THE FIRST TWO DUMAS
It was on a fine May morning that Louis XVI. opened the session of the
States General at Versailles. It was also on a May day that the first
Russian Duma met in St. Petersburg. More than one person noticed this
strange coincidence, and wondered whether the tragedy that had ended
with the murder of the French king was going to be enacted over again.
As at Versailles, too, in 1789, the ceremony took place with much
solemnity, and all the pomp of the Russian Court was displayed. The
Winter Palace opened its doors, and the aristocracy of St. Petersburg
assembled to witness the inauguration of an Assembly from which so much
was hoped by many people and so much was feared by others.
I shall never forget that day. I was one of the first to arrive at the
Palace, and had plenty of opportunities to watch the Assembly, and to
observe the spectators, as well as the Deputies, as they arrived one by
one and proceeded to the places assigned to them. It was the first time
that the whole of Russia, as here represented by all classes of the
nation, had assembled together in one room, and the spectacle was
curious in the extreme. One saw on one side all the great dignitaries of
the State, Ministers, and advisers of the Crown, military and civil
functionaries, Court chamberlains, and gentlemen-in-waiting, maids of
honour, high-born dames, fair women, and lovely girls--all the flower of
St. Petersburg Society, with their diamonds and their long Court trains
trailing behind them. On the other side were gathered the newly chosen
representatives of the country: landlords, advocates, merchants,
noblemen, and peasants, realising for the first time their importance
from the social as well as from the legislative point of view; men full
of illusions, others full of hatred; some believing honestly in the
possibility of doing good to their fatherland; others only dreaming of
destroying the authority under which they had lived with such
impatience. Ambitions, greed, thirst for power, desire for
revenge--everything was there, and the sight appeared portentous to the
onlooker, perhaps because all these people kept so silent and unmoved,
merely gazing before them, with eyes that looked into the future more
than at what was going on around them. It was the great hour of a
nation’s life, that which decides its ultimate fate, and though
everybody felt that it was so, yet none seemed to realise it, perhaps
because we can never understand the importance of the events in which we
are actors.
The Deputies assembled slowly, and did not seem to know very well what
they ought to do. In one corner the Clerical faction clustered in one
compact group, their long hair and flowing beards, their different
coloured cassocks, making them picturesque figures, which commanded
attention. Near by, the Peasant members, in their long caftans, some of
which were not even new, as the Emperor remarked to one of his
attendants after the ceremony was over, stared with interest at all that
they saw, and appeared as if they did not know why they were there.
Then, again, the Socialist Deputies kept whispering to each other, and
glanced with scorn at the part of the room where the ladies invited to
be present at the opening ceremony were chatting without appearing to
notice the Deputies, as they slowly filed before them. The disdain in
which these representatives of the nation were held among Court circles
was very apparent, and made one feel that the comedy which was being
enacted would very soon turn to drama and end with tragedy.
At last the stick of the Masters of Ceremonies made itself heard, and
the Emperor, with his wife and mother, followed by the Imperial Family,
entered the room. The procession which heralded his appearance reminded
one, by its splendour, of that far-distant day when he had entered
Moscow before his Coronation, also preceded and accompanied by all the
pomp of his splendid Court. But the atmosphere was different. Then the
nation had acclaimed him, now it cheered him; the cries were the same,
but the accent was different.
Nicholas II. appeared nervous; he was paler than was his wont, and he
kept twisting his white military glove. But there was no kindness in his
blue eyes. The Empress appeared as cold and disdainful as usual; she
seemed bored more than anything else, and scarcely noticed the low
salutations with which the Imperial party were greeted when they came
into the room. The Empress Dowager, on the contrary, was extremely moved
and agitated. Her eyes were red, and she kept putting up her
handkerchief as if to wipe away tears. She remained slightly behind her
son and daughter-in-law, but keenly observed the Assembly, as if trying
to read their countenances and to guess what lay behind them. From time
to time she turned towards her chamberlain-in-waiting, and asked him
some questions evidently relating to the identity of the various
Deputies. The Socialist group attracted her attention quite
particularly, and she watched it the whole time the ceremony lasted with
something akin to anxiety in her lovely dark eyes, which then wandered
towards her son, resting on him with passionate yearning and sadness.
