Читать книгу Comrade Kerensky - Boris Kolonitskii - Страница 15

In 1917 many people were calling Kerensky a champion of freedom. For example, on 26 July 1917, representatives of the Kuzhenkino garrison passed a resolution that

… all elements of the country who love their motherland must rally round the Provisional Government, giving it their full support and confidence, in the hope that the coalition government, under the leadership of such a proven champion of freedom for working people as everybody’s favourite politician, our comrade KERENSKY, will devote all its energy to defending the motherland and revolution from the insolent attempts to encroach of both the foreign enemy and enemies of the revolution both on the right and the left.¹⁹¹

Those drafting the resolution adopted a tactic of legitimation which can be found in other texts of the time: a political Leader deserves support because he has been tested by years of fighting for the freedom of the people; his irreproachable revolutionary reputation is a guarantee that he will faithfully implement the political programme of the government he heads.

Kerensky’s actions in earlier years, and especially during the coup, contributed to establishing just such a reputation, and it comes as no surprise that in many of these greetings he is described as a ‘champion of freedom’. The conference of the Petrograd Socialist Revolutionaries in early March had described him as a ‘steadfast, tireless champion of a government of the people’.¹⁹² ‘We send heartfelt greetings to a champion of freedom. May heaven bless your future great achievements,’ political exiles encouraged him.¹⁹³ It mattered that veterans of the revolutionary struggle were using such language about him, particularly impressing the masses who were now in the process of becoming politicized.

National organizations called Kerensky ‘a magnificent champion of freedom for Russia and its nationalities’. Those composing other resolutions hailed him as ‘a champion of social liberation’. Kerensky was called ‘a champion of the freedom of the working people’, ‘a proven champion of the happiness and freedom of working people’, ‘a tireless champion and defender of the dispossessed people and its freedom’, and ‘a champion of freedom for the insulted and humiliated’.¹⁹⁴ In many other resolutions the revolutionary minister was called a ‘champion of freedom’, ‘a champion of freedom for the people’, ‘a champion for the liberation of the motherland’, and ‘our dear and tireless champion of freedom and rights’.¹⁹⁵ Particular significance was seen in the length of his political service and faithfulness to his chosen political path. Kerensky was regularly described as a ‘proven’, ‘indefatigable’, ‘tireless’, ‘steadfast’ champion.

As we have seen, Kerensky’s 1917 biographers created and affirmed his revolutionary reputation, thereby asserting his right to political leadership at a time of revolution. Actually, in this he was not alone. The status of adversary of the old regime became an important source of political legitimation, so not a few leaders of the time were celebrated by their supporters as ‘champions of freedom’.

In March many people in Russia thought it appropriate to congratulate Rodzyanko, the chairman of the State Duma and of its Provisional Committee, on the success of the revolution.¹⁹⁶ Those congratulating him were not always entirely clear about his status. He was referred to as ‘the Head of the Free Russian State’, ‘the Head of Free Russia’, ‘the President-Minister’, ‘the Chairman of the Provisional Government’. Rodzyanko was also called ‘a champion of freedom’, ‘the liberator of Russia’¹⁹⁷ and sometimes even ‘the Leader of freedom’.¹⁹⁸ Some of these titles awarded to him were later used to characterize other leaders, including Kerensky: Rodzyanko, chairman of the State Duma, was called, for example, ‘the genius of Free Russia’.¹⁹⁹ More commonly, however, he was called the ‘first citizen’, ‘the first free citizen of this free country’, ‘the best citizen’ and ‘the first citizen of free Russia’. The barrister Iosif Balinsky greeted Rodzyanko as follows: ‘Long live the State Duma … Long life to its splendid chairman, the first and most worthy citizen among equal citizens of free Russia.’²⁰⁰

Some projects of memory politics were associated with Rodzyanko’s name. The Yekaterinoslav City Council hastened to perpetuate the memory of their august major local landowner: resolving to instal a marble statue of him in the hall of their duma, naming the town square after him and, in addition, planning to erect a monument to Liberation in the city centre with a statue of Rodzyanko in the middle of the composition.²⁰¹

The political parties glorified their leaders, recalling their revolutionary past. This method of enhancing authority was deployed with particular energy when the party leaders were under fire from opponents. The Socialist Revolutionaries, for example, fought back against attacks in the conservative and liberal press on Chernov, whom they dubbed a ‘highly prominent champion of the freedom and happiness of working people’.²⁰²

When Lenin and the ‘Leninists’ found themselves furiously attacked, the Bolsheviks felt the time had come to publish several biographical sketches of their own, making known their Leader’s contribution to the revolutionary struggle.²⁰³ They declared: ‘It is not right to refer to false, sordid accusations against Comrade Lenin because Lenin is an old party Leader, not just one since March.’²⁰⁴ This form of words could be seen as concealed criticism of politicians who had come to prominence only during the February Days – a reproach that veteran revolutionaries might have been inclined to level at Kerensky.

