There is a monument on the banks of the Neva in St Petersburg on which sailors’ brides throw their bouquets on the evening of their wedding day. It commemorates those lost at the disastrous battle of Tsushima. Beset by a rising tide of domestic unrest, some government ministers had sought war as a diversion; and the Tsar, with his ill-advised sponsorship of dubious speculators active in the Far East, had helped provide the occasion for it. The Japanese had sounder reasons for engagement: to recover from the effects of Vitte’s démarche in having outwitted them to gain influence over China and Manchuria and a voice in Korea. Soon after Russia went to war with Japan in 1904, its hopes vanished. Port Arthur surrendered after a long siege in January 1905; the army was forced to abandon Mukden, and when the great Baltic fleet which had sailed majestically round Europe, Africa and Asia finally gave battle in May 1905 it lost a dozen battleships along with most of its smaller warships. But an even worse disaster had occurred in St Petersburg in January.
Troops had fired on a large but peaceful demonstration of workers passing the Winter Palace, killing over a hundred of them. Members of all classes throughout the Empire raised a chorus of protest. They also made a variety of demands. The working class called vociferously for better pay and conditions, the educated classes cried out for representative government, while Poles, Finns and others demanded national independence. Crowds clogged the streets of major cities; strikes became frequent and widespread; there was a mutiny in the Black Sea fleet; high-ranking officials were assassinated. Then the peasants rose. The disorders, especially in the countryside, were to take many months to suppress, but suppressed they were.
The departure for the front of so many military units that were normally available near the biggest population centres had encouraged the insurgents, and when the Tsar recalled Vitte and, with American help, peace was arranged with Japan, the tide soon turned. Soldiers dislike crowd-control and suppression duties, but these operations were on the whole well-managed, and casualties were comparatively few. A total of 2,691 people died as a result of terrorism; 2,390 people were executed for terrorist acts. 34 Meanwhile the Tsar’s promise of democratic elections to a parliament or Duma served further to quieten the middle-class opposition.
In terms of the territorial extent of the Empire, the peace with Japan cost Russia relatively little: the Lüshun Peninsula, half of Sakhalin, and recognition that Japanese interests should predominate in Korea. However, Russia retained the East China Railway and its dominant position in northern Manchuria. Vitte had deftly extricated the Empire from what had promised to be a much greater disaster. Furthermore, as sometimes happens in the complex affairs of great empires, inertia decreed that there would be some successes even in the wake of cataclysmic defeat. The Orenburg—Tashkent line started after the turn of the century was finished in 1906; the Tiflis—Julfa railway opened for traffic the following year. 35 And in 1907 Britain was persuaded to concede the division of Persia into Russian and British spheres of influence.
To the west, the threat of Germany and Austria was countered by Russia’s alliance with France and Britain, while at home attempts were made not only to accommodate the regime to democracy, but to solve the peasant problem. This task fell to an experienced provincial governor, Petr Stolypin, and the solution which he applied was radical. His strategy was to turn the more substantial peasants into private farmers, break up the peasant commune, and force those who could not survive to sell their plots and move either on to the labour market (which was short of manpower) or to underpopulated Siberia. Between 1906 and 1914 2 million people did so. 36 The destruction of a traditional way of life invariably involves cruelty, but there seemed to be no workable alternative. Stolypin claimed that, given twenty years of peace, his reforms would transform Russia, creating a solid, prosperous farmer class which would benefit the economy and stabilize politics. But while attending a performance in Kiev’s handsome cream, red and gilded opera house in 1911 he was killed by an assassin’s bullet. His reforms might have succeeded but they were to be overtaken by the First World War only three years later.