Her countenance was perfectly dignified, and yet a whole tragedy lurked
in her figure as it bent under the blessing of the Metropolitan, who
celebrated the Divine Service with which the pageant began. When it was
over, Nicholas II. took from the hands of the Minister of the Household
the paper upon which was written the first Speech from the Throne
addressed to a Russian legislative assembly. He read it slowly at first,
a little more hurriedly towards the end, but in a determined voice that
hardly wavered as he proceeded with its contents. Whether he felt or not
the solemnity of the hour, it is impossible to tell; still less to guess
whether he was sincere in the solemn promises which he made to his
people.
Hurrahs replied to his message, and from the monarchist side of the
Assembly these cheers were the sincere expression of a real and frank
loyalty. But it was observed that the Peasant group was very moderate in
the manifestation of its feelings, and as for the Socialists, they
remained silent, though observing a respectful attitude.
The Sovereign bowed to the Assembly and retired, together with the
members of his family, proceeding to lunch in his private apartments
before returning to Tsarskoye Selo. The meal was not very cheerful,
although everybody agreed that the ceremony had gone off very well; but
Nicholas II. seemed angry at some apparent want of respect that had
struck him in the attitude of the group of Deputies belonging to the
rural classes; and he had not been impressed by the hostile aspect of
the Socialist Deputies. He expressed his regret that so many advocates
had been elected, and the hope that the choice of the President of the
Duma would be a wise one, and would fall upon a man chosen from among
the Conservative or Governmental party.
This was not to be. From the very first day it became evident that the
Duma was distinctly hostile to the Ministry as it was composed at the
time, and that it meant seriously to perform its task of participating
in the government of the country.
The President, who was elected by a large majority, was a man enjoying a
blameless reputation, and one of the most eminent of the Moscow bar, M.
Muromtsev. He had distinctly Liberal opinions, and was a personage whom
even his adversaries respected. A strong supporter of a constitutional
system of government, he meant to do his best to help its establishment
in Russia and to strengthen the authority of the Sovereign by persuading
him to share it with a responsible Ministry. He was an idealist by
temperament as well as by conviction, and he had hailed with enthusiasm
the promises of Nicholas II., whose sincerity he had never doubted for a
single moment. In a certain sense, he belonged to the party that named
itself the Octobrists, as having been called into existence by the
manifesto of October 17th, though officially he was considered to be an
advanced Liberal. He was essentially an honest man, and possessed, among
his other gifts, that of a rare eloquence, which had made him a great
power at the Bar, the more so that he had never consented to defend a
wrong cause.
Had the Emperor recognised the rare qualities of M. Muromtsev, and had
he consented to employ his great talents, it is probable that the
agitation which shook the country during the few short weeks that the
first Duma was allowed to work would have taken a different direction.
As is usual in Russia, where every new venture is welcomed with
enthusiasm until the Government has seen fit to quench it, the first
Legislative Assembly, or, at least, the members of it who belonged to
the moderate side, although Liberal in their opinions, started to work
with the best intentions. They seriously believed that their Sovereign
was frank and sincere with them, that he really meant to see to the
needs of Russia and to lead the nation in the path of order and
prosperity, with the help of its representatives, who would be better
able than his Ministers to bring to his notice all the evils which it
was essential to remove, and all the abuses that wanted remedying. It
was under such an illusion that they started their labours. Little did
they guess or think that neither the Tsar, nor those among his advisers
who enjoyed his confidence, ever intended to allow them any other
liberty or privileges beyond those of talking about things; there was
certainly no intention to allow change or modification.
The first conflict arose when the reply to the Speech from the Throne
was being discussed. It was then that the Radical elements which the
Duma contained began to make themselves heard, and to throw themselves
into the fray with all the vehemence of beginners. It must not be
forgotten that this Assembly, gathered together in such an unexpected
manner was composed mainly of men who had absolutely no experience as to
the way in which parliamentary debates ought to be conducted. Yet, eager
though they were to show what they could do, they possessed no
controlling power, nor were they able to keep their discussions within
reasonable limits. The authority which statesmen of long standing alone
can wield was entirely absent. It was natural, therefore, that confusion
should ensue. Political parties, in the sense in which they are
understood in Europe, did not exist then, and do not exist even now in
Russia, where there are only political opinions. How, therefore, could
one expect unimpassioned, or even reasonable, discussions of the
innumerable subjects which required attention from such an assemblage?
Each was desirous of making his own opinions and his own judgments
triumph over those of his neighbour.
The great pity lay in the fact that neither the Duma, the Government,
nor the Emperor would make up their minds to the fact that this first
legislative session could not be anything more than a trial of
constitutional government, such as it is understood in Europe; that
before framing laws or attempting reforms, one ought to learn how to
work. Instead of realising this truth, they all started with the idea
that a great deal could be accomplished at once, and that a Russian
Parliament ought immediately to take its place with those of other
countries, where initial blunders were already a thing of the past, and
where experience had taught that neither reforms nor laws could be
framed in a few days.