After the overthrow of the monarchy, constructing revolutionary biographies was a common method of consolidating authority, and people of quite different views described their leaders as ‘true’ and ‘proven’ champions of freedom, even as they cast doubt and sought to refute similar claims on the part of their political opponents.

For Kerensky, his claim to the image of a champion of freedom was particularly important, and we have seen that both he and his supporters went to great lengths to build it up. No other political leader was on the receiving end of quite so many biographical essays in 1917.

Kerensky’s supporters sometimes went further and sought to place him in a higher league than other champions of freedom. Some time before 23 March the chairman of the students of Kharkov University who were from Borisoglebsk greeted him as ‘foremost among the great champions of freedom’.²⁰⁵ In the months that followed, other citizens pointed out how special was his place in the pantheon. On 10 July a telegram was sent to the minister declaring that the Socialist Revolutionaries of the Molitovka factory in Nizhny Novgorod ‘greet you, the foremost champion of free, revolutionary Russia, and express to you, and through you to the Provisional Government, our complete confidence.’ A representative of the Mogilyov Soviet of Peasant Deputies called him nothing less than ‘the apostle of revolution and liberator of the peasantry’.²⁰⁶

In some writing of the time, this still youthful politician was seen as a unique, and even single-handed, liberator of Russia. The attitude is found in letters and resolutions addressed to Kerensky even in the autumn of 1917. ‘You are the person to whom all Russia is indebted for liberation from the oppression of tsarism.’²⁰⁷ In another instance, he is described as Russia’s principal liberator and Leader of the champions of freedom. A non-commissioned officer called Romanov, who wanted permission to change his name, which had become an unwelcome reminder of the old regime, wrote, ‘I beg you, great champion!!! For all the Russian people who endured this yoke and bridle, you, Mr Kerensky, leading all the others, were the great liberator from this oppression and lifted this yoke.’²⁰⁸

The image of Kerensky as the great liberator was even (negatively) exploited by propagandists of the Austro-Hungarian army in an Austrian leaflet targeted at Russian soldiers on the front line. The minister, it was claimed, had earlier stated he was seeking to end hostilities. ‘Your trustworthy Comrade Kerensky took, as the liberator of the people, all power into his hands and promised the people the war would soon end.’²⁰⁹

Kerensky himself regularly referred in his public speeches to his service to the revolution, and he used that approach more frequently than other politicians in the spotlight. He also took an active role in promoting the cult of champions of freedom, sometimes at the prompting of public opinion. A general meeting of the trading officials of Tyumen, held on 5 March, sent him the following message: ‘… on this momentous day of elections to the city’s Soviet of Workers’ Deputies, [this assembly] asks you, dear Alexander Fyodorovich, to convey our greetings to the holy martyrs and champions of freedom Yekaterina Breshkovskaya, Vera Figner, Nikolai Morozov and other veterans of the liberation movement and to tell them we will give our lives for the ideals for which they fought.’²¹⁰ In this address Kerensky is mentioned as the worthiest representative of the new generation of revolutionaries, authorized to intercede with his legendary predecessors who symbolize the fraternity of champions of freedom. In other messages he is even mentioned as ranking with the ‘holy martyrs’. The All-Russia Congress of Teachers, for example, passed a resolution sending greetings to Kerensky, Breshko-Breshkovskaya, Figner, Plekhanov ‘and other great revolutionaries’.²¹¹

The young politician occupied an honourable place in the ranks of the acknowledged veterans of the revolutionary movement, which meant all efforts to promote the cult of champions of freedom redounded, particularly, to his credit. Moreover, consolidation of the cult was in harmony with the vector of the new politics of memory after February 1917.

