Lvov asked Kornilov for his thoughts on the composition of a new government. Kornilov answered cautiously, but, coming after the request for cavalry, he felt hopeful that Lvov’s question was further evidence that the government was disposed to compromise, and was coming over to his views.
In the wake of that earlier meeting with Savinkov, the right-wingers at Mogilev had begun open discussions about who would take what ministry in their authoritarian government. Now, Kornilov and Zavoiko laid out for Lvov some of that vision – their desiderata. Petrograd must be placed under martial law. No controversy there. The question was, martial law under whom?
Lvov suggested three possibilities: Kerensky could be dictator; there could be a directorate, a dictatorial small cabinet, including Kornilov and, presumably, Kerensky; or Kornilov himself could be dictator.
Judiciously, Kornilov expressed his preference for the third option. After all, it might be simpler if all civil and military authority in the country belonged to the commander-in-chief – ‘whoever’, he modestly added, ‘he might be’.
Kornilov mooted the possibility of positions for Kerensky and Savinkov in this government, and asked Lvov to urge them for their own safety to repair to Mogilev within two days. Lvov remained blithely untroubled throughout the rest of the discussion, suggesting various other figures for a cabinet. But after the meeting had ended and Lvov prepared to board his train back to Petrograd, perhaps misjudging his visitor’s loyalties, perhaps not caring, Zavoiko, with swaggering arrogance, made a shocking, casual pronouncement.
‘Kerensky is needed as a name for the soldiers for ten days or so,’ he said, ‘after which he will be eliminated.’
Lvov sat stunned in his carriage as the train pulled away. He was finally, dimly aware that Kerensky’s aspirations and Kornilov’s might not, shall we say, perfectly overlap.
Kornilov placed the Third Corps – the cavalry requested by Savinkov! – on alert. He had Krimov draft an order for distribution upon his entry to Petrograd, announcing the imposition of martial law, a curfew and the banning of strikes and meetings. Disobedience, the leaflet read, would be harshly met: ‘the troops will not fire into the air’. Yet more soldiers made for Petrograd, in preparation for its forthcoming military occupation and policing.
As previously arranged, Kornilov telegrammed Savinkov, telling him the forces would be in place by the evening of the 28th. ‘I request that Petrograd be proclaimed under martial law on 29 August’: thus, courteously, Kornilov prepared to bring the revolution to an end.
The hard-right press warned of leftist massacres on the 27th. Provocateurs provoked: socialists received multiple reports of ‘strangers in soldiers’ tunics’ trying to whip up insurrection. Kerensky’s intended collaboration with Kornilov did not preclude the continuance of other, chaotic rightwing putschist plans.
The air stank of counterrevolution. On 26 August, the Petrograd Trade Union Soviet and Central Soviet of Factory-Shop Committees jointly endorsed the Interdistrict Conference’s call for a Committee of Public Safety.
This was the cauldron into which Lvov returned. He hastened to the Winter Palace.
Savinkov had just reported to Kerensky on his own cordial meeting with Kornilov when Lvov arrived. Reassured by Savinkov’s account, Kerensky asked Lvov what he had learnt. And then he listened in growing, bewildered horror.
Lvov relayed to Kerensky as demands those preferences Kornilov had expressed from among the options Lvov had put to him – on behalf, Kornilov had believed, of Kerensky himself. Kornilov wanted Kerensky to come to Mogilev, Lvov said, but warned that the invitation was dangerous, as he had heard from Zavoiko’s own mouth. Kerensky, he insisted, must flee.
Kerensky laughed in nervous disbelief.
‘This’, Lvov said, face like flint, ‘is no time for jokes.’
Kerensky struggled to make sense of what he was hearing. He had Lvov put Kornilov’s ‘demands’ in writing. Martial law; all authority including civil to devolve to the commander-in-chief; all ministers, including Kerensky, to resign. What Kornilov had thought was a discussion of possibilities now read as the declaration of a putsch.
Reeling, Kerensky asked Lvov to meet him at the Ministry of War at 8 p.m., to speak directly with Kornilov: he wanted to be absolutely certain of what was afoot. But there was to be a final absurdity. Lvov was late for the appointment. At 8:30, therefore, so agitated he could not wait, Kerensky wired Kornilov and simply pretended that Lvov was with him. And the farce unfolded in clicks and crackles, recording every back-and-forth in the ribbon of text.
Kerensky: ‘Good day, General. V. N. Lvov and Kerensky on the line. We ask you to confirm that Kerensky is to act according to the communication made to him by Vladimir Nikolaevich.’
Kornilov: ‘Good day, Alexander Fedorovich, good day, Vladimir Nikolaevich. To confirm again the outline of the present situation I believe the country and the army are in, which I asked V. N. to convey to you, I declare again that the events of the past few days and those I can see coming make it imperative to reach a definite decision in the shortest possible time.’
Kerensky now impersonated Lvov. ‘I, Vladimir Nikolaevich, ask whether it is necessary to act on that definite decision which you asked me to communicate privately to Alexander Fedorovich. Without your personal confirmation, Alexander Fedorovich hesitates to give me his full confidence.’
Kornilov: ‘Yes, I confirm that I asked you to convey to Alexander Fedorovich my urgent request that he come to Mogilev.’
Kerensky, hollow-chested, had Kornilov verify that Savinkov, too, should come. ‘Believe me,’ Kornilov added, ‘only my recognition of the responsibility of the moment makes me so persistent in my request.’
‘Shall we come only in case of demonstrations, of which there are rumours, or in any case?’ Kerensky asked.
Kornilov: ‘In any case.’
The connection broke, ending the most epochal talking-at-cross-purposes in history.
At his headquarters, Kornilov exhaled mightily in relief. Kerensky, he thought, would now come to Mogilev, and submit to – even join – a government under him.
Kerensky, meanwhile, believed ‘the definite decision’ which Kornilov had just validated was not just that he, Kerensky, should come to him, but that Kornilov would take dictatorial powers. That Kerensky had been given an ultimatum. That he was being dispensed with.
Had Lvov not warned him to run for his life?
When Lvov at last showed up, Kerensky had the startled man arrested.
His own recent plans for martial law had dragged Kerensky so far right he did not know if he could still now turn to the Soviet for support, nor how the Petrograd masses would respond to any of his appeals. At a hasty cabinet meeting, he read out the transcript ‘proving’ Kornilov’s ‘treachery’. He demanded the astonished ministers grant him unlimited authority against the coming danger. The Kadets, deeply imbricated with the Kornilovite milieu, objected, but the majority gave Kerensky a free hand. They resigned as he requested, remaining only in caretaker capacities.