November 1916

by Aleksandr Solzhenitsyn

  To those who lived through it the army’s retreat from Warsaw almost beyond the Niemen was a military disaster without parallel. Some of the details were in the press, the rest was supplied by hearsay. And whom could the press and rumor blame, if not an incompetent and possibly traitorous government?

  Meanwhile the Tsar was silent, lying low in Tsarskoye Selo as if the retreat had nothing to do with him and was happening on someone else’s territory.

  On whom else could hopes be placed, if not on the State Duma? The deputies assembled in Petersburg on their own initiative and demanded an extended session.

  Meanwhile, the Union of Zemstvos and the Union of Towns had also started putting pressure on the government. It was increasingly obvious to them that the long-term objective must be not so much Russian victory in the field, which would not necessarily advance the cause of freedom, as the occupation of political positions from which to bring about future constitutional changes. At their congress in June they called for the convocation of the Duma, warning the government in uncompromising terms:

  Those who know their jobs will be the country’s masters.

  The conviction that the government and the state apparatus as a whole did not know their jobs was assiduously propagated, and the Unions annexed more and more branches of the military supply system. While the regime, as though admitting the worst that was thought of it, surrendered without a murmur one field of activity after another—and this in a country at war—to self-appointed committees, making no attempt to bring them under single management. When the “social” organizations insisted that they were disinterested and had the talent, no one ventured to voice a doubt.

  It was then, in that hot June and July of 1915, that the government, spoiled by ten months of silent support from the Duma, suddenly found itself exposed, an object of general reproach and vilification. The approaches to Riga had now begun to appear in communiqués, and machinery had not yet been evacuated from the five hundred or so factories of threatened Riga and Libau (Kurlov, newly promoted, was the man in charge). With the temperature rising so fast the dismissal of a few detested ministers did nothing to mollify a wrathful public. On 24 July the Unions, without official authorization, convened an All-Russian conference to discuss price increases. This was like splashing water onto a red-hot frying pan. Members of the general public assembling, unbidden, to discuss the rising cost of living (workers too were invited): could they possibly have made it hotter for the government?

  Indeed, the helplessness, irresolution, and inactivity of the government were enough to make any detached observer despair, especially amidst the chaos left behind in front-line areas by the retreating army. It was impossible to concoct an explanation, and nobody offered one in public.

  We still hardly recognize how much great happenings in the history of nations depend on insignificant people and events. In March 1914, Russia’s Minister of War, the prattling court lackey Sukhomlinov (who was much more exercised by the antics of his beautiful young wife than by the defense of the empire), had suggested to the Emperor that he appoint as Chief of the General Staff a toady of his, the insidious professor of military administration and pseudo-soldier General Yanushkevich. As always, the Russian monarchy being what it was, extremely important appointments of this kind were decided lightheartedly, as a favor to a petitioner and without too much attention to the qualities needed in a particular post. The self-intoxicated nonentity Yanushkevich had more damage in store for Russia than three capital villains. There had been many sins of omission before, but in three months in office he failed not only to correct shortcomings but even to discover what needed correcting. Thus, July 1914 had found him without a plan for partial mobilization, and it was his advice and his performance above all that dragged the Tsar into general mobilization, leaving Russia no hope of avoiding a most ill-omened war. On that same fateful day, 29 July 1914, he had thrust under the nose of the Tsar (never an enthusiastic reader of dull papers and at that time exhausted by several days of crisis) a thick sheaf of “Rules for the Administration of the Army in the Field.” The Tsar had signed without looking closely.

  These regulations, very conveniently for the military and for Yanushkevich personally, since he expected to become Chief of Staff to the Supreme Commander, assigned full powers to the military not only in the theater of war but in all territories where the armed forces were deployed (Petersburg and even Archangel included!), leaving the Council of Ministers with no authority even in the capital itself, nor even the right to decide procedure for liaison with the Supreme Command, nor to take decisions for areas of deployment on matters of nationwide importance. The empire was divided into two detachable parts, one subordinate to GHQ, the other to the government. In this way, a single puffed-up nobody, free from all supervision, determined all that was done on the home front.

  True, the regulations were drawn up on the assumption that the Emperor himself would be Supreme Commander, and would keep the peace between the two parts of the empire. But when he did not take command you had to go a long way around to annul an order from the military: any petition to the Tsar would be passed to Grand Duke Nikolai Nikolaevich, and at his HQ all power rested with Yanushkevich, who had given the government its orders in the first place. The problem did not become acute until we had to retreat in depth. But with the beginning of the 1915 retreat this relationship became altogether hopeless. The military administrators rolled back ahead of their armies, and began taking charge deep inside the country. There was no way of knowing whose orders to carry out. Any depot commandant, any ensign could give orders, and there was no one to take responsibility. Evacuation, planned on an ambitious scale, was carried out in a particularly chaotic fashion. Some organizations were given the order to move just a few hours before a town was surrendered. Nearly all of them were directed to areas of resettlement without the prior consent of the provincial authorities concerned. Trainloads of officials with their impedimenta, and evacuated military hospitals, arrived unexpectedly in places where there was neither accommodation nor food for them.

