On July 11th Kornilov, upon his appointment to the Chief Command of the South-Western Front, sent to the Provisional Government his well-known telegram, of which he forwarded a copy to the Supreme Commander-in-Chief. In that telegram, already quoted above, Kornilov demanded the reintroduction of capital punishment, and wrote: “... I declare that the country is on the verge of collapse and that, although I have not been consulted, I demand that the offensive be stopped on all Fronts in order that the Army may be saved, preserved and re-organised on the basis of strict discipline, and in order that the lives may not be sacrificed of a few heroes who are entitled to see better days.” In spite of the peculiar wording of this appeal, the idea of stopping the advance was immediately accepted by the Supreme Command, the more so that the operations had practically come to a standstill irrespective of orders as a result of the reluctance of the Russian Army to fight and to advance, as well as of the schemes of the German Headquarters.
Capital punishment and Revolutionary courts-martial were introduced at the front. Kornilov gave an order to shoot deserters and robbers and to expose their bodies with corresponding notices on the roads and in other prominent places. Special shock battalions were formed of cadets and volunteers to fight against desertion, plunder and violence. Kornilov forbade meetings at the Front and gave an order to stop them by the force of arms. These measures—which were introduced by Kornilov at his own risk and peril, his manly, straightforward utterances, and the firm tone in which, disregarding discipline, he began to address the Provisional Government, and last, but not least, his resolute action—considerably enhanced his authority with the wide circles of Liberal Democracy and with the officers. Even the Revolutionary Democracy within the Army, stunned and depressed as it was by the tragic turn of events, saw in Kornilov, for some time after the débâcle, the last resource and the only possible remedy in the desperate position. It may be stated that the date of July 8th, on which Kornilov took command of the South-Western Front and addressed his first demand to the Provisional Government, sealed his fate: in the eyes of many people he became a national hero and great hopes were centred upon him—he was expected to save the country.
During my stay at Minsk I was not very well informed of the unofficial tidings prevailing in military circles, yet I felt that the centre of moral influence had moved to Berditchev (Headquarters of the South-Western Front). Kerensky and Brussilov had somehow suddenly receded to the background. A new method of administration was put into practice: we received from Kornilov’s Headquarters copies of his “demands” or notices of some strong and striking decision he had adopted, and in a few days these were repeated from Petrograd or from the Stavka, but in the shape of an order or of a regulation.
The tragedy of July undoubtedly had a sobering effect upon the men. In the first place, they were ashamed because things had happened that were so shameful and so disgraceful that even the dormant conscience and the deadened spirit of the men could not find excuses for these happenings. Several months later, in November, after fleeing from the captivity of Bykhov, I spent several days under an assumed name and in civilian clothes among the soldiers who had flooded all the railways. They were discussing the past. I never heard a single man confessing openly or cynically his participation in the treachery of July. They all tried to explain away the matter and chiefly attributed it to somebody’s treason, especially, of course, the treason of the officers. None spoke of his own treachery. In the second place, the men were frightened. They felt that a kind of power, a kind of authority had arisen, and they were quietly waiting for developments. Lastly, operations had ended and nervous tension had been relieved—which caused a certain reaction, apathy and indifference. This was the second occasion (the first took place in March) on which, had the moment been immediately and properly taken advantage of—it might have been the turning point in the history of the Russian Revolution.
As the sounds were dying out of the last shots fired at the Front, the men who had been stunned by the disaster began to recover their senses. Kerensky was the first to return to sanity. The horror had passed away, the nerve-wrecking, maddening fear which had prompted the issue of the first stringent order. Kerensky’s will-power was dominated by his fear of the Soviet, of the danger of definitely losing all prestige with the Revolutionary Democracy by resentment against Kornilov for the resolute tone of the latter’s messages and by the shadow of the potential dictator. The drafts of military regulations by which it was intended to restore the power of the Commanding Officers and of the Army were drowned in red tape and in the turmoil of personal conflicts, suspicions and hatreds. The Revolutionary Democracy once again sternly opposed the new course, as it interpreted this course as an infringement upon the liberties and as a menace to its own existence. The same attitude was adopted by the Army Committees, whose powers were to be curtailed as a first step in the proposed changes. In these circles the new course was described as counter-revolutionary. The masses of the soldiery, on the other hand, soon appraised the new situation. They saw that stern words were mere words, that capital punishment was only a bogy, because there was no real force capable of mastering their arbitrariness. So fear vanished again. The hurricane did not clear the close and tense atmosphere. New clouds were overhanging and peals of a new deafening thunder were to be heard in the distance.
General Kornilov’s arrival at Petrograd.