General Kornilov’s counterrevolution had been crushed before it got started. The Railwaymen’s Union had made sure most of Kornilov’s troops got stuck in sidings miles from Petrograd. Those who came anywhere near the city were met by Bolsheviks who undermined them simply by telling them the truth, as Grigori had in the schoolyard. Soldiers then turned on officers who were in on the conspiracy and executed them. Kornilov himself was arrested and imprisoned.
Grigori became known as the man who turned back Kornilov’s army. He protested that this was an exaggeration, but his modesty only increased his stature. He was elected to the Central Committee of the Bolshevik Party.
Trotsky got out of jail. The Bolsheviks won 51 percent of the vote in the Moscow city elections. Party membership reached 350,000.
Grigori had an intoxicating feeling that anything could happen, including total disaster. Every day the revolution might be defeated. That was what he dreaded, for then his child would grow up in a Russia that was no better. Grigori thought of the milestones of his own childhood: the hanging of his father, the death of his mother outside the Winter Palace, the priest who took little Lev’s trousers down, the grinding work at the Putilov factory. He wanted a different life for his child.
“Lenin is calling for an armed uprising,” he told Katerina as they walked to Magda’s place. Lenin had been in hiding outside the city, but he had been sending a constant stream of furious letters urging the party to action.
“I think he’s right,” said Katerina. “Everyone is fed up with governments who speak about democracy but do nothing about the price of bread.”
As usual, Katerina said what most Petrograd workers were thinking.
Magda was expecting them and had made tea. “I’m sorry there’s no sugar,” she said. “I haven’t been able to get sugar for weeks.”
“I can’t wait to get this over with,” said Katerina. “I’m so tired of carrying all this weight.”
Magda felt Katerina’s belly and said she had about two weeks to go. Katerina said: “It was awful when Vladimir was born. I had no friends, and the midwife was a hard-faced Siberian bitch called Kseniya.”
“I know Kseniya,” said Magda. “She’s competent, but a bit stern.”
“I’ll say.”
Konstantin was leaving for the Smolny Institute. Although the soviet was not in session every day, there were constant meetings of committees and ad hoc groups. Kerensky’s provisional government was now so weak that the soviet gained authority by default. “I hear Lenin is back in town,” Konstantin said to Grigori.
“Yes, he got back last night.”
“Where is he staying?”
“It’s a secret. The police are still keen to arrest him.”
“What made him return?”
“We’ll find out tomorrow. He’s called a meeting of the Central Committee.”
Konstantin left to catch a streetcar to the city center. Grigori walked Katerina home. When he was about to leave for the barracks, she said: “I feel better, knowing Magda will be with me.”
“Good.” Grigori still felt that childbirth seemed more dangerous than an armed uprising.
“And you’ll be there too,” Katerina added.
“Not actually in the room,” Grigori said nervously.
“No, of course not. But you’ll be outside, pacing up and down, and that will make me feel safe.”
“Good.”
“You will be there, won’t you?”
“Yes,” he said. “Whatever happens, I’ll be there.”
When he got to the barracks an hour later he found the place in turmoil. On the parade ground, officers were trying to get guns and ammunition loaded onto wagons, with little success: every battalion committee was either holding a meeting or preparing to hold one. “Kerensky has done it now!” said Isaak jubilantly. “He’s trying to send us to the front.”
Grigori’s heart sank. “Send who?”
“The entire Petrograd garrison! The orders have come down. We’re to change places with soldiers at the front.”
“What’s their reason?”
“They say it’s because of the German advance.” The Germans had taken the islands in the Gulf of Riga and were heading toward Petrograd.
“Rubbish,” said Grigori angrily. “It’s an attempt to undermine the soviet.” And it was a clever attempt, he realized as he thought it through. If the troops in Petrograd were replaced by others coming back from the front, it would take days, perhaps weeks of organization to form new soldiers’ committees and elect new deputies to the soviet. Worse, the new men would lack the experience of the last six months’ political battles-which would have to be fought all over again. “What do the soldiers say?”
“They’re furious. They want Kerensky to negotiate peace, not send them to die.”
“Will they refuse to leave Petrograd?”
“I don’t know. It will help if they get the backing of the soviet.”
“I’ll take care of that.”
Grigori took an armored car and two bodyguards and drove over the Liteiny Bridge to the Smolny. This looked like a setback, he reflected, but it might turn into an opportunity. Until now, not all troops had supported the Bolsheviks, but Kerensky’s attempt to send them to the front might swing the waverers over. The more he thought about it, the more he believed this could be Kerensky’s big mistake.
The Smolny was a grand building that had been a school for daughters of the wealthy. Two machine guns from Grigori’s regiment guarded the entrance. Red Guards attempted to verify everyone’s identity-but, Grigori noted uneasily, the crowds going in and out were so numerous that the check was not rigorous.
The courtyard was a scene of frenetic activity. Armored cars, motorcycles, trucks, and cars came and went constantly, competing for space. A broad flight of steps led up to a row of arches and a classical colonnade. In an upstairs room Grigori found the executive committee of the soviet in session.
The Mensheviks were calling on the garrison soldiers to prepare to move to the front. As usual, Grigori thought with disgust, the Mensheviks were surrendering without a fight; and he suffered a sudden panicky fear that the revolution was slipping away from him.
He went into a huddle with the other Bolsheviks on the executive to compose a more militant resolution. “The only way to defend Petrograd against the Germans is to mobilize the workers,” Trotsky said.
“As we did at the time of the Kornilov Putsch,” Grigori said with enthusiasm. “We need another Committee for Struggle to take charge of the defense of the city.”
Trotsky scribbled a draft, then stood up to propose the motion.
The Mensheviks were outraged. “You would be creating a second military command center alongside army headquarters!” said Mark Broido. “No man can serve two masters.”
To Grigori’s disgust, most committeemen agreed with that. The Menshevik motion was passed and Trotsky’s was defeated. Grigori left the meeting in despair. Could the soldiers’ loyalty to the soviet survive such a rebuff?
That afternoon the Bolsheviks met in Room 36 and decided they could not accept this decision. They agreed to propose their motion again that evening, at the meeting of the full soviet.
The second time, the Bolsheviks won the vote.
Grigori was relieved. The soviet had backed the soldiers and set up an alternative military command.
They were one large step closer to power.
Next day, feeling optimistic, Grigori and the other leading Bolsheviks slipped quietly away from the Smolny in ones and twos, careful not to attract the attention of the secret police, and made their way to the large apartment of a comrade, Galina Flakserman, for the meeting of the Central Committee.
Grigori was nervous about the meeting and arrived early. He circled the block, looking for idlers who might be police spies, but he saw no one suspicious. Inside the building he reconnoitered the different exits-there were three-and determined the fastest way out.
