For Want of a Word – Stolypin endures
- Thread starter Stenkarazin
- Start date
Was there a serious larger project to separate the entire province from Finland, one apart from moving the Uusikirkko and Kivennapa parishes from the Grand Duchy to Russia, a move which was already decided upon but never enforced IOTL?
If ITTL there is a border correction including just mainly those border parishes, this would ironically place the Finnish border along pretty much the line Stalin would demand prior to the Winter War IOTL...
Otherwise, I agree that Stolypin was a known "Finland-eater". His survival could cause major changes for Finland, few of them good.
Being generous and discounting Russian nationalism, we could argue that it was about his reform-mindedness. The Grand Duchy was an anomaly in the empire, with its special rights and special position. Administratively and politically, Finland stuck out like a sore thumb. In order to harmonize and unify legislation, administration and differerent organizations across the empire, logically Finland's special position and autonomy would need to be dismantled.
The suicide bombers who destroyed his home and wounded his family made their explosives and plans at the safety of Isthmus, right next to the Russian capitol. Finnish authorities showed clear sympathies or at least complete indifference towards the threat of revolutionary terror as well.
I agree that this is a very personal reason for a negative attitude towards Finland. But then politically and administratively speaking it is a part and parcel of the issues I noted above: from a Russian POV, the Finnish authorities had too much independent leeway to make their own decisions and even policies on such matters, and getting rid of the autonomy would conceivably go a long way to fix this problem. I'd say that Stolypin would have been predisposed to measures to reduce the Finnish autonomy even without the attempt on his life being connected to Finland, but in the event it very likely radicalized him on the matter.
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Apparently Stolypin's last words on his deathbed were some mumbling about "Finland".
24-28 February 1917 – Petrograd – A tale of two cities
24-28 February 1917 – Petrograd – A tale of two cities
Protests were spreading in the streets, with growing violence. It was still mostly anarchic bread riots, but revolutionary slogans were appearing here in there. Leftist agitators had rallied the mob, and were working overtime to turn it into a full-fledged uprising. More disquieting, in one instance, the Cossacks had refused to charge the crowd, and stood by as the mob lynched the police. Soon, Schcherbatov realized that the police alone would not be able to control the riots without the help of the military garrison. A decision had to be made. Stolypin did not remain inactive. As Krivoshein would later write: “Piotr Arkadyevich looked almost rejuvenated by the crisis. He was back his former self of ten years ago, the young, energetic governor who had single-handedly crush the revolution in Saratov. I realized that he lived for this stuff. It almost frightened me”.
On the night of the 25th, as protests showed no sign of abating, Stolypin held a meeting of all Petrograd authorities in the Winter Palace.
With his customary heavy-handed ways, Stolypin went over general S.S. Khabalov, the weak and indecisive military governor of Petrograd, and directly sook the advice of Khabalov’s subordinates, among them young colonel Alexander Kutepov, who struck Stolypin and Polivanov as the most energetic of the senior officers present in Petrograd.
Kutepov, who, unlike Khabalov, knew well the situation in the caserns, told the Prime Minister how unreliable the garrison of the city was. There was a high risk, reckoned Kutepov, that, ordered to put down the rebellion, the soldiers would not obey or, even worse, go over to the revolution. The police officers acknowledged that, without substantial help from the army, they could not control the city. Gurko was supposedly on his way to Petrograd, but no one was quite sure when, and if, he would be able to enter the city.
Stolypin took that night the most fateful decision of his career: in the late hours of the night, after having analysed the situation over and over with Schcherbatov, Polivanov and Kutepov (Khabalov had long drunk himself into sleep), Peter Arkadyevich ordered all police and Cossack forces to retreat to the Government quarters behind the Fontanka canal, joined by a few Gard companies that Kutepov reckoned loyal enough (mostly from the Preobrazhensky Life-Guard regiment). Officers of the other regiments, who lived in dread of their own soldiers, were instructed to keep them inside the barracks and lock them from the outside. In the first hours of the 26 February, like thieves in the night, these forces converged to the Fontanka embankments, turning it into a secure perimeter while essentially letting the mob rule the rest of the city. The Admiralty district was turned into a fortress, the bridges on the Fontanka canal heavily guarded by soldiers under the constant watch of policemen and Cossacks. Ministers, officers and dignitaries of the regime holed up in the Winter Palace, the Foreign Ministry and the Admiralty. On the same day, Stolypin sent a telegram to the Emperor, explaining his course of action, and assuring him that he would defend this stronghold until Gurko’s arrival[1].