The root-error was that the Duma believed it could at once impose itself
and its decisions upon the Sovereign, whilst the latter simply wanted to
find in it an obedient executor of his own will.
This misunderstanding caused the conflict which very shortly led to
irremediable disaster.
The culmination was reached when the important question of a responsible
Ministry came to be discussed. The Duma required it; the Tsar refused to
make up his mind to it otherwise than as a mere matter of form. To
reconcile these two points of view was impossible, and it became evident
that a struggle was inevitable, which could only end in the dissolution
of the Assembly or in a _coup d’état_.
Strange though it may seem, yet it is certain that, had the first Duma
not been composed of such clever men, it would have fared better. As it
was, all the best elements that Russia possessed had been elected, and
these would not consent to become mere puppets in the hands of the
Government. They thought themselves able to share with it the task of
ruling the country, and they wanted at once to prove their capacities in
that respect. Had the deputies elected been more timid and less
intelligent, they would have settled quietly to learn how they ought to
work, and paved the way for their successors, who would have found the
road clear before them. Unfortunately, all the leading people, either in
the capital or in the provinces, had been selected as members either of
the Duma or of the Council of State, and these had studied social
questions too long to believe themselves unqualified to settle them.
Nicholas II. kept himself well informed as to the way in which the
debates were carried on, and instead of looking with indulgence at
certain intemperances of language, proceeding more from headstrong,
though well-meaning, ignorance than from anything else, took as personal
offences words which meant nothing but a desire on the part of these
impatient reformers to make themselves heard. He wanted the Duma to work
as if it occupied the same position as a local zemstvo, never for one
moment imagining that the Assembly could look upon itself as upon a
power in the State. This misunderstanding as to the position in which
they stood, in regard to each other, led to the conflict between the
Sovereign and the Duma, which ended in the unexpected and violent
dissolution of the latter.
That dissolution was the personal work of Nicholas II. None of his
Ministers had the courage to assume the responsibility of such a violent
measure, and Count Witte absolutely declined to have a hand in it. Even
M. Dournovo, the representative of the extreme Conservative party, and
the strong upholder of autocracy in the strictest sense of the word,
hesitated before the consequences of this decision. But the Emperor
decided upon it, and with one stroke of his pen the Duma was dissolved.
The Liberal Deputies, indignant at the measure, resolved to express
their indignation upon paper, and to publish it to the whole country.
The greater portion of the members of the Assembly then went to Viborg,
and there signed the famous manifesto which exposed their wrongs before
the world. That act was certainly an appeal to rebellion. The mistake of
this step was most serious. It gave to the Government a reason for
action, and enabled them to prevent the members of the late Duma from
proving a future hindrance to its plans. Had the Liberal members of the
Duma quietly gone home, it is more than certain that they would have
been re-elected, and could have gone on with their requests for reforms,
which would have had more chance to succeed as time went by. The
unfortunate journey to Viborg which caused the criminal proceedings
should never have been undertaken. By it they gave the Government the
opportunity they wanted. The condemnation of the Deputies to several
months of prison would not have been such a misfortune had it not had
the consequence of making them for ever ineligible as Deputies. It was
that which the Government wanted, and the Liberal party played into its
hands.
Months passed, and then a second Duma was called into existence. It
proved almost as rebellious as the first, with one great difference: it
contained neither clever men, nor men able to do serious work. The
second Duma also had a brief life, and then the Government--which in the
meantime had achieved its aim: of silencing, though not exterminating,
the elements of opposition in the nation--proceeded to the third
elections, which satisfied it so well that the third Duma lived to die a
natural death. About the fourth Duma, whose work has just begun, I
shall speak later on.
Whilst Nicholas II. was getting rid of the shadow of Parliament with
which he had endowed Russia, his Ministers were forsaking him one after
the other. The Cabinet of Count Witte had not survived the first Duma;
that of M. Gorémykin, and the one over which M. Dournovo had presided,
had also not enjoyed a very long existence. A new star had arisen on the
horizon, a new “_Vrementchik_,” to use the traditional word applied in
Russia to the favourite of a Sovereign, had appeared upon the political
scene. M. Stolypin was appointed Prime Minister, and he contrived to
keep that post until he was forcibly removed from it by the bullet of an
anarchist conspirator.