The Russian Turmoil; Memoirs: Military, Social, and Political

by Anton Ivanovich Denikin

It is hardly necessary to prove that the enormous majority of the Commanding Officers were thoroughly loyal to the Monarchist idea and to the Czar himself. The subsequent behaviour of the higher Commanding Officers who had been Monarchists was due partly to motives of self-seeking, partly to pusillanimity and to the desire to conceal their real feelings in order to remain in power and to carry out their own plans. Cases in which a change of front was the result of the collapse of ideals, of a new outlook, or was prompted by motives of practical statesmanship, were rare. For example, it would have been childish to have believed General Brussilov when he asserted that from the days of his youth he had been “a Socialist and a Republican.” He was bred in the traditions of the Old Guards, was closely connected with circles of the Court, and permeated with their outlook. His habits, tastes, sympathies and surroundings were those of a barin.[1] No man can be a lifelong liar to himself and to others. The majority of the officers of the Regular Russian Army had Monarchist principles and were undoubtedly loyal. After the Japanese war, as a result of the first Revolution, the Officers’ Corps was, nevertheless, placed, for reasons which are not sufficiently clear, under the special supervision of the Police Department, and regimental Commanding Officers received from time to time “black lists.” The tragedy of it was that it was almost useless to argue against the verdict of “unreliability,” while, at the same time, it was forbidden to conduct one’s own investigation, even in secret. This system of spying introduced an unwholesome spirit into the army. Not content with this system, the War Minister, General Sukhomlinov, introduced his own branch of counter-spies, which was headed unofficially by Colonel Miassoyedov, who was afterwards shot as a German spy. At every military District Headquarters an organ was instituted, headed by an officer of the Gendarmerie dressed up in G.H.Q. uniform. Officially, he was supposed to deal with foreign espionage, but General Dukhonin (who was killed by the Bolsheviks), when Chief of the Intelligence Bureau of the Kiev G.H.Q. before the War, bitterly complained to me of the painful atmosphere created by this new organ, which was officially subordinate to the Quartermaster-General, but in reality looked on him with suspicion, and was spying not only upon the Staff, but upon its own chiefs.

Life itself seemed to induce the officers to utter some kind of protest against the existing order. Of all the classes that served the State, there had been for a long time no element so downtrodden and forlorn or so ill-provided for as the officers of the Regular Russian Army. They lived in abject poverty. Their rights and their self-esteem were constantly ignored by the Senior Officers. The utmost the rank and file could hope for as the crowning of their career was the rank of Colonel and an old age spent in sickness and semi-starvation. From the middle of the nineteenth century the Officers’ Corps had completely lost its character as a class and a caste. Since universal compulsory service was introduced and the nobility ceased to be prosperous the gates of military schools were opened wide to people of low extraction and to young men belonging to the lower strata of the people, but with a diploma from the civil schools. They formed a majority in the Army. Mobilisations, on the other hand, reinforced the Officers’ Corps by the infusion of a great many men of the liberal professions, who introduced new ideas and a new outlook. Finally, the tremendous losses suffered by the Regular Officers’ Corps compelled the High Command to relax to a certain extent the regulations concerning military training and education, and to introduce on a broad scale promotions from the ranks for deeds of valour, and to give rankers a short training in elementary schools to fit them to be temporary officers.

These circumstances, characteristic of all armies formed from the masses, undoubtedly reduced the fighting capacity of the Officers’ Corps, and brought about a certain change in its political outlook, bringing it nearer to that of the average Russian intellectual and to democracy. This the leaders of the Revolutionary democracy did not, or, to be more accurate, would not, understand in the first days of the Revolution. In the course of my narrative I will differentiate between the “Revolutionary Democracy”—an agglomeration of socialist parties—and the true Russian Democracy, to which the middle-class intelligencia and the Civil Service elements undoubtedly belong.