The protesters woke up on 26 February to realize, without quite believing it, that the city was theirs. In the caserns, the few officers who had been left behind managed to hold their soldiers quiet until the 27 February, where men of the Pavlovsky Regiment, egged on by people in the streets, slaughtered them and seized the weapons. In the night of the 27, the last officers of the other regiments discreetly fled their caserns and join the Admiralty district. The city, left to the revolutionary mob now joined by mutineers, plunged into a carnival of violence, anarchy, pillage, and revolutionary celebrations, as leftist demagogues tried to turn this “Pugachevschchina” into a revolutionary commune.
On 27 February, declaring that, “by abandoning the city for the false security of an armed camp, the government has forfeited any appearance of legitimacy”, a few members of the Duma formed the “Provisional Committee of the State Duma”, declaring themselves the governing body of the Russian Empire. They were soon rallied by most liberal MP's. On the same day, leftist politicians formed the Petrograd Soviet in the other aisle of the Taurid Palace, attracting dozens of aspiring Danton and Robespierre who seemed to emerge out of nowhere like mushrooms after the rain.
An uneasy de-facto truce set in. The capital of the Russian empire was effectively cut in two, but neither side really wanted to fight. Kutepov knew full well that his troops would disperse or pass to the other side if he were to send them outside the Government sector. The Soviet, whose hold on the military mob was tenuous at best, didn't dare to send the mutineers against the Admiralty district, and the soldiers themselves showed no inclination to fight: they much preferred to exact violence against the hapless burzhui. Days and nights at the Taurid Palace were spent in never-ending exalted speeches about victory, the triumph of the masses, the “bloodless revolution” etc. As for the Provisional Committee, amidst chaos and violence they worked feverishly to persuade themselves that they ruled Petrograd, and that the Emperor would have no choice but to recognize them as Russia’s new government.
Protests were spreading in the streets, with growing violence. It was still mostly anarchic bread riots, but revolutionary slogans were appearing here in there. Leftist agitators had rallied the mob, and were working overtime to turn it into a full-fledged uprising. More disquieting, in one instance, the Cossacks had refused to charge the crowd, and stood by as the mob lynched the police. Soon, Schcherbatov realized that the police alone would not be able to control the riots without the help of the military garrison. A decision had to be made. Stolypin did not remain inactive. As Krivoshein would later write: “Piotr Arkadyevich looked almost rejuvenated by the crisis. He was back his former self of ten years ago, the young, energetic governor who had single-handedly crush the revolution in Saratov. I realized that he lived for this stuff. It almost frightened me”.
On the night of the 25th, as protests showed no sign of abating, Stolypin held a meeting of all Petrograd authorities in the Winter Palace.
With his customary heavy-handed ways, Stolypin went over general S.S. Khabalov, the weak and indecisive military governor of Petrograd, and directly sook the advice of Khabalov’s subordinates, among them young colonel Alexander Kutepov, who struck Stolypin and Polivanov as the most energetic of the senior officers present in Petrograd.
Kutepov, who, unlike Khabalov, knew well the situation in the caserns, told the Prime Minister how unreliable the garrison of the city was. There was a high risk, reckoned Kutepov, that, ordered to put down the rebellion, the soldiers would not obey or, even worse, go over to the revolution. The police officers acknowledged that, without substantial help from the army, they could not control the city. Gurko was supposedly on his way to Petrograd, but no one was quite sure when, and if, he would be able to enter the city.
