Japhy
Banned
“Commissar Plenipotentiary to the Soviets of Russia for the Combined Entente Powers… and the United States of America.” Chicherin read the official papers slowly. Behind the gold-rimmed pince-nez lenses the Red Regimes’ chief diplomat’s eyes darted back and forth, scanning the rest of the official paper, the official seals and stamps at the bottom of which were threatening to cause a crease in the paper.
When he was finished he placed the parchment on his finely carved desk and walked around to face the first man to arrive as any sort of official ambassador in the revolutionary state. As he did so he crossed his arms, allowing for the cuffs of his shirt to come clear of the reeding suit he wore. Coming to stand directly between his guest and where he had previously stood, he slowly raised his arm to stroke his Van Dyke, an obvious tick of the contemplative mind.
“Your government and those who have agreed to endorse you with this unique power seem determined to mock the Revolution by giving you such a title, General.” He said at long last.
“No such mockery was intended Monsieur Chicherin.” The American officer responded in his high-pitched transatlantic voice. “The governments which have sent me simply hope to have offered some respect to the nature of the regime you have put in place.”
“And because Ambassadors would require recognition of course.”
“As you know from my papers Monsieur Chicherin, I am here to seek to establish more formal relations.”
Chicherin took a step back, and propped himself on the old czarist desk, his arms once more crossed.
“Yes, well General it will be quite problematic for us to do so. With your government and that of the British joining our enemies in the North and with your allied “Czecho-slovaks” now fighting hand in hand with our ‘Tory Loyalists’ in Siberia”
For the first time the General squinted behind his own Pince-Nez’. It was an interesting comparison to make. Though, he thought to himself, the Vendee Royalists might make a more apt one.
“The Marines and Armored Forces at Murmansk are present to help protect Russia, regardless of regime, and the investment in aid we had offered to the previous government.”
“To the White traitors who sought to protect czarism under a thin cloak of Bourgeois Democracy, you mean.” Offered the Foreign Minister with a cutting grin.
“To an ally in a struggle against a reactionary and violent regime which in three years of conflict cruelly pushed into nation and molested its occupied territories on a scale akin to what they did to the Belgians, if not worse. One which while at the negotiation table with you betrayed your Republic and launched its “Ten Day War” seized even more land, more cities, more people, and more farms from you.”
“The Kaiser may be a reactionary but is hardly the Czar. Even in Lincoln’s day you Americans knew how cruel he was.”
“‘When it comes to this I should prefer emigrating to some country where they make no pretence of loving liberty -- to Russia, for instance, where despotism can be taken pure, and without the base alloy of hypocrisy’” The General quoted from memory.
“Yes,” The Foreign Minister smiled. “When one is seeking to end despotism, some other Tyrant, soon to meet his demise hardly matters. I could say the same is true of several of the governments you are here to represent. Why on earth should we work with you?”
“We have much to offer. Our meditation in the conflicts you have with your ‘White’ Rebels, supplies, and training for your armies. Food for your people. Help recovering those territories which have been taken from you, and the removal of German forces from rightful Russian lands.”
“And there it is, there it is!” The Foreign Minister suddenly beamed. “Aid, more than you were ever able to offer the Czar or Kerensky when they fought with you, if this Government turns it back on the treaty we just secured!” Chicherin almost leap up from the front of his desk, propelling himself forward with a push from his arms.
The Commissar remained upright, and at something as close to attention as a man nearly sixty could present.
“The treaty at Brest-Litovsk hardly counts as a Peace.” He offered with a swipe of his hand, pushing the idea away. “Not with German forces in Finland, the Baltic and the Ukraine. And while you may view it as a historical inevitability that the Emperor in Berlin is doomed, if we lose this war, they’ll turn on you without a moment to spare.” He finally took a step forward, unable to stay in place.
“Look at what they did to you in ten days already. How long would it take them to get to Petrograd if they really went at it? How long to Moscow?” The General moved his arms rapidly, excitedly, as if standing still had been like winding up a spring inside of him, nearly to its limits. “What happens when they restore the Czar and make Denikin his chief Minister? What peace and bread will the Russian people have then? How will your ideology survive in an era of a Concert of Berlin?”
“You would have me believe the lords of Britain, the Revanchists of France and the same government that has imprisoned Debs would let us live in peace after a war?” The Soviet asked incredulously.
“Yes. You have my word to that. We don’t want another war when this is over. We want peace. The French Republics of 1848 and 1870 got it. We don’t want to repeat the madness of 1789. We can live in peace when this war is over. If they didn’t mean it they wouldn’t have sent me, just some polished up errand boy.”
The Russian Foreign Minister returned behind his desk, and once more picked up the official papers. “Lloyd George, Clemenceau, Orlando, and Wilson all agree to this?”
“As well as Borden, Botha, Hughes, Massey, Lloyd, de Broueville, de Matos, and Venizelos. I may find when the next diplomatic package arrives that I am representing President Brás of Brazil as well, possibly others.”
The Foreign Minister stared incredulously, possibly trying to assign one or two Prime Ministers to their respective countries for a moment, before offering a curt nod.
“Well I cannot say that you’re incorrect in your assessment of things with the Germans. We may face trouble yet. We may face it from your long list of governments as well, but I take it for the time at least, talks with you may hold off at least the creation of more fronts by them.”
“I must say though Monsieur Chicherin, I am here with a mission.”
“Of course, of course General. And I must of course speak with the rest of the Central Committee. But I feel I can say for now, that we will hear you out. Your credentials,” He held up the weighted page “are accepted by myself on behalf of the Soviet Russian Republic. My Secretary will work out a timetable with your son.”
