Michael, looking around the room, could see that the Duma men were exhausted, unshaven, bedraggled and, as Prince Lvov would put it, unable even to think straight any more. Many were also clearly frightened, and that dread of the Soviet would be heightened by Kerensky, the only man in the room who could claim to speak for the mob. A master of the theatrical posture, Kerensky also claimed to be 'terrified', and that at any moment a gang of armed men might break in and murder the new emperor, if not the rest of them.
Rodzyanko also used fear as the excuse for abdication. 'It was quite clear to us that the grand duke would have reigned only a few hours, and that this would have led to colossal bloodshed in the precincts of the capital, which would have degenerated into general civil war. It was clear to us that the grand duke would have been killed immediately
Milyukov, with Guchkov not yet arrived, was the sole spokesman for those who believed that Rodzyanko and Lvov were leading the government to ultimate ruin, as would prove the case. Rousing himself, he argued that it would be immeasurably more difficult in the long term if the established order was simply abandoned, for in his reasoning the 'frail craft' of the self-elected Provisional Government, without a monarch, would soon be sunk 'in the ocean of national disorder'.
During all this shouting and argument, Michael had sprawled in his chair saying nothing. To Kerensky he seemed 'embarrassed' by what was going on and 'to grow more weary and impatient'. He had heard quite enough, and saw no point in hearing more.
He rose and announced that he would consider the whole matter privately with just two of the men in the room. To general surprise his choice fell on Lvov and Rodzyanko and not his principal supporters Milyukov and the recently arrived Guchkov. It could only mean that he had given in. Instead, what he wanted was reassurance that the new government was in a position to restore order and continue the war, and that they could ensure that the promised elections for a democratic Constituent Assembly would not be blocked by the Soviet. The answers were confidently 'Yes'.
Rodzyanko and Lvov returned to the drawing room, their faces barely concealing their triumph as they nodded to the others that all was settled. Michael hung back, talking to his long-serving personal lawyer, Alexei Matveev. When he too returned to the room, his face expressionless, no one took a note of what he said, and no one could afterwards remember what he said. Nevertheless it was enough to settle minds that he was abdicating.
There were sighs of relief. Nekrasov fingered the abdication manifesto in his pocket: We, by God's mercy, Michael II, Emperor and Autocrat of all theRussias ... After that preamble the rest could be filled in simply enough. It would need a few flourishes, perhaps, to give the required sense of occasion, but essentially 'abdicate' was the word that mattered. Allowing five minutes or so for regretful comments and funereal courtesies, Michael's manifesto could be in the Tauride Palace by lunchtime, with the Soviet obliged to hail their success. By late afternoon it could be posted all over the city.
In fact, it would turn out to be rather more complicated than that. Michael was not going to give them 'abdicate'. And, as if on cue, the drawing room door opened and the smiling figure of Princess Putyat- ina appeared to ask those who could to join her for lunch.
In their surprise no one seemed able to voice a protest. Unsure what to do, about half the men in the drawing room accepted the invitation and shuffled in to sit at the lunch table. They included Prince Lvov, Kerensky, Shulgin, Tereshchenko and Nekrasov, his unsigned abdication manifesto tucked back in his pocket. Princess Putyatina sat at the head of the table, with Michael at her right hand; lawyer Matveev and Michael's private secretary Johnson sat together at the end of the table.
Rodzyanko and the other ministers and deputies, confused, left the building and went back to the Tauride Palace, their victory delayed.
Since the Soviet was still unaware that there was a meeting with Michael, and as yet the returning delegates could not wave his abdication manifesto, there was nothing they could do but keep out of the way and fend off questions.
At the lunch table, conversation was polite, with no mention of the reason for their all being there, until lunch was finished and Princess Putyatina rose from the table and withdrew. The delegates then looked at Michael, waiting for the moment when he would formally provide his abdication; Nekrasov fingered again the manifesto in his pocket.
Matveev, having sat throughout lunch in silence, then asserted himself, asking Nekrasov to let him see what he had written down. Nekrasov handed it over, and Matveev read through it, then returned it with the air of a man who had found it wanting. Nekrasov glanced down at the paper: he had no experience of drafting a manifesto of this kind; had he missed something? Michael clearly thought so for he then suggested that Matveev 'should help set down in proper form what had taken place'.
Nodding towards Nekrasov, Matveev announced to the table that in order to prepare a proper manifesto for Michael's signature they would first need to have a copy of the original abdication manifesto signed by Nicholas, as well as a copy of the Fundamental Laws.
An embarrassed Prince Lvov knew from Shulgin that he had handed the manifesto over to some man from the transport ministry, but had no idea what had happened to it thereafter - that it was still hidden under a pile of old magazines. As for the Code of Laws - where could they get a copy of those?
The lunch table was now in disarray, any thought of a quick exit with a signed manifesto abandoned. Somehow, the lawyers were going to have to take over and since Michael had his own in Matveev they were going to need one themselves. The man they settled on was Vladimir Nabokov, and Prince Lvov volunteered to call him. For Michael he was a welcome choice: Nabokov's sister was a close friend of his family and her daughter a playmate of his seven-year-old son George.
With that, Kerensky and the Duma men, with the exception of
Lvov and Shulgin, decided to return to the Tauride Palace. There was nothing they could do here, and it was clearly going to be a long afternoon. Assured by Prince Lvov that they would be told as soon as the manifesto had been signed, they left looking rather more subdued than they had done on arrival almost six hours earlier. They were not sure how it had happened, but somehow Michael now seemed to be in charge.
At almost that very moment a telegram was sent to Michael from Sirotino, a railway station some 275 miles from Pskov. Nicholas, having 'awoken far beyond Dvinsk', had suddenly remembered that he had neglected to mention to his brother that he was the new emperor. He hastily scribbled out a telegram, despatched at 2.56 p.m. and addressed to 'Imperial Majesty Petrograd'. It read:
To His Majesty the Emperor Michaeclass="underline" Recent events have forced me to decide irrevocably to take this extreme step. Forgive me if it grieves you and also for no warning - there was no time. Shall always remain a faithful and devoted brother. Now returning to HQwhere hope to come back shortly to Tsarskoe Selo. Fervently pray God to help you and our country. Your Nicky.
As so often during the past days, Nicholas had acted when it was too late to matter. However, at least it was delivered, unlike the last telegram sent to him, and returned Address Unknown.
Nabokov reached Millionnaya Street just before 3 p.m. After briefing him, Prince Lvov explained that 'the draft of the Act had been outlined by Nekrasov, but the effort was incomplete and not entirely satisfactory, and since everyone was dreadfully tired . they requested that I undertake the task'.
With the original manifesto lost Nabokov argued that they could manage without it since the whole country knew what it said; however, he agreed with Matveev that they could not proceed without the Code of Laws and that it was essential that they had the Fundamental Laws in front of them. The man they could count on for those was the constitutional jurist Baron Nolde in nearby Palace Square. He arrived ten minutes later.