PEACE WITH JAPAN; WAR AT HOME
The butchery which took place on that sad day of January, 1905, marked
the beginning of a period of unrest that is not yet at an end. It gave
the signal for a manifestation of discontent such as Russia had not
witnessed before, even during the last days of the reign of Alexander
II.; and, what is more, afforded the excuse for it, because even the
stanchest supporters of the Government were indignant at the
recklessness with which it had tried to suppress what, after all, had
not been a rebellion, but only a desire on the part of some workmen to
see their Sovereign and lay before him their real or imaginary wrongs.
It is probable that if Nicholas II. had only received these poor people
there would have been no later Revolution, and the _agents
provocateurs_, scattered everywhere by the police, would have failed to
arouse the masses and persuade them to a rebellion which no one wanted,
though everybody felt that a change in the methods of government must
come. But that change, it had been hoped, would be brought about
peacefully through the mutual efforts of the Tsar and his people. As it
was, the events which took place on the 22nd of January proved to the
masses that nothing could be expected voluntarily from the Sovereign;
they had to shift for themselves if they wanted any amelioration of the
system of government. The mistake which was committed on that day nearly
overthrew the Romanoff Dynasty, and it shook their Throne perhaps more
than the reverses of the war with Japan.
Gapon, nevertheless, did not lose his influence after the butchery in
front of the Winter Palace. His mysterious disappearance from among the
workmen, whose deputations he had headed when they started on their
sadly momentous journey, had been attributed to the watchfulness of his
friends, who had wanted to preserve him from the reprisals of the
police. As a consequence, when he reappeared and tried to reorganise
secret committees, and to devise new means of disseminating among the
working classes the liberal opinions he was supposed to profess, he was
received by them with great enthusiasm. He was a consummate actor, and
possessed to perfection the art of advertising himself. He contrived to
impress his victims with the idea that he was considered by the
Government to be one of its most serious and dangerous adversaries.
Whilst he was doing his best to excite the masses, and urge them to
violent measures, he was also in constant communication with M. Witte,
whom he kept informed of all that was going on among the revolutionary
secret societies, who were energetically preparing themselves for a
struggle which, it was felt everywhere, could not be delayed for any
length of time.
However, there were those among the enthusiasts who began to get
suspicious as to the facility with which Gapon eluded the vigilance of
the police. He constantly said that he was being shadowed, and so never
could afford to spend two nights under the same roof. Yet, somehow, he
contrived in a marvellous way to avoid the spies who followed him. Of
course, it might have been his luck, but then it is not often that luck
is so faithful to one person, and several leaders of the revolutionary
movement which Gapon was supposed to favour began to watch him and
follow his movements. They tried to find out what he was really doing,
and who were the people he most frequently saw. But the police, who were
shadowing Gapon the whole time, quickly noticed that he was no longer in
possession of the same degree of confidence which he had previously
enjoyed, and that the party to which he was supposed to belong began to
take important decisions without consulting him, without even his being
aware of them. M. Witte, who very soon was advised of this change in the
feelings of the anarchists in regard to Gapon, determined then to send
him abroad for some time. His mission was to find out from the leaders
of the movement in London and Paris the information he had not succeeded
in ascertaining in St. Petersburg.
Gapon was not sorry to leave Russia, as he felt that the part he had
been playing was becoming more and more difficult every day. Before
starting he contrived, nevertheless, to furnish M. Witte with some
valuable information as to the impression produced in the country by the
sad events that had made the 22nd of January such a memorable day in the
annals of Russian history; also to draw his attention to the
unpopularity of the war with Japan, as well as the widespread desire,
especially among the rural classes, to see it ended.
Count Witte was too clever not to realise the danger which threatened
the dynasty itself through the continuation of a struggle that was so
unpopular everywhere and with everybody. He had been aware--more than
any other statesman in Russia, perhaps--of the approaching peril of
revolution, and that it had been ripe for many years, only waiting an
opportunity to break out. He had had great dreams of social reforms at
one time, and these dreams he had not relinquished, though he could
very well feel that the moment had not arrived when he might attempt to
realise them. He hoped, nevertheless, that his name would be associated
in some way with a change in the system of government. Unfortunately, he
was so disliked throughout the country, and had contrived to make so
many enemies, that it was doubtful whether his best intentions would be
received with anything but mistrust and suspicion. He knew this very
well, and it was perhaps with the vague idea that it would help him to
overcome these difficulties that he consented to go to Portsmouth,
U.S.A., to represent Russia at the conferences upon which so much
depended.