Nor was the experiment with parliamentary democracy successful, though the fault did not lie entirely with the regime. Stolypin’s offer to the majority liberal opposition of seats in a coalition government was rejected. As one liberal was himself to recall, the politicians saw in ‘compromises and gradualism “a lowering of the flag”. They wanted everything, and wanted it immediately … A “constitutional democracy” was certainly attainable, but it could not be realized at once … The intolerance of the doctrinaires … was sharpest in questions involving “theoretical … principles”. A concession in this area was regarded as treason.’ 37 The result was an unrealistic attitude to the monarchy. The democrats wanted to form the government, even though they had no experience in office, and in effect they forced the government to change the electoral process in the hope of getting a Duma with which it could work. But it proved impossible to reach an accommodation even with a slightly more tractable Duma. The problem was partly constitutional, partly the intransigence of the democratic leaders, but partly, too, the Tsar’s.
Experienced statesmen had noticed a problem in Nicholas II some time before. In July 1901 A. Polovtsev, Chief Secretary of the State Council and a senator — a loyal official in a central position — noted in his diary that
Things are done piecemeal… on momentary impulse, through the intrigues of one person or another, or through the importunities of various fortune seekers … The young Tsar is becoming increasingly contemptuous of the organs of his own authority and is beginning to believe in the beneficial effect of his own autocratic power. [Yet] he exercises it sporadically, without prior deliberation and without reference to the general course of affairs. 38
The Tsar’s ill-judged patronage of the adventurer Captain Bezobrazov and his Korean Timber Company had helped to lead Russia into confrontation with Japan; 39 his support for the dissolute hypnotist Grigorii Rasputin was to help discredit the monarchy itself. This is not to suggest that all members of the imperial family shared Nicholas’s faults. Grand Duke Mikhail proved to be more open-minded and in touch, and it was thanks to Grand Duke Aleksei that an air ministry was formed and 77 aircraft were in service by 1913. 40 It is true that the problems of governing the Empire in Nicholas’s reign were more complex than before, and the pressures greater. But it is also true that, partly because of deficiencies in his private chancery, Nicholas was out of touch with all but a very small stratum of his subjects and yet under the illusion that he understood them. Moreover, he was temperamentally unsuited to running the Empire, unwilling to delegate authority to those who were, and often unwilling to take their advice. Although fundamentally decent and well-meaning, he was a poor judge of men, and intellectually limited. Uxorious to a fault, he was much influenced by a wife whose judgement was even worse than his. He obstinately played the part of autocrat, but erratically, and he evidently failed to understand many of the issues on which he took decisions. ‘A fish’, it is said, ‘begins to rot from the head,’ and the proverb applies to Imperial Russia.
Some of the consequences had already been noted. They had been seen in the war with Japan, when, although the armed services performed with their usual steadiness and courage, command had been poorly co-ordinated and the logistics inadequate. They had been seen in 1905, when, due to confusion or misjudgement, troops fired on peaceful demonstrators passing near the Winter Palace, precipitating a revolution. They were seen in a series of questionable appointments and decisions; and when Russia went to war in 1914 they were seen in ever sharper form. The decision to go to war may have been virtually impossible to avoid, but clear warning of the consequences had been given.
Six months before the war began, Petr Durnovo, a member of the State Council and a former police chief and minister of the interior, wrote a long memorandum to the Tsar. It reflected a thorough grasp of the relevant facts, and the analysis was acute. There were two power blocs in Europe, he argued
, and Russia was allied to the wrong one. Russia’s vital interests did not conflict with Germany’s. Furthermore, if Russia fought Germany and won it could gain nothing useful as a result, whereas ‘those territorial and economic acquisitions which might prove really useful to us are only located in places where our ambitions may meet opposition from England.’ War with Germany, he warned, would bring disaster. ‘The main burden of the war will … fall on us,’ and Russia was unprepared for this. Its war industries were ‘embryonic’, so that its arms and munitions supplies were insufficient. Its strategic railway system was still inadequate, and there was insufficient rolling stock to cope with ‘the colossal demands that will be made upon it in the event of a European war’. Then there was the question of cost:
There can be no doubt that the war will require expenditures that exceed Russia’s limited financial resources. We shall have to turn to allied and neutral countries for credit, but this will not be advanced for nothing. The financial and economic consequences of defeat … will unquestionably involve the total disintegration of our economy. But even victory promises us extremely unfavourable financial prospects.
