After months of savage fighting, Russia wanted to make sure she would receive compensation for her sacrifices: she wanted, above all, Constantinople and the Straits, major objectives of her foreign policy since the eighteenth century. She was stimulated to demand this prize by the British action against the Turks in Gallipoli, which was designed to open a naval passage to Russia. Rather than welcoming this operation, which might free her of the blockade, and joining in it, as she had promised, Russia grew anxious about British designs on the area. On March 4, 1915 (NS), the Foreign Minister Sazonov dispatched a note to the French and British governments claiming for his country Constantinople and the Straits as a prize of war. The Allies reluctantly acceded to this demand from fear that Russia might sign a separate peace with Germany and limit her military operations to the Turks. A year later, in the secret Sykes-Picot Agreement between France and England, which provided for the division of the Ottoman Empire, Russia was allotted, in addition, generous territories in eastern and northeastern Anatolia.
Surveying the situation after three months of combat, the German High Command faced a bleak prospect. Schlieffen’s grand strategic design had failed: the Western Front had solidified, with neither side able to make significant advances. No quick victory was in sight here. Germany now confronted the prospect of a protracted two-front war, which her generals had worked so assiduously to avoid. Von Moltke the Younger, the chief of the General Staff at the outbreak of the war, concluded as early as the beginning of September 1914 that the war may well have been lost.53
The only remaining hope of victory lay in knocking Russia out of the war. Moltke expressed a view that gained ascendancy toward the end of 1914: that the decision had to be reached on the Eastern Front because the French would not sue for peace as long as the Russians held on, but would do so once their ally had gone down in defeat. “Our general military situation is now so critical,” he advised the Kaiser in January 1915, “that only a complete and full success in the east can save it.”54 An additional argument in favor of launching a major offensive in the east was to keep the demoralized Austrians from dropping out of the war and leaving Germany’s southeastern frontier exposed to Russian invasion. From these considerations, late in 1914, at the urging of Hindenburg and Ludendorff, but against the advice of Falkenhayn, the German High Command decided to launch early in the spring an all-out offensive against the Russians for the purpose of annihilating their forces and compelling them to sue for peace. German troops in the west were ordered to dig themselves in: thus began the static trench warfare that was to dominate operations there for the next three years. Concurrently, in utmost secrecy, the Germans began to transfer established and newly formed divisions to the east. By the time spring arrived they had assembled, south of Cracow, unbeknownst to the enemy, an Eleventh Army under General August von Mackensen, of ten infantry divisions and one division of cavalry. This army was reinforced in the months that followed, until by September 1915 over two-thirds of German combat divisions (sixty-five out of ninety) were deployed on the Eastern Front. In April, the Germans enjoyed a considerable advantage in manpower over the Russians and an overwhelming superiority in heavy artillery, forty German guns facing one Russian. The strategic plan called for a giant pincer movement: Mackensen, assisted by the Austrian Fourth Army, was to drive the Russians in a northeasterly direction, whereupon the German Twelfth Army would strike southeast from Pomerania. When the two met, they would have trapped up to four Russian armies, as well as cut off Warsaw.55
The Russians were in poor shape to meet this threat. Their troops were exhausted. They lacked heavy artillery and had only two rounds of ammunition left for each field gun. Rifles and shoes were in short supply. Unprepared for what was to come, their troops took shelter in shallow dugouts that offered little protection against German heavy guns.
The German offensive opened in complete surprise on April 15/28 with a withering artillery barrage of several days’ duration: it was the first saturation shelling of the war, which would be repeated the next year on an even greater scale at Verdun and the Somme. In the words of Bernard Pares, the Russian troops were “overwhelmed by metal” that blasted them out of their improvised trenches. When the guns fell silent, German infantry, with Austrian support, struck at the Russians and sent them reeling eastward. Then and throughout the 1915 campaign, the Russians continued to communicate in the clear using wireless, which, in Falkenhayn’s understated verdict, gave the war in the east a “much simpler character than in the west.”56 On June 9/22, the enemy recaptured Lemberg and approached Warsaw. There was no end to the tales of disaster pouring out of Poland and Galicia on the stunned Russian public, which had expected 1915 to bring decisive offensive operations on the part of the Allied armies.