Stolypin took that night the most fateful decision of his career: in the late hours of the night, after having analysed the situation over and over with Schcherbatov, Polivanov and Kutepov (Khabalov had long drunk himself into sleep), Peter Arkadyevich ordered all police and Cossack forces to retreat to the Government quarters behind the Fontanka canal, joined by a few Gard companies that Kutepov reckoned loyal enough (mostly from the Preobrazhensky Life-Guard regiment). Officers of the other regiments, who lived in dread of their own soldiers, were instructed to keep them inside the barracks and lock them from the outside. In the first hours of the 26 February, like thieves in the night, these forces converged to the Fontanka embankments, turning it into a secure perimeter while essentially letting the mob rule the rest of the city. The Admiralty district was turned into a fortress, the bridges on the Fontanka canal heavily guarded by soldiers under the constant watch of policemen and Cossacks. Ministers, officers and dignitaries of the regime holed up in the Winter Palace, the Foreign Ministry and the Admiralty. On the same day, Stolypin sent a telegram to the Emperor, explaining his course of action, and assuring him that he would defend this stronghold until Gurko’s arrival[1].
The protesters woke up on 26 February to realize, without quite believing it, that the city was theirs. In the caserns, the few officers who had been left behind managed to hold their soldiers quiet until the 27 February, where men of the Pavlovsky Regiment, egged on by people in the streets, slaughtered them and seized the weapons. In the night of the 27, the last officers of the other regiments discreetly fled their caserns and join the Admiralty district. The city, left to the revolutionary mob now joined by mutineers, plunged into a carnival of violence, anarchy, pillage, and revolutionary celebrations, as leftist demagogues tried to turn this “Pugachevschchina” into a revolutionary commune.
On 27 February, declaring that, “by abandoning the city for the false security of an armed camp, the government has forfeited any appearance of legitimacy”, a few members of the Duma formed the “Provisional Committee of the State Duma”, declaring themselves the governing body of the Russian Empire. They were soon rallied by most liberal MP's. On the same day, leftist politicians formed the Petrograd Soviet in the other aisle of the Taurid Palace, attracting dozens of aspiring Danton and Robespierre who seemed to emerge out of nowhere like mushrooms after the rain.
An uneasy de-facto truce set in. The capital of the Russian empire was effectively cut in two, but neither side really wanted to fight. Kutepov knew full well that his troops would disperse or pass to the other side if he were to send them outside the Government sector. The Soviet, whose hold on the military mob was tenuous at best, didn't dare to send the mutineers against the Admiralty district, and the soldiers themselves showed no inclination to fight: they much preferred to exact violence against the hapless burzhui. Days and nights at the Taurid Palace were spent in never-ending exalted speeches about victory, the triumph of the masses, the “bloodless revolution” etc. As for the Provisional Committee, amidst chaos and violence they worked feverishly to persuade themselves that they ruled Petrograd, and that the Emperor would have no choice but to recognize them as Russia’s new government.
[1] It seems a drastic course of action, but I think it plausible. Stolypin had gained first-hand experience at battling revolution when he was governor of Saratov in 1905, during a revolution which was, on many regards, more violent and "civil war like" that 1917. In 1905, entire towns and cities' areas had been lost to revolutionaries, only to be reconquered by military force. OTL, the government was, as one contributor put it here, "a heedless chicken into a hurricane". Made of nonentities who had only recently been promoted to office, they were unable to react efficiently: they didn't realize the gravity of the situation, then, once it had dawned on them, they panicked and basically did nothing, while the Petrograd Military governor, S.S. Khabalov, was apparently a sodden wreck. Here, the presence of more proactive ministers mean that the government is informed quite early of the unreliability of the garrison (instead of having to learn it the hard way). Polivanov, Stolypin and Schcherbatov being respected figures in the own right, also facilitates the link with Kutepov (who was, by all accounts, the only energetic senior officer in Petrograd).
* Will post a lengthier installment tomorrow. It is basically already written so shouldn't take too long. Once were are out of the revolution chapters will be more fast-paced.
* Fun fact: On Wednesday, I was woken up by gunfire in the early morning, as rebels were making a move against the city where I'm currently. It does put the stuff I am writing into perspective.
* Will post a lengthier installment tomorrow. It is basically already written so shouldn't take too long. Once were are out of the revolution chapters will be more fast-paced.