Revolutionary Russia needed to rewrite its history to create a portrait of the past suitable for political use in the new situation. Some events needed to be forgotten, others to be radically rethought. All political organizations found themselves drawn inescapably into implementing projects of the politics of memory, and sometimes initiated them. There were occasions when party leaders at various levels had no option but to respond to spontaneous crowd action, when monuments of the old regime were destroyed or there were demands to change names reflecting the tsarist era. Streets, institutions and villages had to be renamed, new monuments created, and thought given to the old burial sites of revolutionaries. Proper tribute had to be paid to fallen champions of freedom and proper recognition given to living veterans of the revolutionary struggle.²¹²

The clash of rival cultural memory projects was not at the forefront of political battles, but aspects of the struggle for power were evident in numerous conflicts regarding memorable sites and sites of remembrance. Having the right to initiate such projects could be important in confirming authority and was sought by politicians and administrators, military commanders and members of all sorts of committees. In elaborating the politics of memory there was great reliance on the already advanced political culture of the revolutionary underground, with its long tradition of sanctifying its heroes and martyrs. During the revolution, earlier propaganda texts were republished. Later there were new biographies.²¹³ The Socialist Revolutionaries were particularly busy in this respect, glorifying their party comrades and famous terrorists.²¹⁴ The status of champion of freedom was retrospectively bestowed on figures from Russian history: Alexander Radishchev had already been named as the first Russian champion of freedom,²¹⁵ although others awarded that accolade to the Decembrists.²¹⁶

The promotion of the cult of champions of freedom was in line with the public mood, and this had an impact on how mass culture developed. Impressive numbers of new cinematographic films were made: The Grandmother of the Russian Revolution (Martyr for Freedom) about Yekaterina Breshko-Breshkovskaya; Champions of Freedom; The Sun of Freedom (Hail to the Champions of Freedom); The Death of Lieutenant Schmidt, and others.²¹⁷ There was demand from cinema-goers, readers and consumers for the memorialization of champions of freedom, and that was fertile ground for implementing projects of the politics of memory.

The need for funerals of participants in the revolution brought forth new symbols and rituals based on the revolutionary tradition. As a result of burials and reburials of opponents of the old regime, as well as of other symbolic acts, the cultural and political topography of towns and villages changed, and that reflected back on the ritual of revolutionary celebrations and the scenarios of political rallies. Urban political spaces were recodified and new politically sanctified locations appeared. The emergence of local cults of champions of freedom was exploited by diverse political forces, and the revolutionary past became an important asset in the struggle for power. A number of local rallies assumed national significance. The revolutionary authorities in Sevastopol sent an expedition to recover the remains of Lieutenant Pyotr Schmidt and other participants in the 1905 uprising. These champions of freedom were reburied with due ceremony in Sevastopol, with Admiral Alexander Kolchak, the commander of the Black Sea Fleet, playing a prominent role. He headed those following the revolutionary hero’s coffin. The event was an impressive demonstration by those in favour of continuing the war against Germany. It seems unlikely that Schmidt’s actions in 1905 were consonant with the admiral’s understanding of the naval code of honour, but he recognized the political necessity of a solemn reburial of the revolutionaries. In the aftermath of February 1917, Kolchak succeeded in maintaining discipline in the fleet for some time, helped by his authority as a respected naval commander, his ability to find common ground with the local committees, and his pragmatic ability to employ rhetoric, symbolism and revolutionary ritual to achieve his goals.

It seemed that, under his leadership, the relatively ‘healthy’ Black Sea Fleet could become a focus for patriotic mobilization, and the politics of memory had a contribution to make to this. The admiral and his officers reminded the country of the outstanding role played by the Black Sea Fleet in Russia’s history. The defence of the city of Sevastopol during the Crimean War and the mutinies at the time of the First Russian Revolution bolstered the view that the officers and committees of the navy had a right to act as a nationwide focus of patriotic mobilization. Some of Admiral Kolchak’s supporters went even further, representing him as the heir of Lieutenant Schmidt.²¹⁸

Modern biographers of the Black Sea Fleet commander tend to omit mention of his role in advancing the cult of champions of freedom, and Kolchak himself can hardly have been at ease glorifying the mutineers. However, both he and his supporters understood the practical necessity of behaving as if they did, and they lent their authority to the movement.