25. Russian prisoners of war taken by the Germans in Poland: Spring 1915.
Still worse loomed ahead. Intelligence indicated that German forces in Pomerania and East Prussia were massing for an attack. Indeed, on June 30/July 12, the Twelfth German Army went into action, heading toward Mackensen’s advancing troops. A pincer movement was in the making: if allowed to close, the First, Second, and Fourth Russian armies would have been trapped. Although aware of this danger, Nikolai Nikolaevich and his staff hesitated. From the strategic point of view there was no alternative to evacuating central Poland. Politically, however, this was a most unpalatable and even dangerous course, given the effect it was bound to have on Russian opinion. In the end, strategic considerations prevailed. On July 9/22, the Russians began a general retreat, abandoning central Poland but escaping the trap that had been set for them. The fortresses in Poland, which had cost so much to construct and held a high proportion of the Russian heavy artillery, surrendered, some without putting up a fight. The Germans kept on pressing eastward, running into diminished resistance. They suspended offensive operations only at the end of September, by which time they had established a nearly straight north-south front running from the Gulf of Riga to the Romanian border. All of Poland as well as Lithuania and much of Latvia were in their possession. The Russian threat to the German homeland had been eliminated for the duration of the war.
To the Russians, 1915 brought unmitigated disaster, as painful politically and psychologically as militarily. They had lost rich lands that had been under their rule for a century or more, as well as Galicia, which they had conquered recently. Twenty-three million of the Tsar’s subjects—13 percent of the Empire’s population—came under enemy occupation. The defeats dealt a hard blow to the morale of Russian troops. Soldiers who had fought smartly against the Germans the preceding fall and winter now came to regard the enemy as invincible: the mere sight of a German helmet sowed panic in Russian ranks. The Germans, it was said, “could do anything.”57 One effect of this sense of hopeless inferiority that spread in the Russian armies in 1915 was a readiness to surrender. In 1915 the Germans and Austrians captured over one million Russians, whom they sent to work in the fields. Russian troops began to show signs of demoralization. To appease them, General Ianushkevich unsuccessfully urged the government to issue a pledge that after victory every war veteran would receive twenty-five acres of land. Officers were heard to grumble about the failure of France and Britain to help Russia with diversionary attacks as Russia had done for their benefit the year before.
The old Russian army was no more. By the fall of 1915, the frontline forces were reduced to one-third of what they had been at the start of hostilities, 870,000 men at most. Nearly all the cadres of the Russian army of 1914, including most of its field officers, were gone; so was a good part of the trained reserves. It was now necessary to induct reserves of the Second Levy and the National Militia, made up of older men, many of them without previous training.
And yet it can be argued that the splendid German victory of 1915 led to the German defeat of 1918. The 1915 offensive on the Eastern Front had had a double objective: to destroy the enemy’s armies in Poland and force Russia to make peace. It attained neither goal. The Russi
ans managed to extricate their forces from Poland and they did not sue for peace. The German High Command, summing up the lessons of the 1915 campaign, concluded that given the willingness of the Russians to sacrifice lives and territory without limit, they could not be decisively defeated.58 This conclusion led Germany to put out peace feelers to Petrograd.59 Second, the 1915 campaigns gave the British the breathing spell they needed to assemble a citizen army and place their industrial establishment on a war footing. When, in early 1916, the Germans resumed operations in the west, they found their opponents well prepared. For all its brilliant battlefield successes, therefore, the German campaign of 1915 must ultimately be classified as a strategic defeat, both because it failed to attain its military purpose and because it lost precious time. The debacle of 1915 may well have been Russia’s greatest, if unintended, contribution to Allied victory.
