“While Stolypin was being helped out of the theatre, there was a great noise in the corridor near our box; people were trying to lynch the assassin. I am sorry to say the police rescued him from the crowd and took him to an isolated room for his first examination.… Two of his front teeth were knocked out. The theatre filled up again, the national anthem was sung and I left with the girls at 11. You can imagine with what emotions.… Tatiana was very upset and she cried a lot.… Poor Stolypin had a bad night.”
The plot against Stolypin was intricate and sordid. The assassin, Mordka Bogrov, was a revolutionary and, at the same time, a police informer. Allowed to continue his underground work while making regular reports to the police, Bogrov apparently gave his primary allegiance to the revolution. The commonly accepted and most likely version of the plot is that Bogrov used his police connections to achieve a revolutionary goal. Before the Tsar and Stolypin arrived in Kiev, Bogrov had given the police detailed information about a plot against Stolypin’s life. The police followed the trail and discovered, too late, that it was false. Meanwhile, Bogrov, using a police ticket to gain admittance, was striding into the opera, where his mission, supposedly, was to guard Stolypin by spotting and pointing out potential “assassins” who might have slipped through the police net. Inside, Bogrov drew a revolver from under his cape and fired.
This was the official version and the one accepted by all of the Imperial family. “I cannot say how distressed and indignant I am about the murder of Stolypin,” wrote Empress Marie. “It is horrible and scandalous and one can say nothing good of the police whose choice fell upon such a swine as that revolutionary to act as informer and as guard to Stolypin. It exceeds all bounds and shows the stupidity of the people at the top.” Nevertheless, a question remains which this account does not answer: Why, if Nicholas was also present, did the assassin shoot the Prime Minister and not the Tsar? Although Bogrov was hanged and four officials of the police were suspended for negligence, the suspicion has always remained that Stolypin’s murder was the work of powerful reactionaries who had connections with the police.
Nicholas’s shock over the murder of his Prime Minister was genuine. Stolypin lived for five days after the shooting, and the Tsar, although urged by palace security officials to leave Kiev immediately for the safety of Livadia, remained in the vicinity. “I returned to Kiev in the evening of September 3rd, called at the nursing home where Stolypin was lying, and met his wife who would not let me see him,” he wrote to Marie. Nicholas continued his program, making a short trip down the Dnieper. “On September 6th at 9 A.M. I returned to Kiev. Here on the pier I heard from Kokovtsov that Stolypin had died. I went at once to the nursing home, and a memorial service was afterwards held in my presence. The poor widow stood as though turned to stone and was unable to weep.”
It was Kokovtsov who, on the night of the assassination, took the reins of government and averted a second disaster. Because Bogrov was a Jew, the Orthodox population of Kiev was noisily preparing for a retaliatory pogrom. Frantic with fear, the city’s Jewish population spent the night packing their belongings. The first light of the following day found the square before the railway station jammed with carts and people trying to squeeze themselves onto departing trains. Even as they waited, the terrified people heard the clatter of hoofs. An endless stream of Cossacks, their long lances dark against the dawn sky, rode past. On his own, Kokovtsov had ordered three full regiments of Cossacks into the city to prevent violence. Asked on what authority he had issued the command, Kokovtsov replied, “As head of the government.” Later, a local official came up to the Finance Minister to complain, “Well, Your Excellency, by calling in the troops you have missed a fine chance to answer Bogrov’s shot with a nice Jewish pogrom.” Kokovtsov was indignant, but, he added, “his sally suggested to me that the measures I had taken at Kiev were not sufficient … therefore I sent an open telegram to all governors of the region demanding that they use every possible means—force if necessary—to prevent possible pogroms. When I submitted this telegram to the Tsar, he expressed his approval of it and of the measure I had taken in Kiev.”