The cult of fighters fallen in the cause of freedom was exploited pragmatically by others who supported continuing the war. On 25 March, at the opening of the Seventh Congress of the Constitutional Democratic Party, the deputies honoured the memory of those fighters who had ‘laid down their lives for the freedom of our people and opened up the way for developing our work.’ Prince P. D. Dolgorukov, a prominent representative of the party, included members of the armed forces among the champions of freedom, declaring: ‘I suggest you unite the sacred memory of the champions of freedom from the foreign threat, from the external foe, with the sacred memory of the champions of Russia’s freedom from the enemy within, and honour their sacred memory by rising and standing in solemn silence.’ The deputies, naturally, responded to his call.²¹⁹ If the socialists, when glorifying their champions of freedom, had in mind principally their participation in the struggle for social liberation (‘champions of freedom for working people’), the liberals sought to combine the rhetoric of the liberation movement with the language of patriotic wartime propaganda. The simultaneous existence of projects of diverse, and sometimes rival, cults of champions of freedom is evidence both of just how prevalent the tendency was and of its potential for political application. The fact that representatives of literally every political movement, from the supporters of Lenin to those who venerated Kolchak, were busily promoting this cult testifies to a short-lived consensus on the memorialization project of sanctifying fallen revolutionaries.

Kerensky’s involvement in promoting the cult of champions of freedom did not, of itself, stand out as anything exceptional, but his biography, his political position and authority, and the resources he controlled imbued his actions with a special significance and importance. Compared with Kolchak and others active in the political process, the ‘revolutionary minister’ venerated the champions of freedom more enthusiastically and more sincerely. From early youth he had been a bearer of the radical intelligentsia’s political culture; the cult of champions of freedom was extremely important for him personally, for his friends and family, and he kept in his apartment a relic of the mutiny led by Lieutenant Schmidt.²²⁰ The rhetoric and rituals of sanctification of the champions of freedom were well familiar to Kerensky and emotionally important to him.

The version of history the revolutionary minister proposed to the new Russia did also have a place in it for certain tsars. On 5 March 1917 he ceremonially presented to the First Department of the Senate the acts of abdication of the throne of Nicholas II and Grand Duke Mikhail Alexandrovich. In the process, Kerensky had words of appreciation for this ‘institution created by the genius of Peter the Great to protect the laws and the rule of law.’ That is unlikely to have gone down well with all who were opposed to the monarchy, but it is significant that Tan, a veteran of the revolutionary movement, quoted him, remarking only: ‘It is instructive to note this tribute from a man of culture to the genius of Peter the Great, who had been such a fierce and mighty revolutionary on the throne. Unlike others, Kerensky could see clearly the difference between Peter the Great and Nikolai Romanov, his pathetic successor.’²²¹

Kerensky’s respect for Peter the Great was manifested in other ways. A number of warships which bore the names of monarchs began to be renamed. The Central Committee of the Baltic Fleet suggested changing the name of the Peter the Great, a training vessel, to The Republic. Kerensky thought, however, that it should retain its historical name. Many sailors evidently also thought it appropriate to let the ‘crowned revolutionary’ keep his place in the pantheon of great predecessors of the new Russia. There were three ships in the navy named in honour of Peter I, and they all kept their original names despite the revolution.²²²

It was, however, the cult of heroes of the revolutionary movement which had a special role in the version of the past which Kerensky was proposing to Russia. There was a clear link between the sources of his own power and his practical involvement in the revolution’s politics of memory: in the process of promoting a sacrosanct cult of champions of freedom, he was simultaneously reinforcing his own authority.

The Decembrists had an important place in Kerensky’s version of Russian history. In the stressful climate of the revolution, he found time to discuss the project of a memorial to the first generation of champions of freedom. He discussed the idea of erecting a monument to the Decembrists with Grand Duke Nikolai Mikhailovich, a Freemason with specialist knowledge of the era of Alexander I. This scion of the Romanov dynasty declared himself willing to donate a substantial sum of money to the project.²²³ About a month later Kerensky sent a letter to the main newspaper of the Socialist Revolutionary Party, offering his opinion on where the monument might best be sited.²²⁴

