Russia & The Struggle for Peace/Chapter 9
Part III: Disintegration of the
Russian Army
CHAPTER NINE
THE RUSSIAN SOLDIER
I HAVE now to deal with the most important but at the same time the most delicate problem of all. I have to try to explain how it came about that the Russian Army disintegrated.
The Russian soldier has been very much praised during the war. From the time of the reckless dash of the Russian Army into East Prussia in a true spirit of comradeship in order to save Paris, all hearts were open to the Russian soldier in the Entente countries. Thus, the Russian soldier became the hero of French and English men and women. But since the Revolution nobody has been more blamed and insulted in France and Great Britain than the Russian soldier. It is the Russian soldier who "will not fight," and has "sold Russia" and let down her Allies. It is the Russian soldier who has destroyed Russia's railways and plunged Russia into anarchy and chaos.
As a matter of fact, just as there was probably too much praise for the Russian soldier during the first three years of the war, so there has undoubtedly been too much blame in the past year. Instead of praising or blaming him, it is necessary to try to unveil the mystery of the Russian soldier, to try to understand what he was and how he lived, and what were the effects of the war upon him. One thing is certain: people in this country not only do not know anything about the Russian soldier—they have not the least idea of even a rough standard of comparison by which to judge him. Some people of course believe, in their simplicity, that all soldiers and all armies are more or less alike. They therefore imagine that the Russian soldier is similar to the British, French, or American soldier. Others, who happen to know that the principles of discipline and the organisation of the Russian army are taken from Germany, are too easily led to the conclusion that the Russian army is similar to the German army.
Both these notions are wrong, and it is doubtful which of the two is farther from the truth. The Russian soldier certainly has very little in common with the French, British or American soldier. And, while the organisation of the Russian army and the foundation of its disciplinary system are certainly modelled on the German system, the Russian army resembles the German army only in external form. The real inward elements of discipline and organisation in the two armies are distinct.
Take, first of all, the status of the army in the two countries. It is radically and absolutely different. In Germany the army has always been considered the most important national institution. The place of the army in Germany is similar to the position of the navy in English social life. The army in Germany, like the navy in England, has always been considered the foundation and guarantee of the State. Many great and living traditions have made "Unser Heer" the pride of the nation, and thus it is the highest pride of every German to be a part of the army.
It is true that a minority of thinking Germans, especially among the Socialists, have had an outspoken dislike of the army, or, at any rate, some suspicion of it and prejudice against it. But on the whole it is beyond doubt that the army in Germany is liked by the entire people, and admired and even worshipped. To be rejected from the army, to be unfit for military service, amounted to a popular disgrace, and a German would tell a lie rather than admit in public that he had been rejected from the army. It would, however, be a misunderstanding to suppose that the life of a German soldier (I mean in peace time) was a particularly pleasant one. Nothing of the sort. On the contrary, the German soldier's life was very hard indeed. It meant very hard labour for two years. But to be a soldier was to be on duty at the highest post in the State, and the ordinary German was ready and proud to undergo the hardships of soldiering.
It is indeed hard to find a greater contrast than that which exists between this German view of military service and the view which generally obtains in Russia. In Russia the army never was popular. The army was never worshipped, never loved, never admired. It was always considered as an evil. Some people were ready to admit that it was a necessary evil, but the broad masses of the people, who never understood nor cared to understand the "world politics" of the Empire, felt the greatest reluctance in admitting that this evil was a necessary one. The real feeling of the people towards the soldier and the army was one of fear. The army was alien to the people, almost hostile to it. There were no traditions which could make the army a national or a popular institution. The Napoleonic war was Russia's last defensive war and received the proud title "Otechestvennaia Voina," which means the war for the safety of the Fatherland. Since then for more than a century there were no more defensive wars in Russia. At any rate, there were no wars which were considered by the people as defensive wars and as deserving the proud name of a "fatherland war." Incidentally it is curious to note that an attempt was made to give the name of "Otechestvennaia Voina" to this war. Many newspapers used to publish the war news under the heading, "The Second Fatherland War." But there was no real response from the people, and after a short time it was evident that the attempt to glorify this war was a failure.
The army never was regarded by the Russian people as a safeguard or a guarantee of the State; it was always felt as an instrument of oppression. It was never felt nor thought of as a part of the nation. It was not of the people; it was over the people, it dominated them. Thus, to become a soldier was not only to be lost to the community—it was tantamount to going over to the enemy of the people.