The spirit of the Regular Officers was, however, gradually changing. The Japanese War, which disclosed the grave shortcomings of the country and of the Army, the Duma and the Press, which had gained a certain liberty after 1905, played an important part in the political education of the officers. The mystic adoration of the Monarch began gradually to vanish. Among the junior generals and other officers there appeared men in increasing numbers capable of differentiating between the idea of the Monarchy and personalities, between the welfare of the country and the form of government. In officer circles opportunities occurred for criticism, analysis, and sometimes for severe condemnation.

It is to be wondered that in these circumstances our officers remained steadfast and stoutly resisted the extremist, destructive currents of political thought. The percentage of men who reached the depths and were unmasked by the authorities was insignificant. With regard to the throne, generally speaking, there was a tendency among the officers to separate the person of the Emperor from the miasma with which he was surrounded, from the political errors and misdeeds of the Government, which was leading the country steadily to ruin and the Army to defeat. They wanted to forgive the Emperor, and tried to make excuses for him.

In spite of the accepted view, the monarchical idea had no deep, mystic roots among the rank and file, and, of course, the semi-cultured masses entirely failed to realise the meaning of other forms of Government preached by Socialists of all shades of opinion. Owing to a certain innate Conservatism, to habits dating from time immemorial, and to the teaching of the Church, the existing régime was considered as something quite natural and inevitable. In the mind and in the heart of the soldier the idea of a monarch was, if I may so express it, “in a potential state,” rising sometimes to a point of high exaltation when the monarch was personally approached (at reviews, parades and casual meetings), and sometimes falling to indifference. At any rate, the Army was in a disposition sufficiently favourable to the idea of a monarchy and to the dynasty, and that disposition could have easily been maintained. But a sticky cobweb of licentiousness and crime was being woven at Petrograd and Czarskoe Selo. The truth, intermingled with falsehood, penetrated into the remotest corners of the country and into the Army, and evoked painful regrets and sometimes malicious rejoicings. The members of the House of Romanov did not preserve the “idea” which the orthodox monarchists wished to surround with a halo of greatness, nobility and reverence. I recall the impression of a sitting of the Duma which I happened to attend. For the first time, Gutchkov uttered a word of warning from the Tribune of the Duma about Rasputin.

“All is not well with our land.”

The House, which had been rather noisy, was silent, and every word, spoken in a low voice, was distinctly audible in remote corners. A mysterious cloud, pregnant with catastrophe, seemed to hang over the normal course of Russian history. I will not dwell on the corrupt influences prevailing in Ministerial dwellings and Imperial palaces to which the filthy and cynical impostor found access, who swayed ministers and rulers.

The Grand Duke Nicholas is supposed to have threatened to hang Rasputin should he venture to appear at G.H.Q. General Alexeiev also disapproved strongly of the man. That the influence of Rasputin did not spread to the old Army is due entirely to the attitude of the above-named generals. All sorts of stories about Rasputin’s influence was circulated at the front, and the Censor collected an enormous amount of material on the subject, even from soldiers’ letters from the front; but the gravest impression was produced by the word “TREASON” with reference to the Empress. In the Army, openly and everywhere, conversations were heard about the Empress’ persistent demands for a separate peace and of her treachery towards Lord Kitchener, of whose journey she was supposed to have informed the Germans. As I recall the past, and the impression produced in the Army by the rumour of the Empress’ treason, I consider that this circumstance had a very great influence upon the attitude of the Army towards the dynasty and the revolution. In the spring of 1917 I questioned General Alexeiev on this painful subject. His answer, reluctantly given, was vague. He said: “When the Empress’ papers were examined she was found to be in possession of a map indicating in detail the disposition of the troops along the entire front. Only two copies were prepared of this map, one for the Emperor and one for myself. I was very painfully impressed. God knows who may have made use of this map.”

History will undoubtedly throw light on the fateful influence exercised by the Empress Alexandra upon the Russian Government in the period preceding the Revolution. As regards the question of treason, this disastrous rumour has not been confirmed by a single fact, and was afterwards contradicted by the investigations of a Commission specially appointed by the Provisional Government, on which representatives of the Soviet of workmen and soldiers served.