Alexander II_ The Last Great Tsar - Edvard Radzinsky [101]
On March 3, Guchkov and Shulgin were driven by car to obtain the new abdication from Michael. Soldiers lay on the automobile’s front fenders holding bared bayonets.
On February 27, Rodzianko had summoned Michael from Gatchina to Petrograd. At Rodzianko’s request, Michael had got on the phone directly with Headquarters and asked Nicholas to cede to the Duma—to form a government of confidence. Nicholas refused. But Michael did not make it back to Gatchina—the railway was seized by rebels. He spent the night in the Winter Palace and in the morning found himself right in the thick of things. Generals came over from the Admiralty building to the Winter Palace (among them War Minister Belaev) and proposed that Michael head a detachment to save Petrograd. Michael refused. He preferred hiding on Millionnaya Street in the apartment of Prince Putyatin.
In that apartment on Millionnaya Street, the expensive fur coats of Duma figures were tossed down in the entryway (this was still the overthrown regime—soon, very soon, both the fur coats and their owners would disappear).
Michael came in, tall, pale, his face very young. They spoke in turn.
Socialist Revolutionary and Duma member Alexander Kerensky:
“By taking the throne you will not save Russia. I know the mood of the masses. Right now everyone feels intense displeasure at the monarchy. I have no right to conceal the dangers taking power would subject you to personally. I could not vouch for your life.”
Then silence, a long silence. And Michael’s voice, his barely audible voice: “Under these circumstances, I cannot.”
Silence, and almost distinct sobbing.
Michael was crying. It was his fate to end the monarchy. Three hundred years—and it all ended with him.
And Kerensky’s happy shout: “I deeply respect your gesture! As does all Russia.”
The new world sent congratulatory telegrams to Michael Romanov, a congratulatory telegram came even from Turukhansk, where the Bolsheviks were in exile.
Nicholas was living in the governor’s house in Mogilev. Daily he walked to the quarters of the general staff, where Alexeyev reported to him and read agents’ telegrams. As if nothing had happened.
“4 March. Saturday.… Just before 12 went to the platform to meet dear mother arriving from Kiev. Brought her to my place and had lunch with her and our people. Sat and talked for a long time.… Just before 8 went to dine at Mama’s and sat with her ’til 11.”
A new world was walking around the city: clerks, drivers bedecked with red armbands and ribbons, red cockades on their caps. Endless meetings, speeches by “the freest citizens of the freest country in the world” about “the damn regime.”
Gathered in the train car of the dowager empress, however, were “his people”: Grand Duke Boris Vladimirovich (now simply Boris Romanov), Prince Alexander of Oldenburg (now simply Alec), and simply Sergei … and simply Sandro. At the time they still believed that Nikolasha would come soon and take over as commander-in-chief. Alexeyev, the generals—they all wanted him.
But the new world did not. Nikolasha had to refuse. He was already on his way to Headquarters when he was informed in the name of the Provisional Government: “Popular opinion has expressed itself decisively and insistently in opposition to members of the house of Romanov occupying any position whatsoever.… The Provisional Government is convinced that you, in the name of love for your Homeland,” etc. His reply to the telegram did not lack sarcasm: “I am happy once again to prove my love for my Homeland. Of which Russia has yet to have any doubt.”
Popular opinion. When to the question “What is your name?” one of the grand dukes answered “Romanov,” the clerk said sympathetically: “What an ugly name you have.”
The new rule was beginning—the rule of the victorious crowd, the rule of Nicholas’s former soldiers. The Soviet of Workers’ and Soldiers’ Deputies. Those once bold talkers of the Duma and the Provisional