In the early days of the modern Russian army, soldiers actually had to be forced into the army. It was like the forcible recruiting of subjugated peoples in a conquered land. And it is only natural that the people were opposed, body and soul, to these recruitings. But even to-day, when conscription has existed in Russia for over half a century, people look upon enlistment as a misfortune or a calamity—still more as a degradation. This is true of the conscripts themselves, as well as of their relations. It applies equally to the town population and to the peasants. And up to the very last day (I mean before the war) the calling-up period, or, as it is called in Russian, "nabor," the levy, was always a time of mourning, not to say of outrages and disorders. The authorities always used to encourage drunkenness at these periods, and the people were glad to treat the recruits, considering that drunkenness would make it easier for them to undergo the disgrace and the calamity of becoming soldiers.
And yet, objectively, a soldier's life might have been regarded by the Russian peasant as rather a pleasant and useful experience. In the army, the young recruit generally had his first impression of townsfolk and town life; and often he obtained a little smattering of knowledge, learning to read and write. On returning to his village a peasant soldier might play the rôle of an experienced "man about town." But, in fact, it was seldom that a "former soldier" came into prominence. His reputation as a soldier excluded him from the trust and esteem of his fellow-peasants. In spite of his experience, a "former soldier" was seldom entrusted with any office in the village commune. All the more frequently did he fill the ranks of the hated village police force (the so-called village guard or "strazhnik"). The police in the towns and the infamous political police or gendarmerie were former soldiers almost to a man.
The Russian workers, the students, and the whole of the intelligentsia hated the army consciously as the instrument of oppression and the tool of the autocracy. On their part, it was a frank and unsparing animosity, a glowing hatred. The broad masses of the people certainly could not share this animosity—and yet the fear of the army and the dislike of a soldier's life were even greater among simple people. It was the blind fear of a primitive man before a gigantic machine. The very mechanical nature of the army terrified the peasants. A soldier has no soul, no individuality. In the army there are no more Ivans, Peters, or Nicolas—there are only soldier parts of a machine which hems them in and crushes their individuality.
To be conscripted was almost the same as to be put into prison. The one and the other were God's punishment for one's sins. To be conscripted was to be lost not only bodily but even more mentally. So it was that women wept in the streets before a recruiting office almost as bitterly as at a funeral. In the National Museum at Petrograd there is exhibited a famous picture by Savitzky, representing the farewell to a recruit at the railway station. I fancy that during all these years of war there has never been at Victoria Station a scene even approximately suggesting that classical farewell to a Russian recruit in peace time.
I will not attempt to explain this dislike and fear of the army in Russia. I believe it to be an indication of the native pacificism of the Russian people: it may be something more complex. But I am concerned to point out the fact that the Russian army was never an object of popularity, affection or esteem to the Russian people. It was always only tolerated as an evil.
Let me make this clear by quoting a few popular proverbs and folk sayings:—
V rekruchinu—shto v mogilu.
Called up is buried.
Soldat domoi pishet, pominat' velit.
A soldier writes home, asking prayers for his soul.
Soldat otrezannyi lomot'.
A soldier is a slice of bread (i.e., lost, cut off).
Soldatu ni v raiu ni v adu miesta niet.
A soldier has no place in heaven or in hell.
There are many sayings referring to the very immoral life of a soldier. A soldier is always wild, pillages everything, steals whatever he can lay hands on, and never pays for what he takes. In fact in all respects he is a most ill-conditioned person.
Na to on i soldat, shtoby buianit'.
That's what he's a soldier for—for debauchery.
Soldat idiëtt selom i smotrit krugom.
A soldier goes through the village and looks round (what he can loot).
U soldata niet karmano'v, a vsio spriachetsia.
A soldier has no pockets, but he can put away anything.
Za soldatom pishi propalo.
If a soldier has taken it, then goodbye!
Soldat tol'ko na moroze da no ognie hrasneiet.
A soldier blushes only at frost or fire.
Soldat blizko, klaniaisia iemu nizko.
Bend low before an approaching soldier.
Soldat shto volk; shto popalo, to i rviot.
A soldier is like a wolf. He tears everything he meets.
Soldat shto bagor. Zatsepil potashchil.
A soldier is like a hook. What he fastens he takes away.