The social and political consequences of war (and here the expert on subversion spoke) would be ‘mortally dangerous for Russia … no matter who wins’. A social revolution would break out in the defeated country, which would ‘spread to the country of the victor’, and ‘any revolutionary movement will inevitably degenerate into a socialist movement’. The liberal democrats in the Duma had no support among the people, who ‘do not seek political rights, which they neither need nor comprehend. The peasant dreams of obtaining a free share of somebody else’s land; the worker of taking over all the capital and profits of the manufacturer. Beyond this, they have no aspirations.’ Defeats and disasters would be blamed on the government; the army would be too demoralized to maintain law and order. In brief, Russia would probably be defeated, and defeat would bring anarchy. But so too would victory, albeit by another route. 41
Events were to follow his first alternative scenario, and it proved accurate in every particular.
When war was declared in August 1914 a surge of patriotism swept over the Empire. Vast crowds turned out to cheer, and virtually everyone called to the colours responded promptly. Representatives of the most disaffected of the Tsar’s subjects, the Poles, declared their readiness to fight for the Empire, and when the fighting began many Poles showed a readiness to speak Russian which they had not done before. The war against Germany started badly with the rout of an invading Russian army at Tannenberg, though Russian arms were more successful against the Austrians. Yet the outcome was to depend on capacity to withstand attrition and, as Durnovo had foreseen, Russia’s stamina would prove limited. Over 6.5 million men were mobilized by the end of the year, but nearly 2 million of them lacked rifles 42 and, though this shortfall was eventually made up, logistical problems were to persist.
From the beginning, the main burden of fighting the war fell on Russia, as Durnovo had foretold. The first ill-fated Russian offensive had been launched to relieve the French. In terms of grand strategy it succeeded, drawing sufficient German forces to allow a Franco-British victory on the Marne. But the costs of answering subsequent calls, notably in 1916 to take pressure off the French armies at Verdun — at a time when Russia, in addition to maintaining its war efforts on two fronts, had to cope with a serious Kazakh uprising against conscription and requisitions - were not easy to sustain, even though the Allies were to return the compliment: the terrible British assault on Passchendaele in 1917 was mounted partly to help Russia. It won a diplomatic victory when the Allies agreed to Russia’s controlling the Straits after the war, but meanwhile the Turks continued to block the route to much needed shipments from the West. Since the Baltic was also blocked, supplies of strategic materials had to go by the hazardous northern route to Archangel or, even less conveniently, to Vladivostok. The industrial sector was energized by the participation of civil agencies in the war effort, but, as in other countries at war, this led to calls for political participation, which the Tsar was not prepared to concede. Instead, he took to replacing ministers. The changes were not usually for the better, and were both disruptive and demoralizing.
Defeats in the spring of 1915 led to xenophobic riots in Russian cities and raucous calls for a change in the army command. Despite a chorus of advice from ministers and advisers, Nicholas responded by assuming the command himself, and departing for headquarters at the front. It was a disastrous decision. By his own admission he was not equipped for the job (in effect a general deputized as Chief of Staff). It would associate him personally with future defeats, and leave ministers without access to him at a time when conflicting demands of the military and civilian authorities needed to be resolved — for instance over the army’s control of the railway system. Officers had the power to commandeer trains to meet the needs of their commands but this led to the disruption of production and food supplies. In 1916 General Brusilov’s offensive broke the Austrian front, and this brought Romania into the war on the Allied side. But the success only delayed the reckoning.
By the end of 1916 Russia had lost well over a million war dead and over 3 million wounded. Calls for a government that would command public confidence continued to grow; inflation was soaring, making life almost impossible for the mass of city-dwellers, and, though food production was adequate, its distribution to the cities had become uncertain and working-class families were becoming increasingly angry and distressed. Afraid of diluting the autocratic powers he retained under the constitution, the Tsar stood obstinately against concession. Only the murder of the Tsarina’s ill-chosen favourite Rasputin in December 1916 prompted him to return to St Petersburg at last. But, rather than addressing the political crisis, he simply dismissed the premier, Trepov, who had held office for barely a month, and gave the post to someone even less qualified. The new government commanded no credence.