Kerensky’s veneration of the memory of the Decembrists was evidently sincere, but, at the same time, commemorating officers who had challenged the autocracy was an important political gesture in 1917. Reminding rank-and-file soldiers of this particular cohort of champions of freedom could help to ease tensions between them and their officers, and this was a particularly sensitive issue in the early days of the February Revolution. On 14 March, during a meeting with the writers Dmitry Merezhkovsky and Zinaida Gippius, Kerensky asked Merezhkovsky, who was working on his novel The Decembrists, to write a pamphlet reminding soldiers of the feat of those first revolutionary officers, with the aim of reducing friction in the army. Merezhkovsky’s pamphlet, The Firstborn of Freedom, was published in short order. (It was actually written by Gippius: in the earlier version of her diary she writes that she is working on The Decembrists ‘for Kerensky’.) The first version of the text, published in the journal Niva, was dedicated to ‘A. F. Kerensky, who continues the Decembrists’ cause.’²²⁵ Kerensky’s revolutionary work was presented as the culmination of the struggle begun by the ‘firstborn of freedom’, of whose memory he was the guardian. The revolutionary minister took to recalling the firstborn of freedom in speeches addressed to soldiers.²²⁶

The Decembrist theme figures in Kerensky’s speeches particularly often after he was appointed head of the Ministry of War. To some of the guards’ regiments he pointed out their historical legacy and ‘drew especial attention to the guards’ regiments from which the Decembrists had emerged.’²²⁷

The minister of war returned to this topic at the All-Russia Congress of Officers’ Deputies in Petrograd. He urged the deputies to think of themselves as the heirs of the Decembrists’ cause and to apply the memory of them to strengthen the morale of the revolution’s armed forces. ‘I am fully confident that a tradition of the Russian army which dates from the times of the Decembrists will be raised by the officer corps to the level required.’ His speech was enthusiastically received.²²⁸

Speaking shortly afterwards, on 17 May in Sevastopol, Kerensky reminded his listeners of the ‘fighting and revolutionary traditions’ of the Black Sea Fleet: ‘The cherished memory of Lieutenant Schmidt is closest of all to you, and I am certain, comrades, that you will fulfil your duty to your country to the end.’ In Sevastopol, Kerensky was trying to resolve conflicts which had flared up between Kolchak and the fleet’s elected organizations, between the naval command and the ordinary sailors. Referring to the memory of a revolutionary officer was intended to contribute to resolving urgent political problems. Kerensky was seeking to reinforce Kolchak’s authority, mentioning the role of the navy’s commander in stabilizing the new order. He reminded the sailors of their historic responsibility, of their duty to remain true to the memory of the champions of freedom and carry their mission forward. ‘We cannot recklessly fritter away the great legacy won by the blood and toil of many generations of the Russian intelligentsia from the Decembrists onwards. By good fortune we have become the first to enjoy great freedom, and we must protect it and pass it on to our descendants.’²²⁹

The cult of champions of freedom, promoted by different political players in 1917, would have been unimaginable without glorifying the surviving veterans of the movement. Members of the various groups celebrated the old revolutionaries who were ideologically closest to them, ‘living monuments’ to the struggle who, by their support, could legitimize the current leaders.²³⁰ Of particular importance was the celebrating of Yekaterina Breshko-Breshkovskaya, who had joined the revolutionary ranks in the 1870s and had spent more than three decades in prison and exile. The Socialist Revolutionary Party of which she was a member established a personal cult of the ‘Grandmother of the Russian Revolution’. Portraits and biographies were printed, numerous resolutions were addressed to her, and when she spoke in public she was invariably the centre of attention.

Breshkovskaya was not celebrated as a leader of the party, but her authority as a heroine and martyr who had lived her life by the precepts of the party’s saints was assiduously promoted by the Socialist Revolutionaries. It served to strengthen the party’s influence and was a tool in the power struggle between sundry factions of the party. Breshkovskaya was one of the most popular figures of the February Revolution. As we have seen, a film was made about her life, and groups of soldiers and students declared themselves the respectful grandchildren of the beloved grandmother. Socialist Revolutionary propaganda urged their supporters to continue the legacy of the aged revolutionary.²³¹

Kerensky never tired of showing his respect for the veterans of the revolutionary movement, provided they were supportive of his policies. Their authority was a valuable asset which bolstered his influence. At the Congress of the Socialist Revolutionaries he referred with demonstrative piety to the party’s ‘teachers’, ‘guides’ and ‘doughty champions’. Kerensky modestly referred to himself as one of the disciples and rank-and-file workers, one of the Socialist Revolutionary Party’s younger generation which, in the period of reaction, feeling its way in the dark, had, as best it could, carried forward the ‘spark of our party’s faith and way of life’. Concluding his speech, Kerensky told the delegates that, having gained so much from rubbing shoulders with the ‘best champions, he nevertheless always strove to feel, if for only a moment, that he was once again their ordinary, insignificant fellow party member and comrade.’²³² Speaking earlier, at the All-Russia Congress of Soviets of Peasants’ Deputies, he had said much the same thing: ‘Old teachers came to my aid whose names we have known since childhood.’²³³