The Commissar Plenipotentiary offered a polite grin, that in his fashion turned into a much wider show of his teeth that pinched his eyes.
“Bully.”
When he was finished he placed the parchment on his finely carved desk and walked around to face the first man to arrive as any sort of official ambassador in the revolutionary state. As he did so he crossed his arms, allowing for the cuffs of his shirt to come clear of the reeding suit he wore. Coming to stand directly between his guest and where he had previously stood, he slowly raised his arm to stroke his Van Dyke, an obvious tick of the contemplative mind.
“Your government and those who have agreed to endorse you with this unique power seem determined to mock the Revolution by giving you such a title, General.” He said at long last.
“No such mockery was intended Monsieur Chicherin.” The American officer responded in his high-pitched transatlantic voice. “The governments which have sent me simply hope to have offered some respect to the nature of the regime you have put in place.”
“And because Ambassadors would require recognition of course.”
“As you know from my papers Monsieur Chicherin, I am here to seek to establish more formal relations.”
Chicherin took a step back, and propped himself on the old czarist desk, his arms once more crossed.
“Yes, well General it will be quite problematic for us to do so. With your government and that of the British joining our enemies in the North and with your allied “Czecho-slovaks” now fighting hand in hand with our ‘Tory Loyalists’ in Siberia”
For the first time the General squinted behind his own Pince-Nez’. It was an interesting comparison to make. Though, he thought to himself, the Vendee Royalists might make a more apt one.
“The Marines and Armored Forces at Murmansk are present to help protect Russia, regardless of regime, and the investment in aid we had offered to the previous government.”
“To the White traitors who sought to protect czarism under a thin cloak of Bourgeois Democracy, you mean.” Offered the Foreign Minister with a cutting grin.
“To an ally in a struggle against a reactionary and violent regime which in three years of conflict cruelly pushed into nation and molested its occupied territories on a scale akin to what they did to the Belgians, if not worse. One which while at the negotiation table with you betrayed your Republic and launched its “Ten Day War” seized even more land, more cities, more people, and more farms from you.”
“The Kaiser may be a reactionary but is hardly the Czar. Even in Lincoln’s day you Americans knew how cruel he was.”
“‘When it comes to this I should prefer emigrating to some country where they make no pretence of loving liberty -- to Russia, for instance, where despotism can be taken pure, and without the base alloy of hypocrisy’” The General quoted from memory.
“Yes,” The Foreign Minister smiled. “When one is seeking to end despotism, some other Tyrant, soon to meet his demise hardly matters. I could say the same is true of several of the governments you are here to represent. Why on earth should we work with you?”
“We have much to offer. Our meditation in the conflicts you have with your ‘White’ Rebels, supplies, and training for your armies. Food for your people. Help recovering those territories which have been taken from you, and the removal of German forces from rightful Russian lands.”
“And there it is, there it is!” The Foreign Minister suddenly beamed. “Aid, more than you were ever able to offer the Czar or Kerensky when they fought with you, if this Government turns it back on the treaty we just secured!” Chicherin almost leap up from the front of his desk, propelling himself forward with a push from his arms.
The Commissar remained upright, and at something as close to attention as a man nearly sixty could present.
“The treaty at Brest-Litovsk hardly counts as a Peace.” He offered with a swipe of his hand, pushing the idea away. “Not with German forces in Finland, the Baltic and the Ukraine. And while you may view it as a historical inevitability that the Emperor in Berlin is doomed, if we lose this war, they’ll turn on you without a moment to spare.” He finally took a step forward, unable to stay in place.
“Look at what they did to you in ten days already. How long would it take them to get to Petrograd if they really went at it? How long to Moscow?” The General moved his arms rapidly, excitedly, as if standing still had been like winding up a spring inside of him, nearly to its limits. “What happens when they restore the Czar and make Denikin his chief Minister? What peace and bread will the Russian people have then? How will your ideology survive in an era of a Concert of Berlin?”
“You would have me believe the lords of Britain, the Revanchists of France and the same government that has imprisoned Debs would let us live in peace after a war?” The Soviet asked incredulously.
“Yes. You have my word to that. We don’t want another war when this is over. We want peace. The French Republics of 1848 and 1870 got it. We don’t want to repeat the madness of 1789. We can live in peace when this war is over. If they didn’t mean it they wouldn’t have sent me, just some polished up errand boy.”
The Russian Foreign Minister returned behind his desk, and once more picked up the official papers. “Lloyd George, Clemenceau, Orlando, and Wilson all agree to this?”
“As well as Borden, Botha, Hughes, Massey, Lloyd, de Broueville, de Matos, and Venizelos. I may find when the next diplomatic package arrives that I am representing President Brás of Brazil as well, possibly others.”
The Foreign Minister stared incredulously, possibly trying to assign one or two Prime Ministers to their respective countries for a moment, before offering a curt nod.
“Well I cannot say that you’re incorrect in your assessment of things with the Germans. We may face trouble yet. We may face it from your long list of governments as well, but I take it for the time at least, talks with you may hold off at least the creation of more fronts by them.”
“I must say though Monsieur Chicherin, I am here with a mission.”
“Of course, of course General. And I must of course speak with the rest of the Central Committee. But I feel I can say for now, that we will hear you out. Your credentials,” He held up the weighted page “are accepted by myself on behalf of the Soviet Russian Republic. My Secretary will work out a timetable with your son.”
The Commissar Plenipotentiary offered a polite grin, that in his fashion turned into a much wider show of his teeth that pinched his eyes.
“Bully.”
