The Constitutional Democrats (the Cadets), led by the historian and politician Pavel Miliukov, initially wanted to preserve the monarchy in order to avoid a revolution. From May onwards, however, they ‘withdrew’ (as Miliukov put it) – renounced any responsibility for developments as a party and sympathized with General Kornilov when he attempted a coup against Kerensky’s government. They longed for a strong government capable of containing the chaos that threatened to engulf the country. Miliukov stressed that this should not be a military dictatorship, but proposed that Kornilov should take the place of Kerensky, whom he deemed ineffectual. Thus the Cadets banked on a monarchist general to restore order and proceed to a democratic republic when circumstances permitted. The key point here is that the liberals (or at least those who shared Miliukov’s views) believed a strong hand was required – but not, of course, from the Left. They did cooperate with the Provisional Government in lukewarm fashion, not as a party but in the shape of individuals accepting ministerial portfolios in order to counter the Left, which was linked to the soviets. The latter represented the only force the Provisional Government could count on. But because they sought the support of the Cadets, the democratic left-wing parties had to pay the price of participating in the government and forsaking the support of the soviets. Such were the contradictions in which, on account of their political and ideological orientation, the Cadets on the one hand and the leaders of the soviets on the other found themselves trapped. These issues must be treated in more detail, since they allow us to understand the kaleidoscope of events that filled the first ten months of 1917.
The political opinions and options of Miliukov and his supporters among the Cadets are highly illuminating. The most heavily criticized aspect of Lenin’s revolution – his programme for a one-party dictatorial regime – started out from a sense of what was possible and what was inevitable that was shared by other forces in the political arena. It is scarcely a revelation to indicate that the Whites (mainly monarchists) intended to install a military dictatorship which would restore an autocracy. They loathed such institutions as the Duma – even the fairly impotent one that existed under the Tsar. And there is no doubt that they were not fond of Miliukov’s party, even when, in response to their attacks, Miliukov insisted that he had done everything in his power to save Tsarism – it was not his fault if it had turned out to be irredeemable. But although they were supporters of a constitutional monarchy, the Cadets – the liberal party – believed that even that degree of liberalization was excluded in Russia for the time being; and for this reason, they defended a dictatorship. This was also the case with the third main actor: Lenin and the Bolsheviks. This unexpected parallel between Miliukov and Lenin in assessing the Russian situation may prove illuminating.
Miliukov’s description of the final days of the monarchy in his 1927 book, Rossia na Perelome (‘Russia at the Crossroads’), is as sombre as that subsequently offered by the Soviet historian Avrekh in a remarkably detailed volume on the twilight of Tsarism. Miliukov sets out his thesis of a lack of ‘cohesion’ between the various classes – peasantry, nobility, middle classes – and between Tsarism and the rest of society.[3] Hence the enormous fragility of the Tsarist system, which found expression in the indolence of the state, a propensity for rebellion among popular strata, and the utopian thinking of the intelligentsia. Miliukov’s views – including his formulas about the primacy of the state over society (which amounted to making it the sole bulwark against the danger of fragmentation) – were influential in Russian historiography. Even if they used a different terminology, Lenin and Trotsky’s ideas about Russia’s social structure exhibit some affinity with Miliukov’s. His pessimism about the prospects for a democratic outcome to the events of 1917 onwards was grounded in a historical perspective: military dictatorship or chaos.
Some older, unpublished texts by Miliukov, recently discovered in the archives, explain why he hoped to save the monarchy.[4] It is clear that it was the absence of any alternative acceptable to him, in circumstances where the door to democracy was barred, which justified this card in a game of historical poker, as far as he was concerned.
The ‘democratic forces’, which corresponded to the non-Bolshevik or, more precisely, anti-Bolshevik Left – the Mensheviks and Socialist Revolutionaries – were in principle committed to a democratic solution. Confronted, however, with the reality of a disintegrating country, some within their ranks, particularly ministers in the Provisional Government, were forced – hesitantly at first – to resort to measures associated with a state of emergency: price controls, rationing, compulsory grain purchases, dispatch of police and military units to quell unrest in the countryside. Inadvertently to start off with, but soon quite deliberately, many of them became champions of a strong state, in outright contradiction of their previous orientation and ideology. Moreover, although they approximated most closely to a genuine democratic outlook, and adamantly refused the diagnosis of Miliukov and Lenin, they never stopped ‘yearning for Miliukov’ – which was a mirage, given that Miliukov was yearning for the ‘iron fist’ of a monarchist: another mirage. No wonder nothing seemed feasible.
The government was headed for financial bankruptcy. The Finance Minister, Shingarev, depicted the approaching catastrophe as follows. Before the war, the money in circulation had amounted to 1.6 billion roubles in paper notes and 400 million in gold. During the war, however, instead of the projected 6 billion roubles, 12 billion had been printed – hence the very high inflation that he characterized as a ‘sweet poison’. The revolution had unleashed enormous expectations among the population. Everyone’s wages had been increased, as had pensions. Expenditure went on rising, but the state treasury was ‘empty’. Thirty million roubles were being printed daily (something that required 8,000 workers). How was this chaos to be brought to an end? It was impossible to print more than a billion roubles a month, and yet it cost 1.5 billion because of inflation. Ten million people were enrolled in the army: ‘Blood is flowing on the front, but in the rear we are having what might be called a feast during the plague. The country is on the verge of ruin. The fatherland is in danger!’[5]
Police reports coming in from all over the country attested to the growing unrest in the countryside, a deterioration in food supplies, and the piteous state of the army. In this sombre context, the Provisional Government, mainly composed of Socialist Revolutionaries and Mensheviks (with the symbolic participation of some property owners), realized that it was no longer in control of anything, that its legitimacy was dwindling with every passing day, and that it was running out of room for manoeuvre. The need for a new, reinvigorated coalition led it to convene on 14 September a ‘Democratic Assembly’, which was to elect an informal ‘pre-parliament’ charged with negotiating the makeup of a new, strengthened provisional government with (or so it was hoped) some prestige. But everyone observing the debates and manoeuvring within the pre-parliament elected by the Assembly had to conclude that the political will and ability to build a state were altogether absent from it. All it had to offer was interminable talk.
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An excerpt from volume 1 of