In the first weeks of the revolution Kerensky appeared several times at public ceremonies in the company of the veteran revolutionary Vera Figner. She gave her support to a number of his initiatives – for example, heading a fund he created as minister of justice to support former political prisoners. In a single week, 17–24 March, 340,000 rubles were donated for their needs. The donations were addressed to Vera Figner and Olga Kerenskaya. Including money previously sent to Olga Kerenskaya, the final total of donations amounted to 2,135,000 rubles.²³⁴ Such a huge response testifies to the respect enjoyed by Kerensky, and the participation of Figner gave the venture even greater reach. The ability to extend support to former prisoners and exiles, many of whom were joining the political elite of revolutionary Russia, was a valuable political lever for the minister.

Of particular importance for Kerensky was his friendship with Yekaterina Breshko-Breshkovskaya, which underlay their later political cooperation. They met in 1912 when he had travelled to Siberia. One of Kerensky’s first actions when he became minister of justice was to order her immediate release. He demanded, moreover, that the local authorities should convey her with due pomp and ceremony to the capital. On 29 March, when, after a triumphal progress, she finally arrived in Petrograd, Kerensky was there to meet and spend the day with her. Sharp tongues scoffed that he was playing the role of page-boy to a grandmother. Breshkovskaya was naturally flattered by the attention paid to her by the popular hero of the February Revolution.

At Kerensky’s suggestion, the old revolutionary lady lived in his residences: first in the Ministry of Justice building and later in the Winter Palace. During working lunches attended by politicians and diplomats she acted as hostess. Breshko-Breshkovskaya reminisced later, ‘I went with him to the headquarters of the minister of justice, and he put me up there. I kept asking how I could find a place to stay, but he was having none of it. “Don’t you find it comfortable here?” And so we remained good, true friends all that time. In fact, I will say, forever.’²³⁵ The former revolutionary did not always feel at ease in the tsar’s old quarters but acceded to Kerensky’s request. ‘I wanted to be set free again, but could not bring myself to leave. I could not deny Alexander Fyodorovich’s wish to have me as his neighbour,’ she recalled.²³⁶

In 1917 Breshkovskaya spoke about her special ties with Kerensky. Her speech in April in Revel, where she had gone with the minister of justice, is illustrative: ‘The strength of the Provisional Government is that it includes Kerensky, a socialist, a devoted friend of the people. You have a loyal friend, and that friend is Kerensky. He and I are kith and kin, related not by family ties, but in spirit.’²³⁷

The friendship between the grandmother of the Russian Revolution and her ‘grandson’ was of considerable political importance for both of them. Breshko-Breshkovskaya was a living legend for the Socialist Revolutionaries. For decades she had been praised by the party. Her biography was presented as the life of a martyr who had dedicated herself to service of the people. The moral and political backing of such an illustrious champion of freedom reinforced Kerensky’s standing and sanctified his actions. For Breshko-Breshkovskaya too, however, the alliance was important: her young ally was proof that she had been right, and justified the battle she had waged against the regime for the whole of her life. Kerensky was the personification of a new generation of revolutionaries who were successfully carrying forward the mission she had begun so long ago. At the same time, the revolutionary minister was a guide for the old Narodnik warrior in the complicated and sometimes confusing world of modern politics.

The relationship between Kerensky and Breshko-Breshkovskaya was warm and relaxed, and it remained so in later years when both were in exile. In her memoirs she refers to him as the most outstanding member of the Socialist Revolutionary Party.²³⁸ (Other Socialist Revolutionary leaders might not have agreed.) In a different version of her memoirs there is an even more ecstatic description of Kerensky: ‘He has always lived, and probably always will, with the most positive imaginable belief in the future of mankind in general and of the Russian people in particular. This quality of his soul, this great talent of selfless love and an unbounded willingness to serve his people are probably what provided the foundation of the mutual understanding which formed between him and me. I have the greatest respect for this man. I admire his personality as among the best things our land has ever produced.’²³⁹

In 1917 Breshkovskaya spoke publicly of her admiration for what Kerensky was doing. After visiting Taurida province, she had this to say about the morale of the inhabitants of Crimea (believing that everyone who came to her speeches or with whom she spoke shared her attitude towards the revolutionary minister).