Nicholas also quickly confirmed Kokovtsov’s official position, naming him as Stolypin’s successor. One month later, the new Prime Minister visited the Tsar at Livadia to discuss future policy. “I … was accorded a most hearty welcome. The members of the court … vied with each other in their graciousness to me,” Kokovtsov wrote. “… The next day, after lunch, the Empress who found it painful to stand for any length of time, sat down in an armchair and called me to her side.… A part of this conversation impressed itself upon my memory because it … showed me the peculiar, mystic nature of this woman who was called to play such an extraordinary part in the history of Russia.…
“The Empress said … ‘I notice that you keep on making comparisons between yourself and Stolypin. You seem to do too much honor to his memory and ascribe too much importance to his activities and his personality. Believe me, one must not feel sorry for those who are no more. I am sure that everybody does only one’s duty and fulfills one’s destiny, and when one dies that means that his role is ended and that he was bound to go since his destiny was fulfilled. Life continually assumes new forms, and you must not try to follow blindly the work of your predecessor. Remain yourself; do not look for support in political parties; they are of so little consequence in Russia. Find support in the confidence of the Tsar—the Lord will help you. I am sure that Stolypin died to make room for you, and this is all for the good of Russia.’ ”
In 1911, when Stolypin ordered an investigation of Rasputin’s activities, the outcry against the starets was still a matter for private conversation. By 1912, when Kokovtsov inherited Stolypin’s office, the scandal had burst into the public arena. In the Duma, broad hints at “dark forces” near the throne began to creep into the speeches of Leftist deputies. Soon the “Rasputin question” dominated the political scene.
“Strange as it may seem,” wrote Kokovtsov, “the question of Rasputin became the central question of the immediate future; nor did it disappear during my entire term of office as Chairman of the Ministers’ Council.” Censorship had been abolished by the Manifesto, and the press began to speak openly of Rasputin as a sinister adventurer who controlled appointments in the Church and had the ear of the Empress. Newspapers began to print accusations and confessions from Rasputin’s victims and the cries of anguished mothers. Alexander Guchkov, leader of the Octobrists, obtained copies of Iliodor’s letters allegedly written by the Empress to Rasputin; he had them copied and circulated through the city. “Although they were absolutely impeccable, they gave rise to the most revolting comments,” said Kokovtsov. “… We [Kokovtsov and Makarov, the Minister of Interior] both believed that the letters were apocryphal and were being circulated for the purpose of undermining the prestige of the sovereign but we could do nothing.… The public, of course, greedy for any sensation, was according them a very warm reception.”
As the attack on Rasputin intensified, the Moscow newspaper Golos Moskvy denounced “that cunning conspirator against our Holy Church, that fornicator of human souls and bodies—Gregory Rasputin” as well as “the unheard-of tolerance exhibited toward the said Gregory Rasputin by the highest dignitaries of the Church.” Nicholas issued an order banning any mention of Rasputin in the press on pain of fine. But Rasputin made much too good copy for editors to worry about fines; they published and cheerfully paid. The unprintable stories, passed from mouth to mouth, were infinitely worse. The Empress and Anna Vyrubova, it was said, shared the peasant’s bed. He ordered the Tsar to pull off his boots and wash his feet and then pushed Nicholas out of the room while he lay with Alexandra. He had raped all the young Grand Duchesses and turned the nurseries into a harem, where the girls, mad with love, fought for his attentions. “Grishka,” the diminutive of Gregory, appeared in obscene drawings chalked on walls and buildings; he was the subject of a hundred smutty rhymes.
Nicholas was bitterly offended
at the dragging of his wife’s name and honor through the mud. “I am simply stifling in this atmosphere of gossip and malice,” he told Kokovtsov. “This disgusting affair must be ended.” Neither Nicholas nor Alexandra understood the meaning of freedom of the press; they did not understand why the ministers could not prevent the appearance in print of what they both knew was inaccurate and libelous. On the other hand, for the ministers, the Duma and even the Dowager Empress, the solution lay not in repressing the newspapers, but in ridding the throne of Rasputin. Once again, Marie invited Kokovtsov to call on her, and for an hour and a half they discussed Rasputin. “She wept bitterly and promised to speak to the Tsar,” Kokovtsov wrote. “But she had little hope of success.” “My poor daughter-in-law does not perceive that she is ruining both the dynasty and herself,” said Marie. “She sincerely believes in the holiness of an adventurer and we are powerless to ward off the misfortune which is sure to come.”