Civilians, however, rarely think in strategic terms. The Russian population knew only that its armies had suffered a humiliating defeat, one of the worst, if not the very worst, in their modern history. They were fed by the press an unremitting diet of disaster stories. From the moment the Germans launched their April offensive until they suspended operations half a year later, the country was in a state of mounting outrage. This at first found outlets in a quest for scapegoats; but as the extent of the debacle became known, clamor arose for a change in the country’s political leadership. By June 1915, the spirit of common purpose that had united the government and opposition in the early months of the war vanished, yielding to recriminations and hostility even more intense than the mood of 1904–5 when the Russians were reeling from Japanese blows.
Military historians have observed that in war demoralization and panic usually begin, not at the front, but in the rear, among civilians who are prone to exaggerate both defeats and victories.60 So it was in Russia. Measures were taken to evacuate Riga and Kiev, and the government discussed the possible evacuation of Petrograd itself.61 In May 1915, a Moscow mob carried out a vicious anti-German pogrom, demolishing stores and business firms bearing German names. Anyone overheard speaking German risked lynching.
The public clamored for heads. The prime target of popular wrath and the obvious scapegoat was Sukhomlinov, who was blamed for the shortages of weapons and ammunition with which the military explained their reverses. Recent historical studies indicate that he was not to blame for these shortages62 and that the lack of artillery shells had been blown out of proportion to cover up more deep-seated shortcomings of Russia’s military establishment.63 The Imperial couple were very fond of the War Minister, but demands for his dismissal became irresistible and on June 11 he was let go with a warm letter of thanks.64 He was imprisoned a year later on charges of treason and peculation. Freed in October 1916, he was rearrested by the Provisional Government and sentenced to lifelong hard labor. He managed to escape to Paris, where he died in 1926.65
The man who replaced him, General Alexis Polivanov, was cut from different cloth, a leading member of the Young Turks, who before the war had urged a more modern approach to warfare, with greater emphasis on military technology and the mobilization of domestic resources.66 Sukhomlinov, whose deputy he had been, had kept him at arm’s length, suspecting him of conspiring with Grand Duke Nikolai Nikolaevich and Guchkov against the Court and himself. Polivanov’s appointment suggested that the government had at last come to embrace the concept of a “nation in arms” and that Russia, like the other belligerent powers, was ready to proceed in earnest with the mobilization of the home front. But this prospect, of course, automatically incurred the enmity of the Empress, who could not bear Imperial officials “politicking” and viewed efforts to rally the nation as directed against the Crown. Rasputin also did not approve of him and busied himself looking for his successor.67 On June 24, after she had met the new minister, Alexandra wrote:
saw
Polivanov
yesterday—don’t honestly ever care for the man—something aggravating about the man, cant explain what—preferred
Sukhomlinov
tho’ this one is cleverer, but doubt whether as devoted.
68
26. General A. Polivanov.
To further appease public opinion, Nicholas let go of other unpopular ministers. In June, he dismissed Nicholas Maklakov, the Minister of the Interior, then Vladimir Sabler, the Procurator of the Holy Synod, and Ivan Shcheglovitov, the Minister of Justice, all of whom public opinion regarded as incorrigible reactionaries. Their replacements were, for the most part, more acceptable. In this manner, the Court, without yielding to demands that it turn over ministerial appointments to the Duma, appointed officials likely to find favor with it. To further placate the opposition, Rasputin was persuaded to retire to his village in Siberia, until relations with the Duma, scheduled to reconvene in July, had been “settled.”69
These measures failed to appease public opinion. Many Russians now concluded that their defeats were due not so much to personalities as to fundamental flaws in the “system.” This system, then, had to be thoroughly restructured if Russia were to survive.