When he left for America, M. Witte expected he would be able to obtain
much better conditions of peace than those to which he eventually
subscribed. He was aware that the Japanese were more or less exhausted,
and that their financial position was considerably shattered by the
enormous expenses the war occasioned. He knew also that considerable
reinforcements had been sent by Russia to Manchuria, and that the army
therefore was no longer in the inferior position in which it had found
itself under General Kouropatkine. General Linevitch, who had succeeded
him in the supreme command, was not a military genius, but was liked by
the troops, and if not able to attack the enemy, he could at least to
hold his own, and not allow his army to be dislodged from the positions
it occupied. Russia had now some chances in her favour, and this had not
been the case before.
A continuance of the struggle might, therefore, be of advantage to her,
and certainly from a military point of view it could be recommended. But
M. Witte, who was a statesman and not a soldier, looked at things with
that clear foresight which was one of his predominant qualities; and,
besides, he had at his disposal sources of information such as no one
else possessed. He knew that the army was not enthusiastic about the
war; that, on the contrary, it hoped for peace, and, if the struggle
were carried on much longer, might, indeed, refuse to march against the
Japanese. That consideration decided M. Witte to consent to conditions
which, under different circumstances, he would have refused with
indignation. He hesitated very much before he accepted the articles of
the Treaty of Portsmouth, and at the last moment nearly broke off the
negotiations. Just then, however, he received certain information from
Russia that did away with his last scruples, whereupon he concluded
peace with Japan.
The Emperor was not pleased with him, though he felt constrained to
acknowledge his services. Accordingly, on his return to Russia, M. Witte
was received with pomp, and many honours were awarded to him. The title
of Count was conferred upon him, and his wife was at last presented to
the Empress, thus realising her secret ambition ever since the day when
she married Sergius Ioulievitch. But through it all he was conscious of
the Emperor’s personal dislike. He knew that Nicholas had sent him to
combat the astuteness of the Japanese diplomatists, simply because, in
the terrible dearth of capable men from which Russia suffered, he was
the only strong man, and Nicholas II. felt obliged to acknowledge this
fact.
But even Count Witte would have failed in the difficult mission that had
been imposed upon him had the Japanese been aware of the spirit of
rebellion and dissatisfaction that undermined the feelings of loyalty of
the army. His great art lay in the amount of bluff which he displayed
during these important peace negotiations. Very often, when almost
breaking down under the weight of responsibility, he appeared to be
quite firm and perfectly decided not to yield one inch of his
pretensions; whilst in reality he was trembling at the thought of what
would occur were his words taken seriously and the Japanese proved as
obdurate as he pretended to be. He feared still more that the latter
might receive from Manchuria reports that would at once put them _au
fait_ with what was going on in the ranks of the Russian army, about
whose real feelings he was but too well informed.
In a conversation which he had with the Emperor when he was received by
him in Tsarskoye Selo, after his return from America, Count Witte spoke
quite openly and frankly with the Sovereign, and did not hide from him
the necessity that existed for making concessions to the public mind,
and for granting certain liberties before they were imposed upon the
Crown by the will of the multitude. He drew the attention of the monarch
to the great progress which revolutionary ideas had made among the army,
and of the dissatisfaction which was fast shaking its loyalty and its
submissiveness, not only to its chiefs, but also to the person of the
Tsar himself.
Nor did he hide the danger that was lurking everywhere, ready to break
out at the first opportunity. At last he begged Nicholas II. to allow
him to draw out a programme of reforms that would meet the requirements
of the country, the granting of which would pacify public opinion, and
at least deflect its attention from the prevalent and continued attitude
of criticism it adopted, not only in regard to the Government, but also
as to the actions of the Sovereign.
The Emperor listened to Witte, consented to all his propositions, and
appeared convinced. Then, as usual, he consulted others, and was equally
convinced by them in their turn, when they told him that he ought not to
think of reforms of any kind; that concessions were fatal to the monarch
who consented to make any, and that Russia was not ripe for a
constitutional system of government.