Inevitably, the demand rose for an open debate in the Duma on the role of Rasputin. The Duma President, Michael Rodzianko, a massive figure weighing 280 pounds, was a former cavalry officer of aristocratic family whose political views were not much different from those of a Tory country squire in England. To him, the idea of a public debate in the Duma on Rasputin’s relations with the Imperial family seemed highly offensive. Seeking advice, he too visited Empress Marie and heard the same depressing views that Marie had addressed to Kokovtsov. “The Emperor … is so pure of heart,” she concluded, “that he does not believe in evil.”
Nevertheless, Rodzianko persisted and he was granted an audience with the Tsar. So important did he consider his mission that before going to the palace, he went to pray in the cathedral before the holy icon of Our Lady of Kazan. At the palace, Rodzianko bravely told the Tsar that he meant to “speak of the starets, Rasputin, and the inadmissible fact of his presence at Your Majesty’s Court.” Then, before going any further, he said, “I beseech you, Sire, as Your Majesty’s loyal subject, will it be your pleasure to hear me to the end? If not, say but one word and I will remain silent.” Nicholas looked away, bowed his head and murmured, “Speak.” Rodzianko spoke at length, reminding Nicholas of those such as Theophan and Iliodor who had condemned Rasputin and suffered for it. He mentioned the major charges against Rasputin. “Have you read Stolypin’s report?” asked Nicholas. “No,” said Rodzianko, “I’ve heard it spoken of, but never read it.” “I rejected it,” said the Tsar. “It is a pity,” said the Duma President, “for all this would not have happened.”
Moved by Rodzianko’s honest fervor, Nicholas gave way and authorized a new investigation of Rasputin’s character and activities to be conducted by Rodzianko himself. Rodzianko immediately demanded and received the evidence which had been collected by the Holy Synod and passed along to Stolypin to form the basis of his earlier report. The following day, an official of the Holy Synod appeared and ordered Rodzianko to hand the papers back. “He explained,” Rodzianko wrote, “that the demand came from a very exalted person. ‘Who is it, Sabler [Minister of Religion]?’ ‘No, someone much more highly placed.’ … ‘Who is it?’ I repeated. ‘The Empress, Alexandra Fedorovna.’ ‘If that is the case,’ I said, ‘will you kindly inform Her Majesty that she is as much a subject of her august consort as I myself, and that it is the duty of us both to obey his commands. I am, therefore, not in a position to comply with her wishes.’ ”
Rodzianko kept the papers and wrote his report, but when he asked for another audience to present it, the request was denied. He sent it to the Tsar, nevertheless, and Sazonov, the Foreign Minister, was present when Nicholas read it at Livadia. Afterward, Sazonov spoke to Grand Duke Ernest of Hesse, the Empress’s brother, who also was present. Sadly, the Grand Duke shook his head and commented, “The Emperor is a saint and an angel, but he does not know how to deal with her.”
Two years after his appointment as Prime Minister, Kokovtsov toppled from power. Once again, it was Rasputin who poisoned this political career. Upon appointing Kokovtsov Minister of Finance, Nicholas had told him, “Remember, Vladimir Nicolaievich, that the doors of this study are always open to you at any time you need to come.” When Kokovtsov sent the Tsar his proposed budget speech to the Duma in 1907, Nicholas returned it with a personal note reading, “God grant that the new Duma may study calmly this splendid explanation and appreciate the improvement we have made in so short a time after all the trials sent to us.” The Empress also was initially well disposed toward Kokovtsov. During their first interview after he became Finance Minister, she said, “I wished to see you to tell you that both the Tsar and I beg you always to be quite frank with us and to tell us the truth, not hesitating lest it be unpleasant for us. Believe me, even if it be so at first, we shall be grateful to you for it later.”