The word "Soldat"—soldier—is often used in contumely. "Soldafon" is a term of foul abuse. "Posoldatski," or "like a soldier" (which is a great compliment in this country), in Russia is an indication of something very low, rude, uneducated, and insulting. "Soldatiet," meaning to adopt soldier's manners, to behave like a soldier, is another term of contempt. Such were the feelings of the people towards the soldier, and such were their thoughts about a soldier's life. What about the feelings of the soldiers themselves?
"Vesioloic gore—soldatskaia zhizn" ("Gay sorrow, that is a soldier's life"): thus did the soldiers themselves map out their lives. There is another soldier's saying, which is difficult to translate, but which means the same: "Krasnaia nuzhda—soldatskaia sluzhba"—("the soldier's service is a feast of troubles and privations").
In effect, the life of a Russian soldier, though occasionally gay, even rakish and unbridled, was generally full of sorrow, anxiety and terror. This anxiety, this atmosphere of fear and frightfulness, was by no means accidental. It was the main factor in the discipline of the Russian Army. The method of Russian discipline was unmitigated frightfulness, and its aim was to reduce the soldier to absolute obedience. In order to be absolute, obedience must be automatic; and therefore the soldier must learn by way of frightfulness that no compromise is possible. Any order must be executed without delay or questioning—even the order to shoot one's own parents or sisters or brothers. In this country a soldier does his duty, and the better he understands his duty the better he is able to perform it. But the Russian soldier may not even know what duty means. Instead, he has to obey. His docility must be absolute and unswerving. He must not think, still less ask for any explanation. He simply must obey any order. He must not question nor consider, still less criticise the orders of his superior officers. There can be no such thing as a wrong order. "Nachalstvo," i.e., the "authority," is the highest embodiment of wisdom and virtue. Therefore the summit of wisdom and virtue in a soldier is to obey unhesitatingly the commands of the authority. "Nachalstvo," or authority, means every officer or non-commissioned officer; but in practice the lower the rank of an officer the greater was his power. The corporal, the sergeant, and above all, the sergeant-major—or to use his Russo-German name, the "Feldwebel"—he was the highest or rather the All-highest authority. The sergeant or feldwebel did not merely stand for wisdom and virtue; he was, as it were, God himself. The life of a soldier, his personal liberty, the degree of his hardship, the amount of his leisure or work—all this depended entirely on the goodwill of the sergeant or the feldwebel. There were indeed a multitude of rules and regulations, but rules were merely a dead letter, while the decision of the sergeant was omnipotent. Thus the favour of the sergeant had to be bought by bribes or by flattery. A soldier had to humble himself and to go through many humiliations.
The position and power of the sergeant and the feldwebel accounted for much, for their influence was not only heavy but evil. As a matter of fact the promotion of a soldier to the rank of corporal or sergeant always depended on his special devotedness to the reactionary aims of Russian discipline and the cult of authority. A certain amount of intelligence and skill was certainly needed, but cruelty of character was, to say the least of it, an equally necessary qualification. The feldwebel was a professional soldier, carefully selected and specially trained. He became the real terror and nightmare of the ordinary Russian soldier.
Even outside the barracks and in his leisure time, the soldier was never free or independent. He never escaped the vigilant eye of the nachalstvo. A soldier was certainly not a citizen; he was hardly even considered a human being. He was always a mere private. The peasants and the simple people used to call the soldiers "Seraia Bozhia skotinka," i.e., "God's poor little grey cattle," and this expression at any rate was not used in any contemptuous or offensive mood. On the contrary, a deep and sincere pity and love are expressed in this odd compliment. But it sufficiently conveys an idea of the status of a soldier and of his treatment under authority. His every step was under control, and might lead him into conflict—not only with the regulations—but with the opinion, mood or temper of the first officer or sergeant whom he might chance to meet.
The life of a Russian soldier was a virtual torture. This torture, as has been said, was the very aim of the system, and was intended to make the soldier into an absolutely obedient machine without a will or a soul of his own. But not only the soldiers—the officers themselves, especially in the lower ranks, were similarly dragooned. They had to obey unquestioningly, and to undergo as many humiliations. And the more they themselves were humiliated by their superiors, the more heavily they worked the soldiers, the more drastically they tortured them. Only the soldier had no one upon whom to revenge himself. He simply accumulated dull hatred and dissatisfaction and tried, if he got the chance, to forget himself in a debauch of drunkenness and sensuality.
