Boris Yeltsin appeared on the Russian state-run television networks on December 31, 1999, with an unexpected—by ordinary Russians, at least—announcement: “It is time for new faces,” said the man who is most responsible for creating the “new Russia.” “I am resigning,” croaked the dipsomaniac political boss, renowned for his mastery of elite political intrigues and hated by the “other Russia” of one-legged war veterans left without pensions, ancient crones begging in the streets, and patriots shamed by the humiliation of their country through the corruption of the president’s entourage, the “family.” Yeltsin offered a Clintonesque apology for any “mistakes” made during his eight-year reign; though his intentions were good, he was perhaps “naive ” to think that there would not be a few rocky patches on the road to the new Russia. In the West, Yeltsin’s departure was accompanied by cynical crowing about the “Father of Russian Democracy” and the “end of an era” (though the sighs of relief were audible as well). While Yeltsin’s resignation was certainly the end of something, just what came to an end will probably not become clear until after the early presidential elections scheduled for March 26.

Chronicles readers were the first in the West to learn of Yeltsin’s possible early retirement (see Cultural Revolutions, December 1999). The deal with a successor hinged on two things: first, an agreement to shield Yeltsin and his blood relations from post-term prosecution (acting President Vladimir Putin’s first official act was to sign an executive order granting Yeltsin immunity from prosecution and providing a comfortable post-Kremlin income for his relatives); and second, a political situation that would make the successor virtually unbeatable in earl) presidential elections (Chronicles readers are also aware of the Kremlin’s possible, even probable, involvement in provoking the splendid little war in the Caucasus, where the Russian army’s success thus far has rallied the population around ex-KGB operative Putin; the relative victory of pro-Kremlin forces in die December 19 parliamentary elections probably determined Putin’s future role). There may be, however, a third precondition, one that would allow Yeltsin to reign, though not necessarily rule, as the leader of a newly minted Russia-Belarus union. In effect, Yeltsin could become Russia’s Deng Xiaoping, hovering around the Kremlin, just off the political radar screen. It would be a characteristic move for a man whose whole adult life has been devoted to the ruthless pursuit of power, whose only real pastime has been a never-ending series of intrigues.

What a state Yeltsin leaves Russia in: Crime and official corruption are rampant; a demographic black hole is sucking the nation toward oblivion, with some observers claiming that the country’s population will be cut in half in just 50 years; the war in the Caucasus is raging and will likely haunt a debilitated Russia in the next century; the economy is in a shambles (though temporarily bolstered by higher oil prices); and the country’s moral corruption, exemplified by Yeltsin and the family, has become the stuff of legend.

Few claim that Yeltsin created this freak show single-handedly, but fewer would claim that he attempted to do anything about it: In fact, his own behavior encouraged decadence and degradation. The Russian people remember the drunkard who embarrassed the nation by pinching women during official functions, passing out in Ireland, drunkenly conducting an orchestra in Germany, and displaying cruelty to his opponents and callousness to the fate of his own people. “Let them eat cake” could well have been the signature line of Yeltsin’s de facto chief of staff, his daughter Tatyana Dyachenko, whose greed and stupidity are the source of many Yeltsin-era anecdotes. The end may not yet have come for Yeltsin and the “family,” but his “place in history” has already been assured. God help Russia.