But Alexandra’s warmth and her desire to hear the truth faded quickly once the newspapers began their attack on Rasputin. Kokovtsov himself understood clearly what had happened and even sympathized with Alexandra:
“At first, I enjoyed Her Majesty’s favor,” he wrote. “In fact, I was appointed Chairman of the Ministers’ Council with her knowledge and consent. Hence, when the Duma and press began a violent campaign against Rasputin … she expected me to put a stop to it. Yet it was not my opposition to the Tsar’s proposal to take measures against the press that won me Her Majesty’s displeasure; it was my report to His Majesty about Rasputin after the starets had visited me. From that time on, although the Tsar continued to show me his favor for another two years, my dismissal was assured. This changed attitude of Her Majesty is not hard to understand.… In her mind, Rasputin was closely associated with the health of her son, and the welfare of the Monarchy. To attack him was to attack the protector of what she held most dear. Moreover, like any righteous person, she was offended to think that the sanctity of her home had been questioned in the press and in the Duma. She thought that I, as head of the government, was responsible for permitting these attacks, and could not understand why I could not stop them by giving orders in the name of the Tsar. She considered me, therefore, not a servant of the Tsar, but a tool of the enemies of the state and, as such, deserving dismissal.”
Despite his wife’s animosity, Nicholas retained his affection for Kokovtsov. Nevertheless, on February 12, 1914, the Prime Minister received a letter from the Tsar:
VLADIMIR NICOLAIEVICH:
It is not a feeling of displeasure but a long-standing and deep realization of a state need that now forces me to tell you that we have to part.
I am doing this in writing, for it is easier to select the right words when putting them on paper than during an unsettling conversation.
The happenings of the past eight years have persuaded me definitely that the idea of combining in one person the duties of Chairman of the Ministers’ Council and those of Minister of Finance or of the Interior is both awkward and wrong in a country such as Russia.
Moreover, the swift tempo of our domestic life and the striking development of the economic forces of our country both demand the undertaking of most definite and serious measures, a task which should be best entrusted to a man fresh for the work.
During the last two years, unfortunately, I have not always approved of the policy of the Ministry of Finance, and I perceive that this can go no farther.
I appreciate highly your devotion to me and the great service you have performed in achieving remarkable improvements in Russia’s state credit; I am grateful to you for this from the bottom of my heart. Believe me, I am sorry to part with you who have been my assistant for ten years. Believe also, that I shall not forget to take suitable care of you and your family. I expect you with your last report on Friday, at 11:00 a.m. as always, and ever as a friend.
With sincere regards,
NICHOLAS
Kokovtsov found little solace in Nicholas’s description of his successor as “a man fresh for the work,” especially when he discovered that this successor was to be Goremykin. Certainly Goremykin made no such estimate o
f his talents. “I am like an old fur coat,” he said. “For many months I have been packed away in camphor. I am being taken out now merely for the occasion; when it is passed I shall be packed away again till I am wanted the next time.”
After his dismissal, Kokovtsov was asked to call on the Dowager Empress. “I know you are an honorable man and I know that you bear no ill will toward my son. You must also understand my fears for the future. My daughter-in-law does not like me; she thinks that I am jealous of her power. She does not perceive that my one aspiration is to see my son happy. Yet I see that we are nearing some catastrophe and the Tsar listens to no one but flatterers, not perceiving or even suspecting what goes on all around him. Why do you not decide to tell the Tsar frankly all you think and know, now that you are at liberty to do so, warning him, if it is not already too late?”
Almost as distressed as Marie, Kokovtsov replied that he “could do nothing. I told her that no one would listen to me or believe me. The young Empress thought me her enemy.” This animosity, Kokovtsov explained, had been present ever since February 1912.
It was in the middle of February 1912 that Kokovtsov and Rasputin had met and disliked each other over tea.
When he first came to St. Petersburg, Gregory Rasputin had no plan for making himself the power behind the Russian throne. Like many successful opportunists, he lived from day to day, cleverly making the most of what was offered to him. In his case, the path led to the upper reaches of Russian society, and from there, because of Alexis’s illness, to the throne. Even then he remained indifferent to politics until his own behavior became a political issue. Then, with government ministers, members of the Duma, the church hierarchy and the press all attacking him, Rasputin counterattacked in the only way open to him: by going to the Empress. Rasputin became a political influence in Russia in self-defense.
Nicholas and Alexandra: The Classic Account of the Fall of the Romanov Dynasty Page 30