Nor is there any mistrust of the new composition of the Provisional Government, although those who comprise it are not particularly well known.

This drawback is satisfactorily dealt with by confidence that, as long as Alexander Fyodorovich Kerensky is one of the ministers, nothing bad will be allowed to happen. In the five years that the repute of Kerensky has stood untarnished in the arena of Russia’s politics, the population, even in remote corners of our far-flung land, has come to revere his name and to see it as a guarantee of truth, lawfulness and justice. They have come to see him as a knight, always resolute, always prepared to occupy the most dangerous positions in pursuing his ideal of selfless service to his motherland. To his people.²⁴⁰

In the autumn of 1917, Breshko-Breshkovskaya tried to shield the head of the Provisional Government from attacks from the left and right, reminding people of the biography of a hero who was sacrificing his health, and perhaps even his life, to the cause of the revolution. ‘He has given a full decade of his young life to Russia, sparing neither his strength, his health, nor his very life.’²⁴¹

Whenever Kerensky’s authority was under threat, he and his supporters sought to shore it up by recalling his biography as a champion of freedom and authenticating his reputation with the aid of authoritative endorsement from veterans of the revolutionary movement.

* * *

All manner of conflicts of the time are reflected in the controversies around the accounts of Kerensky’s life, and these conflicts are, in many ways, of interest. Particular aspects of Kerensky’s life – his social antecedents, his family ties with the bureaucratic elite, and a number of scenes caused by his actions in the State Duma – were omitted or hushed up. Others recur in the various biographies and biographical articles, in resolutions and newspaper reports, and, indeed, in autobiographies, in Kerensky’s speeches and even in the orders he issued. The biographical elements of particular importance for establishing his revolutionary credentials were occasions when he was persecuted by the old regime, his clandestine activities, his legal defence of political cases in court, and his bold and ‘prophetic’ speeches in the State Duma. Then there were his actions in late February, of which the most spectacular was bringing the mutinous soldiers into the Tauride Palace. The references back to his biography served to substantiate the status of a ‘tried and tested’, tireless champion of freedom, a prerequisite for the image of a revolutionary Leader. Much was made also by some biographers of the gift of foresight they believed he possessed. To have been able to ‘prophesy’ the revolution was surely also grounds for qualifying as a charismatic leader.

For decades before the revolution, Russian revolutionaries had developed the genre of glorification of their martyrs, heroes and teachers. Their techniques of political hagiography were exploited by Kerensky, his supporters and his adversaries. The cult of champions of freedom became the official political religion of the new Russia, and initiatives to establish it enhanced politicians’ authority. Simultaneously, Kerensky’s political collaboration and friendship with authoritative veterans of the liberation movement enabled him to turn their sacralization to his own account.

Even as he actively participated in building up the cult of champions of freedom, Kerensky was a part of the cult, enhancing his own reputation within it by being a contender for the role of true Leader of the people. His heroic biography as an ardent revolutionary fitted well into the sanctified history of the revolutionary movement, which became core to the politics of memory of the new Russia.

The controversy surrounding the biography of Kerensky, who was claiming the status of Leader of the revolution, was rooted in the affirmation of the clandestine political subculture as the basis of new Russia’s political culture. The discussions in effect led to the establishment of a canon of texts and images, symbols and rituals deemed appropriate to inform the cult of the revolutionary leader. In the process some came to acknowledge Kerensky as an authentic Leader. Others did not. As far as the set of qualities the ideal revolutionary Leader needed to possess, both sides were in agreement. The existing cult of fallen or still living champions of freedom provided the requisite discursive framework for forming the cult of the Leader.

The creativity manifest in the cultural politics of the first months of the revolution, in which Kerensky himself played an active role, exerted no little influence on Soviet political culture. The latter was also to include a cult of ‘champions of freedom’, a canon for describing the life of the Leader, and a combining of the patriotic military and revolutionary traditions. The texts, symbols, ceremonies and rituals, created on a foundation of revolutionary tradition to resolve current political tasks at the time of the February Revolution, were to prove applicable to the tasks of later years.