It would take me too far afield if I were to begin to cite instances of Russian discipline and of its methods. I will merely give one example of the many humiliations an officer had to undergo; it will probably help the reader to realise how the whole system worked.
When a Russian officer, no matter of what rank, entered a restaurant or a café, he first had to look round the whole place to see if any other officer of higher rank were present. If he found one, he had to approach him, salute him and ask his permission to remain. Only after receiving permission might he sit down and order anything to eat or drink. In the meantime, all officers of lower rank than the newly-arrived officer had to stand up at the salute and wait until they were invited to sit down by the newcomer. Soldiers certainly were never supposed to go to a place which officers were likely to frequent. Again, in theatres, all officers had to stand up during the intervals facing the Imperial box—no matter whether one of the Imperial family were present or the box was empty. Only when the performance began again were they allowed to sit down in their places. Privates as a rule could not visit theatres at all. Only in rare cases could they get a permit, and then only for the gallery.
This so-called discipline was indeed very useful to the autocracy in peace time, because the authorities could always rely on the army. But war was another matter. Russian discipline not only did not train the soldiers for war, but actually destroyed in every soldier and in the army as a whole the instinct and the skill for war. The very obedience which was so great an asset in peace time, when the soldier had to fight against his own people during revolutionary risings—this blind obedience was a grave impediment in war. Certainly in war, too, the soldier's obedience is very necessary. But in war it must be based not on fear but on confidence in the skill and devotedness of the leaders. Blind obedience will not do in war. In war you have to rely on the soldier's ability—you must accustom him to think and to act, not only to obey.
Now fear inevitably creates hatred, and the Russian army was indeed permeated with active hatred. It is really difficult to say whether the officers and non-commissioned officers in the Russian army were more feared or more hated. In peace time fear was all-powerful, but in war hatred was likely to come to the top. In fact, this hatred, so effectively cultivated in the soldiers by the old régime, was only waiting for its opportunity.
That the soldiers would one day take their revenge was a fixed idea in Russia, not only among the general public, but among the officers and even among the soldiers themselves. The officers, as a matter of fact, were in perpetual fear lest at any time the soldiers should rise in revolt. Probably the method of frightfulness was to a large extent determined by this fear of the soldier's revenge. And this revenge was feared most especially in war time. It was believed that the soldiers could easily revenge themselves when on active service. The soldiers often intimated that during war the first shot would do justice to the most hated officer.
It was for this reason that a rapid and panic-stricken exchange of officers between the several regiments and companies preceded or accompanied a general mobilisation. At any rate, such was the practice during previous wars. I am not sure that such an exchange took place during the mobilisation for this war. It is quite likely that the popular enthusiasm for this war induced the officers to trust the men and to make an exception to the rule of exchanged commands this time. Possibly the soldiers themselves actually forgot their hatred of the officers at the beginning of this war. But the hatred was certainly only in abeyance, and ready to emerge and break forth again at a later stage.
There is one thing which at first sight seems to contradict the gloomy picture which I have presented. I refer to the splendid military history of Russia. The Russian army fought well and achieved great victories; the Russian soldier earned his name as a brave and gallant fighter. All this is quite true, but it does not contradict anything that I have said. For the great reputation of the Russian army was made during the wars of the middle of the 19th century, while the rigid discipline which was to make the Russian soldier an obedient instrument of the autocracy only came into prominence during the last 30 or 40 years. And in the two great wars which Russia waged during this period, she was twice defeated. It must also be added that the wars against Turkey had a national and religious stimulus. There was a real enthusiasm for these wars and a real understanding of their justice. To this day the Turk is considered by the Russian peasants and simple people as the enemy. I remember once in Odessa, many years ago, I happened to witness the sending off of the Russian detachments to China during the Boxer rising. A General made a speech to the soldiers and explained to them all about the Boxers and the necessity for the Russian Empire to fight the Chinese. At the close of his speech he asked, "Now, bratsy, whom are you going to beat?" "The Turks, your High Excellency," was the prompt reply. Such was and is the feeling of the Russian soldiers towards the Turks. And it is only natural that in these wars the national and religious stimulus overrode any other passions and impulses in the soldiers.
Such was the Russian soldier and such were the principles and forms of discipline in the Russian army. And it should have been clear enough, after the terrible experience of the Russo-Japanese war, that the Russian army was hardly fitted to stand the test of a prolonged war of moral endurance and tenacity.