* Fun fact: On Wednesday, I was woken up by gunfire in the early morning, as rebels were making a move against the city where I'm currently. It does put the stuff I am writing into perspective.
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He floated plans of declaring a state of martial law to the Viipuri province, while threatening direct annexation and pushing non-conformist personnel out of the local administration by implementing new legislature and then sacking anyone who failed to comply.
Tsar at the crossroads
Tsar at the crossroads
On 28 February, Gurko had arrived in Gatchina with the Special Army. He had immediately written to the Stavka, requesting that loyal troops from the North-western front be pulled to secure the railroads, whose workers showed signs of discontent. In the next days, he proceeded to carefully deploy reliable troops around the approaches of the city, cautiously and slowly encircling the Capital and cutting it from the rest of the world.
Still, the fate of Petrograd remained uncertain. On the front, army commanders were fretting that this protracted crisis was paralysing Russia in a time where all efforts should be focused on the war. Their feelings were shared by Chief-of-Staff Alekseyev, who believed that, if the Emperor compromised and appointed a liberal government, the troubles would subside and the country could then focus single-mindedly on the pursuit of the war. In this, Alekseyev shared the delusions of the civil society who believed that, as soon as a liberal government would be appointed, revolutionary agitation would magically disappear and the lower classes would wholeheartedly support the war effort. Delusions they were, but they were potent, and in the fateful days of March 1917, they came close to bring about Russia’s utter destruction.
Indeed, as Gurko was painstakingly cutting Petrograd from the rest of the country, Alekseyev began to lobby the Emperor, trying his best to convince him that the only solution was to dismiss Stolypin and appoint a “gouvernement de confiance” presided by Rodzianko, who would negotiate with the Soviet. This, Alekseyev argued (and sincerely believed), was the only way to prevent revolution and keep the army intact. It is even possible that Alekseyev, like his liberal friends, saw the appointment of a liberal government as a first step leading to the abdication of the Emperor and the appointment of Grand Duke Nikolay Nikolayevich as regent.
As the Emperor was about to travel north in order to join Gurko at Gatchina via Pskov, Alekseyev made a last desperate attempt: he telegraphed to every Army commander, asking them for their advice in that matter, carefully crafting his telegram so as to elicit positive answers. The Chief-of-Staff also made sure not to contact the very few commanders who he knew to be staunch monarchists.
The Commanders’ advices began to pour in as Nicholas had already departed Mohilev and was waiting in Pskov for the railways up north to be sufficiently secured by Gurko’s forces. The Tsar was shaken by the almost unanimous response of his generals, who nearly all advocated that he caved in to pressure, dismiss the “entirely discredited” Stolypin and appoint Rodzianko with a clear mandate to compromise with the Soviet. This, the army commanders argued, was the only way to prevent the revolution from spreading across the country and, eventually, to the front. This really was the best course of action, for the country and for the pursuit of the war.
In the night of the 1st March, Nicholas II faced one of the most agonizing dilemmas of his life. He hadn’t wanted this war, and he certainly hadn’t wanted the heavy burden of the Autocracy, which had weighed so heavily on his shoulders for the last twenty-four years. Now, maybe, was the time to let go? To cave in to what looked like the unanimous pressure of the society and the army? Certainly the Allies would congratulate him on this, as Alekseyev made it plain.
As the Tsar’s Equerry, Prince Dolgoroukov, would later write, “the Emperor really considered heeding the advice of Alekseyev, whom he respected greatly. Above all, he wanted to be reunited with his family. He feared that Gurko would be beaten, and that the mob would then march onto Tsarkoye Seloe, not unlike the French mob on Versailles during the French revolution…”.
But, as the Tsar agonized over his course of action in the darkest hours of the night, stranded in the middle of nowhere in Pskov’s outskirts, he realized that, if he caved in, he had not only to appoint Rodzianko (a disgusting action in itself): he also had to dismiss Stolypin and his ministers, who were still holding firm in his name, besieged in the Winter Palace. Alekseyev and the generals were basically asking him to hand over his ministers to the Soviet and the mob. The Emperor realized that, however good the arguments of Alekseyev were, however exhausted he was, however he longed to be reunited with his wife and children, he could not bear himself to such an ungrateful act. God, he had hated Stolypin at times, he had always resented his charisma, his awe-inspiring energy, his arrogance. But he could not forget the dark days of 1905-1907, when Stolypin had appeared to him as a God-sent saviour of Russia. He could not forget that. He could not disavow and abandon a man who was still fighting for him in the midst of revolutionary-crazed Petrograd.
