When in the historical February days the workers went out on the street, not only were they not sure that the soldiers were prepared to join them; they had very real grounds for the belief that a part at least of the garrison would obey their officers and give assistance to the police forces of Protopopov. But the miracle took place. The army, which was sent out to crush the people, went over to the people. On the first day the soldiers were not actually with the people, but already they were not against the people. The Nachalstvo still held sway over the will of the soldiers. There were some skirmishes between the workers and the soldiers. There were even killed and wounded on both sides. But a living sense of contact between the workers and soldiers was already beginning to be felt. The warm feeling of sympathy and fellow-feeling, whose seeds were sown in the early days of the war, was at last beginning to blossom forth. It came out at last, a living creative force of upheaval. And the last day of doubt and wavering in the hearts of the soldiers was the last day of the Autocracy in Russia. Next morning the soldiers poured out and melted together in one irresistible current with the revolutionary people. From that moment the Autocracy ceased to exist. Rodzianko, Guchkov, and the other "partisans of reform were still hoping to checkmate the forces of revolution."[1] They continued to send S.O.S. messages to the Tsar imploring him to submit to reforms before it was too late. It was already too late. The Autocracy was founded on the division between the army and the people, and on that alone. As soon as the hostility and distrust of the people, which the Autocracy had been instilling into the army for decades past, was broken down, the Autocracy had no place in Russia. The autocratic feudal régime, which was always preaching the "union sacrée" of Russia, could not survive 24 hours of the real union of the people.
Unfortunately, however, this marvellous union
- ↑ Mr. Wilton, "Russia's Agony." Page 129.
