Moscow, December 25, 1991

The third meeting took place on Novo-Ogarevo on November 25, an exceptionally mild, late autumn day with no sign yet of the first winter snows. A round table had been trucked to the dacha and the flags of the republics put in place for a solemn initialing ceremony. Again only seven republics turned up, and Ukraine was not among them. But Yeltsin still seemed agreeable to a union, albeit with a weakened center. He told Soviet television beforehand it could have defense, atomic energy, and railroads. Two familiar figures were there flanking Gorbachev. The Soviet president had brought back Alexander Yakovlev as his presidential adviser and Eduard Shevardnadze as foreign minister. Their presence was intended to signal that the old firm was back in business.

Before the media was brought in, Yeltsin dropped a bombshell. He announced he could not initial the treaty as the Russian parliament might not accept the wording. He again demanded that the formula “Union State” be replaced by “Union of States.” Stanislau Shushkevich, head of state of Belarus—known as Byelorussia before it voted for independence in September—said he too needed more time, another two weeks, for consideration.

Exasperated at this “perfidious move,” Gorbachev reacted angrily. “This little game of yours is not just a postponement; you are rejecting what we agreed on,” he fumed. Yeltsin retorted that in any event they should wait until after the Ukrainian referendum, which was only six days away. If Ukraine voted for independence, it would change everything.

To no avail Gorbachev argued the opposite: They must initial it now and give Ukraine no choice but to come in. He harangued them in peasant language. “We’re already drowning in shit,” he exclaimed. “If you reject the concept of a confederal state, you’ll be going on without me.” With that he gathered up his papers and, followed by his entourage, stalked out of the room, saying as he left, “A break!” In the Fireplace Room downstairs, Gorbachev collected himself. Ever resourceful and increasingly desperate, he came up with the idea that the presidents should make a collective appeal to the parliaments to approve the draft. He wrote a new version and sent it up to the conference room. Shortly afterwards Yeltsin and Shushkevich came downstairs. “Well, here we are,” snorted Yeltsin as they entered the room. “We have been delegated to kowtow before the tsar, the great khan.” Gorbachev replied in a conciliatory tone, “Fine, fine, Tsar Boris.”¹²

Nevertheless, it was clear, noted Grachev, that the signing of the treaty had moved off again like the ever-receding line of the horizon. The final document on which they agreed that day was more like an epitaph for the Union than the proclamation of a brave new world. Yeltsin’s prediction that Gorbachev’s role would be “like that of the queen of England’s” would be made true.

The presidents left Novo-Ogarevo late that night with vague talk about a signing on December 20. They would never return.

What Gorbachev did not know was that during the break, Yeltsin and Shushkevich had quietly discussed the stalemate and agreed they would meet in the Belarus capital, Minsk, after the Ukrainian referendum to talk about common economic problems. They would invite Ukrainian president Leonid Kravchuk to join them and spend the weekend in a secluded retreat, where they could perhaps talk about a different type of association.

Both would claim later that they had been negotiating with Gorbachev in good faith but that the Soviet president was insisting on conditions that they knew Ukraine would not accept and they had to think of something else.

Gorbachev knew differently. Someone had leaked to him a copy of Burbulis’s secret memorandum on Russia’s strategy. He was convinced that Yeltsin was laying a trap, stringing out talks until Ukraine voted for independence, and using that as the catalyst for the Union’s demise.

On Moscow television on November 30 Yeltsin said he could not imagine a union without Ukraine, but that Russia could not sign a union treaty if Ukraine didn’t. The die was cast.

The Soviet president could not bring himself to believe that Ukraine would vote for independence. Most Russians felt they and Ukrainians were politically and culturally of the same stock—Slavs descended from the once united Rus people. Classic Russian writers like Anton Chekhov and Mikhail Bulgakov placed their tales in Ukraine. Gogol and Shevchenko were born there. So too was Brezhnev. Gorbachev and his wife both had Ukrainian blood. They believed Ukraine was to Russia what Bavaria was to Germany. It had been part of greater Russia since the “Eternal Peace” between Russia and Poland three centuries earlier, when Kiev and the Cossack lands east of the Dnieper went over to Russian rule.