  The government was losing control everywhere, but what further complicated and aggravated things was that it could not say so publicly, because that would weaken the position of the Supreme Power, the Emperor, and up to this point no complaint had been made to the Emperor in person. The ministers finally lost patience on 29 July, in the closed session that always followed the open one. (Yakhontov, the meticulous secretary, has left us substantial excerpts from the Council’s proceedings.) Once they were alone, Polivanov, the War Minister, made an abrupt and theatrical declaration:

  I consider it my duty as a citizen and as a servant of the crown to state that the fatherland is in danger.

  An apprehensive silence followed. No one had ever made such a sensational statement before the whole cabinet. (But a group of ministers which had held frequent meetings at Krivoshein’s villa on Aptekarsky Island, was forewarned of Polivanov’s intention.) The Minister of War was no military man, but during his month in office he had with difficulty learned something about the situation, not from the secretive GHQ but by indirect routes, and now hastened to report his findings. What might be the decisive phase of the war was approaching. The Germans had an inexhaustible supply of shells, and were forcing us to retreat with artillery fire alone, keeping their massive infantry in reserve, and suffering no great losses, while on our side casualties ran into the thousands. It was impossible to see how and with what we could check their offensive. Faith in our commanders had been undermined. Desertion and voluntary surrender were becoming more and more frequent. Men were injected into the front line unarmed, with orders to pick up the rifles of the dead.

  Polivanov: There is one circumstance fraught with grave consequences on which we can no longer remain silent: GHQ is in a state of growing confusion; it has no system, no plan of action, no bold maneuver in mind. At the same time, GHQ jealously preserves its prerogatives, and sees no need to consult those who should be its closest coll
aborators. The saddest thing of all is that the truth does not reach His Majesty. On the brink of the greatest events in Russian history the Russian Tsar ought to be hearing the opinion of all the responsible commanders and the whole Council of Ministers. The final hour is, perhaps, approaching, and heroic decisions are necessary. It is our duty to beseech His Majesty to convene at once an Extraordinary Council of War chaired by himself.

  The ministers, some of them warned in advance, agreed unanimously to appeal to the Tsar, pointing out:

  The populace are at a loss to understand the apparent indifference of the Tsar and his government to the catastrophe which has befallen our armies at the front.

  They were all in a state of high excitement, and the discussion grew confused. Ministers ought to be kept informed about what was going on, for heaven’s sake! And ought to be given a hearing! Even in the capital the food supply and labor relations were more a matter for the commander of the 6th Army than for them:

  Krivoshein: No country can continue to exist with two governments. GHQ should either take over everything and relieve the Council of Ministers of responsibility, or it should respect the interests of the civil administration. One feels acute unease for the future. The Germans are beating us at the front, and Russian ensigns are finishing the job at home.

  Prince Shcherbatov (Minister of the Interior): Provincial governors are inundating me with telegrams about the intolerable situation in which the military authorities place them. The least little protest is met with abuse and threats.

  Khvostov (Minister of Justice): Polish legions, Latvian battalions, and Armenian detachments are being established without authorization from the Council of Ministers. Later on they will be an embarrassment to our nationalities policy.

  Rukhlov (Minister of Communications): We all work just as hard for Russia and are no less concerned for the salvation of our native country than are the military gentlemen. It is intolerable: all our plans and calculations can be arbitrarily thwarted by the lowliest rear-echelon warrior. The government machine is falling to pieces, there is chaos and discontent everywhere. We, the ministers of the crown, are given guidelines and binding instructions by GHQ.

  At no time during the war had there been such a grim cabinet meeting. And all those present seem unanimously and unambiguously to have condemned GHQ. Except for the circumspect courtier Goremykin, who gave this warning:

  Gentlemen, we should approach the problem of GHQ with particular caution. Annoyance with the Grand Duke is coming to the boil at Tsarskoye Selo. The Empress Aleksandra Fyodorovna, as you know, was never well disposed toward Nikolai Nikolaevich, and protested when in the early days of the war he was called to the post of Supreme Commander. She now considers that he alone is to blame for our misfortunes at the front. The flames are rising higher, and it is dangerous to pour oil on them. A report on the proceedings of today’s Council of Ministers would be just that sort of fuel to the flame.

  He proposed an adjournment to give time for thought, and won over the ministers.

  A week went by, and not only was there no improvement but on 5 August Warsaw was surrendered. The whole country was stunned. Warsaw was not just another city, it was a capital city. Not so very long ago the best Siberian divisions, as yet untouched by war, had been paraded through its streets to show that we would never surrender Poland to the Germans, and enthusiastically cheered from sidewalks and windows, from balconies and roofs, by Polish men and women, who believed in Russia’s promise of autonomy. And now—Warsaw surrendered? Could it be?

  The secret session of the Council of Ministers on the following day was just as tense and jittery, the Duma had now been convened, and public indignation, whipped up by the press, was running higher all the time. In Krivoshein’s circle exasperation with Goremykin, as well as with others, was growing. And the sharpest criticisms of GHQ were aimed at Yanushkevich personally.

  Krivoshein: I can no longer remain silent, whatever the consequences for me personally may be! I cannot shout it aloud in the forum and at the crossroads, but I am bound to say it to you and to the Tsar.

