael was where he went now. It was impossible to return to Gatchina immediately ‘because of heavy machine-gun fire and grenade explosions’. His secretary Johnson had hidden their car in the courtyard of the Moika building but at 3 a.m. when ‘things had quietened down somewhat’, he decided to make an attempt to reach the station, still hoping to get home if he could. However, as his car and a military escort drove through unlit streets a revolutionary patrol tried to stop them. Michael accelerated and got away, but his military escort was arrested. ‘We could not proceed further and decided to make for the Winter Palace.’
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He arrived to find the war minister Belyaev with the dejected garrison commander Khabalov ‘and a force of 1,000 troops’. With only a few machine-guns and little artillery they had been defending the Admiralty but were marched out when their commander General Zankevich decided that it would be more symbolic ‘to die in defence of the palace’.

Michael recognised a different kind of symbolism — that it had been from the Winter Palace that troops had fired on the crowds marching into the palace square in January 1905, killing men, women and children. Michael had been with his brother at Tsarskoe Selo that day and twelve years later the memory, and the lesson of the revolution which followed, remained with him. Whatever the events of the next hours and days, if there was to be any chance of restoring order, he was not prepared to allow another ‘Bloody Sunday’, and hand the revolutionaries a propaganda victory that could only add fuel to the flames. Moreover, the Winter Palace was indefensible. Across the Neva were the rebel guns of the Fortress of St Peter and St. Paul. They could reduce the Winter Palace to rubble if they chose to open fire.

Tersely, the garrison commander was told to remove his troops back to the stronger and less politically sensitive Admiralty, ‘the poor General Khabalov’ being ‘very grateful’ to avoid a battle he could only lose.
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That done, where was he to go? It was 5 a.m. and he needed refuge close by and quickly. The best idea seemed the apartment of his old friend Princess Putyatina at 12 Millionnaya Street, just 500 yards away, and opposite the palace of Bimbo, banished by the Tsar for defending Dimitri.

He and his weary secretary Johnson slipped out of the Winter Palace into the courtyard of the adjacent Hermitage then, watching out for revolutionary patrols, waited until their path was clear before running across the snow-covered road and knocking on the door of No 12.
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The concierge heard their banging and recognising Michael’s voice opened up before leading them up two flights of stairs to the apartment of Princess Putyatina, using her pass-key to admit them inside. The princess, whose husband Pavel was away at the front, was alone with her young daughter. ‘I woke with a start hearing violent knocking on my bedroom door. At this noise, seized with fright, I could only imagine that armed soldiers had burst into my apartment.’ She was relieved when she recognised the voice of Johnson. Dressing hurriedly she went into the study where Michael was waiting. He was ‘very tired and seemed very upset’, but apologised with his ‘usual good grace’ for having disturbed her, adding: ‘Are you not afraid, Princess, of putting yourself at such risk by having such a dangerous guest?’
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Her maid produced coffee and they were gratefully sipping it when they heard boots on the stairs and the sounds of shouting from the apartment above. A revolutionary squad, forcing their way through the service entrance at the rear of the building, had come to arrest the Tsar’s chamberlain, Nicholas Stolypin, a brother of the former prime minister Peter Stolypin, assassinated in a Kiev theatre six years earlier. He was dragged away, but as they held their breath there was no knock on their door — or not yet.

Break-ins of suspected homes would be commonplace over the next days as mutineers went around the city looking for officials and ministers associated with the Tsar’s government, or who were simply people judged to be enemies of the revolution. Princess Putyatina had so far been lucky, her concierge telling rampaging mobs that in her apartment was only a soldier’s wife and child. She was not likely to remain so, however, if the mutineers learned that the Tsar’s brother was there, in an unguarded building they could enter with one blow of a rifle butt.