Once World War I exceeded its expected duration and no quick decision seemed in sight, all the major belligerents took steps to mobilize the rear. Germany led the way, followed by Britain. A kind of symbiotic relationship developed between the public and private sectors to supply the military with all its needs. Something of the sort occurred in Russia as well, beginning in the summer of 1915, but here the relationship between the two sectors was hampered as nowhere else by mutual suspicion. As a consequence, the mobilization of the rear in Russia was only partially and imperfectly realized. This conceded, it must be emphasized that it is generally unappreciated to what extent the Imperial Government during the war allowed society a voice in the affairs of state and how much its concessions altered Russia’s political system.
By the early summer, the liberals and liberal-conservatives concluded that the bureaucracy was incompetent to manage the war effort. They wanted fundamentally to improve Russia’s military performance but, like the government, they never lost sight of the postwar consequences of wartime actions. The debacle of 1915 offered an opportunity to complete the 1905 Revolution, that is, to transform Russia into a genuine parliamentary democracy. The Duma opposition wanted the concessions wrung from the monarchy for the sake of victory to become so embedded in the country’s institutions that they would remain in place after victory had been won and peace restored. Its principal objective was to secure for the Duma the authority to appoint ministers, which would have the effect of subordinating to it the entire Russian bureaucracy.
The result was a tug-of-war. The government wanted society’s assistance, but it did not want to surrender to it the prerogatives it had managed to salvage from the 1905 Revolution, while the leaders of society wanted to take advantage of the war to realize the unfulfilled promise of that revolution. In the conflict that ensued, it was the government that showed the greater willingness to make concessions. It met with no response, however, each concession being interpreted as weakness and encouraging still greater demands.
The Duma sat in session until January 9, 1915, when it was prorogued, partly to forestall “inflammatory” criticism of the conduct of the war, partly to enable the government to legislate by means of Article 87. At the time, the Duma was told it would be promptly reconvened if the military situation required it. Such a situation had now arisen. Opposition leaders demanded a recall. The Empress opposed them and urged her husband to stand fast. “Deary,” she wrote him on June 25,
I heard that that horrid
Rodzianko &
others went to
Goremykin
to beg the
Duma
to be at once called together—oh please dont, its not their business, they want to discuss things not concerning them & bring more discontent—they must be kept away—I assure you only harm will arise—they speak too much.
Russia, thank God, is not a constitutional co
untry [!], tho’ those creatures try to play a part & meddle in affairs they dare not. Do not allow them to press upon you—its fright if one gives in & their heads will go up.
70
But the pressures became too strong to resist, and Nicholas authorized Michael Rodzianko, chairman of the Duma, to reconvene the legislature for a six-week session.71 It was to open on July 19, the first anniversary of the outbreak of the war according to the Russian calendar.
The month and a half that lay ahead gave Duma deputies an opportunity to caucus. The initiative for these informal meetings came from the small Progressive Party, representing the wealthy and liberal industrial bourgeoisie. Its leaders hoped to repeat the achievement of the Union of Liberation and forge a broad patriotic front of all the parties save those of the extreme right and left. The military reverses had now driven into the opposition conservative elements that in peacetime would never have joined a cabal against the Crown. Participating, in addition to the Progressives, were the Kadets, Left Octobrists, and Left Nationalists. Such was the origin of the Progressive Bloc, which would soon gain a majority in the Duma and in 1916 decisively influence the events leading up to the Revolution.*
The main theme running through these discussions, known to historians largely from the reports of police informers, was that in her tragic hour Russia required firm authority, but that such authority could no longer be provided by the discredited bureaucracy: it could only come from a popular mandate, as represented by the Duma. This principle agreed upon, the participants nevertheless had difficulty formulating a concrete program. The more radical wing, led by P. P. Riabushinskii, Russia’s leading entrepreneur and spokesman for the Moscow business community, wanted to force the issue and compel the government to capitulate. A more moderate group, led by the Kadet M. V. Chelnokov, the head of the Union of Cities, preferred some sort of compromise.72
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