Insisting on powers which he did not know how to use sensibly, Nicholas allowed the monarchy’s legitimacy to waste away. Foreign observers expected revolution, and when the British ambassador was received by Nicholas he suggested that, in order to avoid disaster, the Tsar should appoint a credible premier who commanded public confidence and allow him to choose his ministerial colleagues. At this Nicholas stiffened: ‘Do you mean that I am to regain the confidence of my people or that they are to regain my confidence?’ 43 There was no functional fault with the governmental system. Nor was there any shortage of ministerial talent and experience. Only the Tsar fell short.
The reckoning came a few weeks later. Soldiers in the capital began to refuse to obey orders. Even Cossacks, hitherto the most loyal of servicemen, began to side with the St Petersburg crowd against the police. The Tsar procrastinated, so the Duma formed a provisional government with the support of the self-proclaimed St Petersburg Council (in Russian, Soviet) of Workers’ and Soldiers’ Deputies. Power had slipped entirely from the Tsar’s hands, and he abdicated in favour of his brother Mikhail. However, Mikhail refused to accept the crown unless it were to be offered by popular decision.
The Provisional Government announced a general amnesty, abolished distinctions based on class, religion and nationality, and proclaimed freedom of speech, assembly and the press. It also began preparing for elections to a Constituent Assembly which was to decide the Empire’s future. But the Provisional Government itself had not been elected, and felt that its chief claim to legitimacy was the recognition of other states, notably Russia’s allies, the Western democracies. Pending elections and the establishment of a popular legitimacy, therefore, it continued the war.
Now people began to whisper that there was to be a distribution of land to peasants, and soldiers began to desert their stations and drift home to make sure they got a share. The rate of desertion grew steadily in the months that followed. Meanwhile, disruptions and dislocations behind the lines continued to sap morale and increase worker militancy. The Provisional Government reconsti
tuted itself more than once in order to reflect what it sensed to be the increasingly radical popular mood; and then the state administration began to crumble. The ministers in St Petersburg became increasingly isolated and ineffectual. Such were the circumstances in which Lenin’s small group of Bolsheviks 44 took over power with the help of elements in the St Petersburg garrison and railway and telegraph workers, who prevented troops from the front arriving to establish a military dictatorship.
Hostilities with Germany, Austria and Turkey were ended by an armistice signed in December 1917 — but too late to save the Empire. Nicholas II had been the last, flawed, keystone of the autocratic system, and without it the edifice collapsed. Elections to the Constituent Assembly held soon afterwards showed that the liberal and democratic elements in the political spectrum had lost popular credibility and that the Bolsheviks — thanks to Lenin’s promises of bread for the cities, land for the peasants, and an end to the war — were fast gaining popularity. However, the hands-down electoral victors were the Social Revolutionaries, another Marxism-influenced party oriented towards the peasants. In any case the Constituent Assembly was not to decide the Empire’s future. Soon after it assembled, Lenin closed it down. By then, however, it was not a question of who would govern Russia, but whether there would be anything to govern.
12
The Construction of a Juggernaut
T
HE RUSSIAN REVOLUTION has become a traditional dividing line for historians, but its use in this way can be misleading, because it divorces the history of the new regime from its context in war. It was the war, and the costs and dislocations the war created, which allowed Lenin to take over and which helped to mould the culture of the new Soviet state with its coercive, military methods. Too rigid a distinction between the old regime and the new also leads to important continuities being glossed over or ignored. Though it tried to shrug them off, the new Soviet Russia was forced to carry many of the burdens that had weighed its predecessor down, and despite desperate attempts to make over everything as new — abolishing the imperial army and the police, the courts and much of the bureaucracy - it was soon cannibalizing what remained of the old imperial machine to build a new one. It employed thousands of officers and officials who had served the tsars to help run the new army and the new bureaucracy. Experts on trade, banking and other capitalist arts, and even police officials, were also engaged — for even revolutionary regimes need such skills. Historical inertia sometimes exerts more influence than the power of revolution.
Russia Page 33