On the morning of 2nd March, having made his decision, Nicholas replied to Alekseyev in his characteristic fashion, by not even mentioning the telegrams of the army commanders, and instructing him to keep the Stavka running while he made his way to Petrograd.
The decision of the Emperor to choose repression over compromise was decisive. Had he disavowed Stolypin and appointed Rodzianko as Prime Minister, Petrograd could have fallen entirely into the hands of the revolutionary mob. The new government would necessary have been extremely weak, and its mediating position between the Soviet and the Emperor would quickly have become untenable. It is even possible that the rest of the country would have interpreted the appointment of a new government as a victory for the revolution. Disorder could have spread to the country and, most critically, to the North-western front. Free from any constraint from Gurko’s forces, revolutionary agitators and mutineers could have spread defeatism and revolutionary cant to the soldiers, leading to the quick deterioration of discipline and, eventually, the disintegration of the Russian army as a fighting force. Some of the most anti-liberal historians even argue that the Rodzianko government would have had literally no authority and would have been quickly superseded by the Soviet, which would in turn have irresistibly fallen to the most extreme revolutionaries (for such is the inevitable slope of any revolution). Russia would then have been faced with an unhappy choice: either the flames of anarchy and senseless violence, or the iron fist of the German yoke. One shudders at the thought.
By the time the Tsar arrived in Gatchina on the 3rd of March 1917, the situation was starting to look better. Carefully avoiding entering Petrograd, Gurko had effectively cut the city from the rest of the world, severing telegraphic lines and blocking the railways, along which Gendarmes and Cossacks were deployed to insure the subservience of the railway workers. A cavalry division made of Terek Cossacks, Circassians, Buriats and other reliable savages was pulled from the Southwestern front and brought to the outskirts of the Capital. In Moscow, the military governor had been instructed to carefully screen his depots to assemble a few battalions of reliable reservists, who were now sent up north. Conservative newspapers in Moscow and other cities were sharply instructed to spin the “events” as a terrorist plot inspired by German agents.
On 28 February, Gurko had arrived in Gatchina with the Special Army. He had immediately written to the Stavka, requesting that loyal troops from the North-western front be pulled to secure the railroads, whose workers showed signs of discontent. In the next days, he proceeded to carefully deploy reliable troops around the approaches of the city, cautiously and slowly encircling the Capital and cutting it from the rest of the world.
Still, the fate of Petrograd remained uncertain. On the front, army commanders were fretting that this protracted crisis was paralysing Russia in a time where all efforts should be focused on the war. Their feelings were shared by Chief-of-Staff Alekseyev, who believed that, if the Emperor compromised and appointed a liberal government, the troubles would subside and the country could then focus single-mindedly on the pursuit of the war. In this, Alekseyev shared the delusions of the civil society who believed that, as soon as a liberal government would be appointed, revolutionary agitation would magically disappear and the lower classes would wholeheartedly support the war effort. Delusions they were, but they were potent, and in the fateful days of March 1917, they came close to bring about Russia’s utter destruction.
Indeed, as Gurko was painstakingly cutting Petrograd from the rest of the country, Alekseyev began to lobby the Emperor, trying his best to convince him that the only solution was to dismiss Stolypin and appoint a “gouvernement de confiance” presided by Rodzianko, who would negotiate with the Soviet. This, Alekseyev argued (and sincerely believed), was the only way to prevent revolution and keep the army intact. It is even possible that Alekseyev, like his liberal friends, saw the appointment of a liberal government as a first step leading to the abdication of the Emperor and the appointment of Grand Duke Nikolay Nikolayevich as regent.