  The ministers agreed to a man that the Grand Duke should be disburdened of Yanushkevich. A final twist was given:

  Sazonov (Minister of Foreign Affairs): It is horrifying that the Grand Duke is the prisoner of such persons. Thanks to self-infatuated nonentities of his kind we have disgraced ourselves in the eyes of the whole world. It is not His Majesty’s way to ignore public opinion. He is doing all he can to win it over.

  The conciliatory Goremykin, however, repeated his warning:

  My earnest advice is to be extremely cautious when speaking on matters concerning GHQ and the Grand Duke in the hearing of the Emperor. Annoyance with the Grand Duke at Tsarskoye Selo is assuming a character which threatens to have dangerous consequences.

  Whether they wanted to be at one with society, or were simply ignoring the Tsar’s irritation with him, the ministers directed more and more of their criticism away from the Grand Duke and against Yanushkevich alone. Besides, the great height and military bearing of the Grand Duke made him a favorite with the army and the public. He was more and more lavishly praised as a national hero, his stern treatment of generals and his love of the common soldier were becoming legendary, and his well-known hatred of the Germans made a great impression.

  (“Society” had disliked him before 1914, but his undisguised disapproval of the government had made him popular.) Now the dismay caused by the retreat, and the recriminations after each defeat, somehow left him unscathed.

  The Duma met on 1 August, the anniversary of the outbreak of war. In a dead, perfunctory voice Goremykin read out a declaration drafted by Krivoshein:

  The government can take the path of great exertions and great sacrifices only with your full agreement, gentlemen of the Duma.

  The Kadet leader’s well-honed reply was:

  The Duma is moving from the stage of patriotic fervor to that of patriotic alarm. The government arrogantly considers itself able to manage merely with the help of its antiquated bureaucratic machine …

  (If only it had the chance!)

  but the source of its errors lies in its abnormal relationship with the forces of society. The people wants to correct those errors itself and sees us as the first lawful agents of its will.

  As always, Russian liberalism spoke directly in the name of the people, expressing “the people’s” mind and feelings, on the assumption that there was no divide, no rift between “the people” and itself.

  Voices and passions quickly rose so high in the Duma that its excited eloquence had the government reeling, and especially its questions about chaos at the front—but not about GHQ. Nothing of that sort occurred to any of the speakers, and all this was addressed to the same old shabby, bumbling, tongue-tied government. Shcherbatov, Minister of the Interior, had to prevaricate, not daring to reveal that he was denied access not just to power but to knowledge of what was going on. And so, condemnatory speeches rained down on the government, and were disseminated throughout the country and abroad, inviting the whole world to believe that Russia’s ministers were hopelessly incompetent. The Duma was by now demanding that those responsible for the shortfall in supplies to the front should be investigated and brought to trial. (The Council of Ministers did in fact set up a commission to investigate Sukhomlinov, until recently one of its own.) But there was no one in sight with the authority to listen and decide whether or not to take action, instead of affecting deafness and paralysis like the government. Russians being what they are, it would have been better if the ministers had argued and gone on the offensive, met abuse with abuse, instead of cowering and dithering. It was nobody’s duty to know, and nobody could guess, their secret difficulties. Those speeches in the Duma alarmed all sections of the population and obviously affected its attitude toward the regime.

  No one perhaps was more inflamed with the spirit of rebellion than the industrialists, merchants, and bankers. They had held an Industrial Congress at th
e end of May, ostensibly to deal with practical matters but actually to castigate an ineffectual government. Konovalov reinforced Ryabushinsky’s hysterical speech with his own indignation. This was the beginning of the entrepreneurs’ drive to take the job of supplying the front out of the government’s hands and into their own. “War Industry Committees” began to spring up everywhere. They were not always successful in demarcating their territory or the scope of their activities, but they were all excitedly eager for action. This movement was taken over by Guchkov, who had always had an eye to the main chance, and had been hurt by the loss of his Octobrist Party and his leading role in educated society. He was elected chairman of the Central War Industry Committee on 7 August and obtained government ratification of its charter on 17 August. (His kinsman and well-wisher Krivoshein helped him in this, rapidly channeling the proposal through Goremykin, and denying other ministers and, for that matter, industrialists and businessmen time to acquaint themselves with it and give it some thought. What is more, the martial Polivanov was in league with him. Guchkov was, exceptionally, invited to a cabinet meeting, snapping back at them as if he was in a den of robbers, and allowed no changes of substance: his committee desired only to serve its country disinterestedly, therefore nothing in the text could be rejected.) The newspapers reported the feverish activity of the War Industry Committees, in their endeavor to save a country which the government was doing its best to ruin. There was general confusion: members of the committees had free access to the War Ministry departments responsible for contracts and procurement. Nothing was kept secret from them, and now that the award of contracts was entirely in their hands they could induce manufacturers to compete for their favors, and reward themselves for their patriotic mediation with a commission on military orders worth millions paid from the public purse—a pretty crazy situation for a country at war. The Central War Industry Committee now took on the guise of an additional government, more concerned with the course of the war than was the Council of Ministers.