controlled, did not let anybody else speak, and interrupted those who tried to answer him.’8
Milyukov would say afterwards that ‘I admitted that my opponents may have been right. Perhaps indeed those present and the Grand Duke himself were in danger. But we were playing for high stakes — for the whole of Russia — and we had to take a risk, however great it was.’9 In his view the better alternative early that morning would have been to confront the Soviet with the new manifesto and to have told them it would make no difference — that they would ensure that Michael endorsed the deal they had already struck and that the Soviet position and that of the mutineers was no different than before.
As it was, by concealing the manifesto in the hope of buying time, the Duma men looked as if they were hiding something when the Soviet found out anyway about Michael once the manifesto was proclaimed in the city; it made it look as if they were being double-crossed. This in itself was good reason for the Duma men’s anxiety to get back to the Tauride Palace with the abdication, as evidence of their own good faith.
Until that was done, they were at risk. Tereshchenko, now the new finance minister, was one of those who feared the worst Late in the meeting he motioned Shulgin to leave the room for a moment. ‘I can’t go on anymore…I will shoot myself…what’s to be done?’ he moaned.
Shulgin, bewildered by the turnaround in the government’s mood, asked him: ‘Tell me, are there any units we can rely on?’
‘No, no one.’
‘But I saw some sentries downstairs…’
‘That’s only a few people. Kerensky is terrified…he is afraid…any moment someone could break in…there are gangs on the prowl. Oh, Lord!’10
Indeed, it was Kerensky, rather than Rodzyanko, who was now using the threat of Soviet violence to dominate proceedings. In effect their spokesman, his references to the risks of ‘an internal civil war’ appeared more menace than warning. There was also an oblique personal threat to Michael when he raised an arm and cried: ‘I cannot answer for Your Highness’s life’. 11
When Guchkov interrupted him and attempted to support Milyukov, his intervention ‘made Kerensky almost beside himself with passion, and provoked him to a torrent of invective and threats which terrified everyone there’, Paleologue would record next day, after hearing reports of the drama at Millionnaya Street.12
During all this shouting and argument, Michael had sat sprawled in his chair saying nothing. To Kerensky he seemed ‘embarrassed’ by what was going on and ‘to grow more weary and impatient’.13
That was hardly surprising as he listened to these quarrelling and frightened men, and this divided and helpless government. For these past years he had been told by men like these, by Rodzyanko and his ilk, that if granted a responsible ministry then they would know how best to conduct a government worthy of public respect. What he was seeing and hearing now made mockery of those claims. He had also heard quite enough, and saw no point in hearing more.
He rose from his chair and announced that he would like to consider the whole matter privately with just two of men in the room, and that he would then make his decision. The room fell silent. Kerensky stirred uneasily, thinking that Michael would retire with Milyukov and Guchkov, his two principal supporters as Emperor. To his surprise the choice fell on Lvov and Rodzyanko and ‘a weight fell from my shoulders as I thought to myself that if he wants to speak to these two then he has decided to abdicate’.14
The delegates had agreed in advance that they would not support any private meeting, but since the majority believed like Kerensky that such a meeting was now to their advantage, they immediately supported the idea. Milyukov and Guchkov were dismayed, but there was little they could say to prevent it.
In Kerensky’s later account of that meeting he portrayed himself as behaving with restraint and statesmanship, in accordance with the principle that the best history is the one you write yourself. However, it was not the story told next day to Paleologue, probably by Milyukov as foreign minister.
As Michael was moving to the door, Kerensky leapt to his feet and shouted: ‘Promise us not to consult your wife!’ Michael turned and smiled. ‘Don’t worry, Aleksandr Fedorovich, my wife isn’t here at the moment, she stayed behind in Gatchina.’15
Michael’s choice of Lvov and Rodzyanko for his private meeting did seem, however, to confirm Kerensky’s view that he had decided to abdicate, given that both men had pressed him to do so that morning. Yet there was a more obvious reason for his choosing them: Lvov was prime minister and Rodzyanko was president of the State Duma, and thus they were the leaders of the two groups represented at the meeting, the government and the Duma. Given that, he had his own questions and there was little chance of getting answers to those in the noisy atmosphere of the drawing room. He had no wish to hear more dispute.
What he did want was to hear reassurance that the new Provisional Government was in a position to restore order and continue the war, and that they could ensure that the promised elections for a Constituent Assembly would be going ahead and not blocked by the Soviet, for otherwise then all that had taken place that morning was no more than hot air.
In his conversations with the two army commanders that morning, Rodzyanko had stressed that the commitment to a constituent assembly ‘does not exclude the possibility of the dynasty returning to power’16, and this is certainly a point he would have made strongly to Michael. Abdication was not the end of the monarchy but a short-term expediency until better times came along.
Convinced by their own arguments, Lvov and Rodzyanko returned to the smoke-filled drawing room, eyed curiously by the others as they took their seats, nodding as if all now was settled.
Michael stayed behind, conferring briefly with Matveev who had spent the morning with his ear pressed to the door of the drawing room. On the face of it the decision had already been made for him: if he abdicated, the war would go on, order would be restored, and democratic vote would determine the shape of its future status; if he stayed Emperor, the present government would collapse, there would be civil war, and the country ruined. Nicholas had given him command of a ship in which the crew had mutinied and the officers had taken to the lifeboats.
It could hardly be a surprise therefore when he walked back into the room and announced that he had decided to follow the advice of the two senior men present. Or words to that effect. Nothing was written down, and afterwards nobody could remember exactly what he said.17 However, those present understood him to mean that he had decided to abdicate the throne, for in the black-and-white world of Petrograd it was a straight choice between stay and go and he was clearly not staying.
There were sighs of relief. Nekrasov fingered the abdication manifesto in his pocket:
AFTER Michael’s statement the meeting came to a stop. The delegates crowded around him had assumed that the next step would be that Michael would sign their prepared manifesto, but he seemed in no hurry to do anything else for the moment, and had waved that notion aside, saying that he would deal with that after lunch. After lunch? Faces stared at him blankly; however, the call demanding that they settle matters immediately never came, for at that moment, as if on cue, the drawing room door opened and Princess Putyatina emerged on the scene as hostess, inviting anyone who wished to do so to join her in the dining room.19
It was a wholly unexpected development but in their surprise no one seemed able to voice a protest. The delegates looked at each other, unsure what to do, and then realised that there was nothing that could be done about it. About half the men in the drawing room accepted the invitation and shuffled in to sit at the lunch table. They included Prince Lvov, Kerensky, Shulgin, Tereshchenko, and Nekrasov, his unsigned abdication manifesto tucked back in his pocket. Princess Putyatina sat at the head of the table, with Michael at her right hand; Matveev and Johnson were seated together at the end of the table. 20
Rodzyanko and the other ministers and deputies, confused, left the building and went back to the Tauride Palace, their victory delayed. Since the Soviet was still unaware that there was a meeting with Michael, and as yet the returning delegates could not wave his abdication manifesto, there was nothing they could do but keep out of the way and fend off questions.