As the Emperor was about to travel north in order to join Gurko at Gatchina via Pskov, Alekseyev made a last desperate attempt: he telegraphed to every Army commander, asking them for their advice in that matter, carefully crafting his telegram so as to elicit positive answers. The Chief-of-Staff also made sure not to contact the very few commanders who he knew to be staunch monarchists.
The Commanders’ advices began to pour in as Nicholas had already departed Mohilev and was waiting in Pskov for the railways up north to be sufficiently secured by Gurko’s forces. The Tsar was shaken by the almost unanimous response of his generals, who nearly all advocated that he caved in to pressure, dismiss the “entirely discredited” Stolypin and appoint Rodzianko with a clear mandate to compromise with the Soviet. This, the army commanders argued, was the only way to prevent the revolution from spreading across the country and, eventually, to the front. This really was the best course of action, for the country and for the pursuit of the war.
In the night of the 1st March, Nicholas II faced one of the most agonizing dilemmas of his life. He hadn’t wanted this war, and he certainly hadn’t wanted the heavy burden of the Autocracy, which had weighed so heavily on his shoulders for the last twenty-four years. Now, maybe, was the time to let go? To cave in to what looked like the unanimous pressure of the society and the army? Certainly the Allies would congratulate him on this, as Alekseyev made it plain.
As the Tsar’s Equerry, Prince Dolgoroukov, would later write, “the Emperor really considered heeding the advice of Alekseyev, whom he respected greatly. Above all, he wanted to be reunited with his family. He feared that Gurko would be beaten, and that the mob would then march onto Tsarkoye Seloe, not unlike the French mob on Versailles during the French revolution…”.
But, as the Tsar agonized over his course of action in the darkest hours of the night, stranded in the middle of nowhere in Pskov’s outskirts, he realized that, if he caved in, he had not only to appoint Rodzianko (a disgusting action in itself): he also had to dismiss Stolypin and his ministers, who were still holding firm in his name, besieged in the Winter Palace. Alekseyev and the generals were basically asking him to hand over his ministers to the Soviet and the mob. The Emperor realized that, however good the arguments of Alekseyev were, however exhausted he was, however he longed to be reunited with his wife and children, he could not bear himself to such an ungrateful act. God, he had hated Stolypin at times, he had always resented his charisma, his awe-inspiring energy, his arrogance. But he could not forget the dark days of 1905-1907, when Stolypin had appeared to him as a God-sent saviour of Russia. He could not forget that. He could not disavow and abandon a man who was still fighting for him in the midst of revolutionary-crazed Petrograd.
On the morning of 2nd March, having made his decision, Nicholas replied to Alekseyev in his characteristic fashion, by not even mentioning the telegrams of the army commanders, and instructing him to keep the Stavka running while he made his way to Petrograd.
The decision of the Emperor to choose repression over compromise was decisive. Had he disavowed Stolypin and appointed Rodzianko as Prime Minister, Petrograd could have fallen entirely into the hands of the revolutionary mob. The new government would necessary have been extremely weak, and its mediating position between the Soviet and the Emperor would quickly have become untenable. It is even possible that the rest of the country would have interpreted the appointment of a new government as a victory for the revolution. Disorder could have spread to the country and, most critically, to the North-western front. Free from any constraint from Gurko’s forces, revolutionary agitators and mutineers could have spread defeatism and revolutionary cant to the soldiers, leading to the quick deterioration of discipline and, eventually, the disintegration of the Russian army as a fighting force. Some of the most anti-liberal historians even argue that the Rodzianko government would have had literally no authority and would have been quickly superseded by the Soviet, which would in turn have irresistibly fallen to the most extreme revolutionaries (for such is the inevitable slope of any revolution). Russia would then have been faced with an unhappy choice: either the flames of anarchy and senseless violence, or the iron fist of the German yoke. One shudders at the thought.
By the time the Tsar arrived in Gatchina on the 3rd of March 1917, the situation was starting to look better. Carefully avoiding entering Petrograd, Gurko had effectively cut the city from the rest of the world, severing telegraphic lines and blocking the railways, along which Gendarmes and Cossacks were deployed to insure the subservience of the railway workers. A cavalry division made of Terek Cossacks, Circassians, Buriats and other reliable savages was pulled from the Southwestern front and brought to the outskirts of the Capital. In Moscow, the military governor had been instructed to carefully screen his depots to assemble a few battalions of reliable reservists, who were now sent up north. Conservative newspapers in Moscow and other cities were sharply instructed to spin the “events” as a terrorist plot inspired by German agents.