This duel of opinion lasted some days, during which no one knew what was
going to happen. Meanwhile the excitement in the country was fast
assuming formidable proportions, and from distant Manchuria deplorable
reports continued to arrive concerning the spirit of discontent among
the troops. It was growing every day more dangerous, and foreshadowed
the peril which their return might cause to law and order throughout the
country.
The working classes, who had suffered so much from the war--which had
arrested the whole industrial system by depriving it of so many hands,
and had, furthermore, caused such misery and poverty among the families
of those who had been called upon to fight--were getting very bitter
against those in authority. Every day brought the Emperor face to face
with new and more complicated difficulties, and yet he would not make up
his mind to do anything, or to accept any of the propositions that were
laid before him. The natural hesitation and want of resolution which
were the characteristics of his temperament prevented him from coming to
a decision. On the one hand, he could not resign himself to share with a
responsible Ministry the least portion of his authority; nor, on the
other, make up his mind to appeal to the country to help him to rule it
according to the requirements of modern times. The situation grew daily
more pressing. It was impossible to keep the army away much longer in
Manchuria, now that peace had been concluded, and to bring it back
dissatisfied, among a dissatisfied populace, might be the signal for a
general rising that it might be found impossible to subdue, especially
if any number of the troops joined it.
One cannot help pitying Nicholas II. at this particular period of his
existence. He had neither enough insight to judge for himself the perils
of the situation in which circumstances had thrown him, nor sufficient
energy to make up his mind to one or other course of action. Good
intentions he certainly possessed. He had seen his father keep aloft the
flag of autocracy, and he wondered why he had not been able to do the
same, attributing his failure to the fault of his advisers, and never
suspecting that it was due to his own mistakes.
He must have suffered unspeakably during the weeks that preceded the
famous 17th of October which saw the promulgation of the manifesto
granting to Russia the shadow of a Constitution. I use the word
“shadow,” because it was never for a moment intended by the Emperor
really to fulfil that which he promised. He still retained a faint hope
that he would be able to elude the accomplishment of the reforms which
had been wrung from him by the force of circumstances. He thought that
the various local rebellions which had already broken out in various
parts of the Empire would cease as soon as the news of the concessions
which he had been obliged to promise had been duly published.
Unfortunately, events did not take the direction he had expected. Whilst
waiting for the election of that Duma which was to represent the
constitutional element in the government of the country, Russia was
passing through one of the most terrible crises in its history. Never
before had the lower orders raised their heads with such audacity and
such energy. Never before had a reign of terror, such as then shook the
vast dominions of the Romanoffs, carried such fear among all those who
belonged to the higher ranks of society. The rising was general, and
Europe does not know to this day the scenes of butchery which took place
in the provinces, where the peasants not only destroyed the houses and
the property belonging to the landlords, but also murdered those among
them who had the misfortune to fall into their hands.
Moscow, which had always been considered as the bulwark of conservatism,
was the first town to embrace the cause of revolution and to take arms
against the Government. What happened there passes the limits of
imagination. Troops were sent from St. Petersburg, among others the
Semenoffsky regiment of the Guards, to subdue the rebellion. When these
troops arrived they found barricades erected everywhere in the town, and
they had practically to storm every house separately. Deeds of horror
took place, and neither women nor children were spared on either side
during the several days that the struggle lasted. Blood flowed freely
once more, and those who remembered the catastrophe of Khodinka said
that the events that occurred in Moscow were a consequence of what had
happened on that distant June day, when the Coronation of Nicholas II.
had been celebrated by such a terrible hecatomb of his most faithful
subjects.
But though the Moscow rebellion had been crushed; though repression, and
cruel repression, had, outwardly, at least, put an end to the Revolution
which had in that eventful year 1905 shaken the whole of Russia and left
everywhere its bloody traces, the spirit of agitation that lurked in
every corner of the country had not been subdued, and Count Witte--who
was well aware of this fact--kept pressing the Emperor to fix a date for
calling together the Duma, and for the election of its members. Nicholas
II. hesitated for a long time; but at last, bending before the
necessities of the hour, he yielded, and on one fine May morning he
opened, with much pomp and solemnity in the White Hall of the Winter
Palace, the first Parliament of its kind in Russia.
[Illustration: THE WINTER PALACE, ST. PETERSBURG
As seen through the Nevski Prospekt Archway
_Photo: Topical_]