So how about the supply situation? What you described so far was the first set of the bread echelons but the program keeps working and, other major cities aside, the trains with grain are moving in Petrograd direction but stopped by Gurko. So you have an increasingly drunk (the liquor warehouses are unguarded) and increasingly hungry “revolutionary“ mob lacking any competent leadership and discipline. The rumor about the bread trains staying within the vicinity of Petrograd may give them an idea of launching a sortie with a purpose to capture them (or some agents provocateurs could be used for this purpose). With almost all officers being in a government-held area and what’s left being the low rank graduates of the war-time military schools, the most loud-mouthed demagogue is going to be put in charge. While a direct attack on the city may be messy, on the open they are an ideal opponent for the smaller but well-disciplined and competently led government force and the whole thing ends up with a massacre giving Gurko opportunity to launch a close pursuit directly into the city and then isolating the areas of resistance and crushing them with artillery.
Which leaves an issue of Kronstadt but, with a part of the Baltic fleet being in Revel, it can be brought to the capital and used to bombard the island into submission.
Having bakeries running and supply restored in the districts controlled by government would be probably the last nail in the coffin.
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I'm not sure cutting off Petrograd so thoroughly would be a smart move, or any Stolypin, shrewd and ruthless efficient as he is, would follow.
While cutting telegraph lines is not so much of a problem, at least so far as it doesn't prevent Stolypin to communicate with the outside world himself, and is indeed of utmost importance to control the news and the narrative across Russia and the world ("what happens in Petrograd is what Stolypin says what happens, you wouldn't want others to get wrong ideas" style), cutting off food supply is very ill advised.
Why? Well, for one, Stolypin and the government are still in Petrograd, besieged in their barricaded bastion. If Stolypin wants to keep the mobs and the mutined garrison as passive as they have been, and if he wants to avoid them storming the palaces, the last thing he would want is cutting off food supply and put the revolutionaries' back against the wall. Even in the best scenario, that would mean a far more complicated crackdown. I contrast, keeping the revolutionaries in passive mode so far is keeping them in a stage where the wannabe revolution is basically about getting food and not in one where they are radicalized by marxists and anarchists and become politically interested in overthrowing the whole social and political order. It's a classical divide and rule tactic I would see someone as shrewd as Stolypin pursuing.
Negotiating, temporizing and paralyzing (with both duma and soviets to play and set radicals and liberals against one another), posturing (with Gurko encirclement of the city in full sight to show the muscles but without attacking or cutting food supplies), agitating carots and sticks, and when the fruit is rotten, strike a swift and decisive death blow to the revolution.
While cutting telegraph lines is not so much of a problem, at least so far as it doesn't prevent Stolypin to communicate with the outside world himself, and is indeed of utmost importance to control the news and the narrative across Russia and the world ("what happens in Petrograd is what Stolypin says what happens, you wouldn't want others to get wrong ideas" style), cutting off food supply is very ill advised.
Why? Well, for one, Stolypin and the government are still in Petrograd, besieged in their barricaded bastion. If Stolypin wants to keep the mobs and the mutined garrison as passive as they have been, and if he wants to avoid them storming the palaces, the last thing he would want is cutting off food supply and put the revolutionaries' back against the wall. Even in the best scenario, that would mean a far more complicated crackdown. I contrast, keeping the revolutionaries in passive mode so far is keeping them in a stage where the wannabe revolution is basically about getting food and not in one where they are radicalized by marxists and anarchists and become politically interested in overthrowing the whole social and political order. It's a classical divide and rule tactic I would see someone as shrewd as Stolypin pursuing.
Negotiating, temporizing and paralyzing (with both duma and soviets to play and set radicals and liberals against one another), posturing (with Gurko encirclement of the city in full sight to show the muscles but without attacking or cutting food supplies), agitating carots and sticks, and when the fruit is rotten, strike a swift and decisive death blow to the revolution.
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Bookmark1995
Banned
To be fair, when one reads about the reign of Nicholas and Alexandra, you get a sense that Imperial Russia was destined for disaster because of how utterly terrible those two were.
Alexandra herself was a trainwreck of a ruler. Self-centered, weak-willed, unwilling to adopt the culture of her new domain, and completely deaf to the suffering of the people. She was quoted as saying the people of Russia should listen to her just BECAUSE of her husband's pedigree. On a more serious level, she did severe damage to the Russian war effort by constantly dismissing cabinet members over her own selfish whims. Seriously, she could be the labeled the avant-la-lettre "Karen".
Nicholas II also made the wrong turns every time he came to an intersection, like appointing himself the head of a poorly performing army.
Things got so bad, even Nicholas' own mother nearly started a coup against him (which would be an interesting POD as well).
When you read about them, you can understand why Russians were so sick and tired of the monarchy, because those two are perfect examples of why absolute dynastic rule doesn't work in the modern age.
Well, subduing the mutiny while keeping the mutineers well-supplied with food is an interesting idea but I'm not sure if anybody ever tried it with any success. The next logical step in your scenario should be to keep them supplied with ammunition because otherwise they'll be unhappy.
To start with, as OTL experience demonstrated, even availability of the food did not prevent the revolutionaries (and the mob they incited) from storming the palaces, etc. OTOH, putting their backs against the wall surely is an ultimate goal: their backs are against the wall and there is a firing squad on the other side. Negotiating with them would be a waste of time and counterproductive because if they are let free they'll start again. Negotiating with the rebels would be taken as a show of weakness (as in OTL but not in this TL) and a loyalist army simply posted outside the city doing nothing and letting supplies in is a complete absurdity: what "muscles" would it be showing? The time is going to be used by the revolutionary agitators who are going to penetrate the loyalist troops (as was happening during Kornilov's failed putsch) and in no time Gurko finds himself without an army.
Of course, a big part of the revolutionary mob are just the ordinary looters who, by the time of action, are drunk and busy looting so the resistance can be expected from a relatively limited core (some sailors and soldiers of the garrison) lacking the leadership. Majority of the population is by that time fed up with what's going on and, anyway, are not a fighting fighting force. Restoring supplies to the districts under government control and gradually expanding it with the advance of the loyalist troops would be a big argument in favor of law and order. Besides, the whole premise of "cutting off food supply" is rather meaningless: the people are not eating grain, they are eating bread. With Petrograd in the state of a drunken anarchy, organization of the grain delivery to the mills, then of the flour to the bakeries and then bread to the shops/distribution centers would be impossible. Duma is not in charge of anything (and mostly useless in organization of something meaningful or there would be no hunger to start with) and the Soviets are a bunch of the demagogues with even less experience in organizing things. They can't handle the process. Period. Inability of the self-proclaimed government to provide supplies would cool down majority of the mob while a big part of the population would not be active to start with and even less so with the looting and bandits roaming the city.
The only negotiations possible are after the demonstration of strength (beating the rebels outside the city and/or taking part of the city) and then the promised carrot could be conditioned upon delivery of the leaders including the implicated members of the Duma and the Soviet. After this is done, a general amnesty is declared but the caught looters are executed on the spot, garrison is first disarmed and then sent piecemeal to various parts of the front. The martial law is declared with the curfew, the echelons with grain are arriving, grain is distributed for processing and then bread is sent to the shops.
Bookmark1995
Banned
TTL, does Stolypin's presence alone ensure that enough soldiers remain loyal to the Imperial government to not throw their guns over to the mobs? Does Stolypin's competant management of the military mean that the army is still pro-Tsar?
While I quite agree with your evaluation of Nicholas and his wife (even the members of Romanov family considered her to be very bad in PR and unsuitable for the state affairs), it is probably only fair to remark that the non-monarchic regimes did not work too well either in post-revolutionary Russia and that the Provisional Government was a disaster and the SU was much more oppressive than the Russian monarchy. So what IS the well-performing government model for Russia?