The following day, the crowds, emboldened by the lack of vigorous repressive measures, grew still more aggressive. The demonstrations on that day were evidently organized, for they assumed a pronounced political coloration. Red banners appeared, with revolutionary slogans, some of which read “Down with the German Woman!” By now, virtually all the industrial plants in the city were closed, and between 200,000 and 300,000 idled workers filled the streets. A crowd of students and workers gathered at Kazan Square, in the middle of Nevsky, shouting slogans and chanting the “Marseillaise.” Not far from there, at the shopping center known as Gostinyi Dvor, three civilians were killed. Elsewhere a grenade was thrown at gendarmes. A crowd separated a police officer from his men and beat him to death. Attacks on policemen occurred especially frequently in the Vyborg District, sections of which the radicals declared “liberated.”13
Alexandra recounted the day’s events as follows:
This is a
hooligan
movement, young people run & shout that there is no bread, simply to create excitement, along with workers who prevent others from working. If the weather were very cold they would probably all stay home. But all this will pass and become calm if only the Duma will behave itself.
14
The socialist intellectuals sensed a revolution in the making. On February 25, the Menshevik Duma deputies discussed convoking a “workers’ soviet.”15 And still it could be argued that the early disorders in Petrograd—and they had yet to occur in another city—were essentially a golodnyi bunt, a hunger riot, and that the political significance which the Menshevik and Mezhraiontsy intellectuals tried to give it reflected mainly their own aspirations. Such, at any rate, was the opinion of the leading Bolshevik in Petrograd, Alexander Shliapnikov. Told that a revolution was underway, he scoffed: “What revolution? Give the workers a pound of bread and the movement will peter out.”16
Whatever chance there was of containing the riots was destroyed by the arrival in the evening of February 25 of a telegram from Nicholas to Khabalov demanding that the disorders be suppressed by military force. To understand Nicholas’s action it must be borne in mind that neither he nor the generals in Mogilev realized the gravity of the situation in the capital because Protopopov had instructed the police to “soften” the reports sent to headquarters.17 The dispatches from Khabalov to Mogilev of February 25 and 26 depicted the turbulence as manageable.18 As a result, as late as February 26 no one in Mogilev knew how serious the situation really was.19
On the basis of such information as headquarters had at its disposal, it was not unreasonable to assume that a show of force would restore order. In his telegram, Nicholas wrote that at a time of war, with soldiers freezing in the trenches and about to risk their lives in the spring offensive, unrest in the rear could not be tolerated: “I order you to stop tomorrow the disorders in the capital, which are unacceptable at the difficult time of war with Germany and Austria.”20 Khabalov said later that he was dismayed by the Tsar’s instructions, which called for a military confrontation with the rioters21—something he had so far managed to avoid. Obeying orders, he posted two proclamations. One outlawed street gatherings and warned that the troops would fire at crowds. The other ordered striking workers to return to work by February 28: those who failed to obey would have their deferments canceled and be liable to immediate induction for front-line duty.22 Many of these posters were torn down the instant they went up.23 In one of three communications to her husband on February 25, Alexandra advised against shooting demonstrators. She expressed surprise that rationing was not introduced and that the factories had not been militarized: “This supply question is enough to drive one out of one’s mind.”24
31. Crowds on Znamenskii Square, Petrograd, the scene of the first violence of the February Revolution.
During the night of February 25–26, the authorities lost control of the workers’ quarters, especially in the Vyborg District, where mobs sacked and set fire to police stations.
On Sunday morning, February 26, Petrograd was occupied by military units in combat gear. A total curfew was imposed. The bridges over the Neva were raised. In the morning all was quiet, but at midday thousands of workers crossed the river into the center of the city, milling around and waiting for something to happen. That afternoon, in several districts troops fired at crowds. The bloodiest incident occurred at Znamenskii Square, in the center of which stood Trubetskoi’s famous equestrian statue of Alexander III, a favorite gathering place of political agitators. When the crowd refused to disperse, a company of the Volynskii Guard Regiment opened fire, killing forty and wounding as many.*
Resort to force produced the desired result: by nightfall the capital was calm. Nicholas Sukhanov, the author of the best eyewitness account of 1917 in Petrograd, thought that the government had succeeded in regaining control of the center of the city.25 That evening Princess Radziwill held her soiree, which had had Petrograd society talking for weeks. To the French Ambassador the sight of her brilliantly illuminated palace on Fontanka brought to mind similar scenes in the Paris of 1789.26
To remove the main source of political opposition, Nicholas ordered the Duma to adjourn until April. Golitsyn communicated this news to Rodzianko late at night on February 26.
As night fell, on the surface everything seemed in order. But then a succession of events occurred which to this day astonish with their suddenness and scope: a mutiny of the Petrograd garrison which in twenty-four hours transformed half the troops into rioters and by March 1 had the entire contingent of 160,000 uniformed men in open rebellion.
To understand this development, one must bear in mind the composition as well as living conditions of the Petrograd garrison. It consisted of freshly drafted recruits and superannuated reserves assigned to the reserve battalions of the Guard Regiments normally stationed in Petrograd but now away at the front. They were meant to stay in Petrograd for several weeks of basic training and then leave for the front. Organized into training units, they were heavily overmanned: some reserve companies had more than 1,000 soldiers, and there were battalions with 12,000–15,000 men; 160,000 soldiers were packed into barracks designed to hold 20,000.27 The reservists drawn from the National Militia, many in their thirties and early forties, felt unfairly inducted. In Petrograd, they were subjected to the usual indignities inflicted on Russian soldiers, such as being addressed by officers in the second-person singular and being forbidden to ride inside streetcars.28 Although dressed in uniform, they did not differ in any significant way from the workers and peasants crowding the streets of Petrograd, whom they were now ordered to shoot. Rodzianko, who observed them at close range, said one week after the events:
Unexpectedly for all, there erupted a soldier mutiny such as I have never seen. These, of course, were not soldiers but
muzhiki
taken directly from the plow who have found it useful now to make known their
muzhik
demands. In the crowd, all one could hear was “Land and Freedom,” “Down with the Dynasty,” “Down with the Romanovs,” “Down with the Officers.” In many units officers were beaten. This was joined by the workers and anarchy reached its apogee.
29
In view of the fact that the February Revolution is often depicted as a worker revolt, it is important to emphasize that it was, first and foremost, a mutiny of peasant soldiers whom, to save money, the authorities had billeted in overcrowded facilities in the Empire’s capital city—in the words of one eyewitness, like “kindling wood near a powder keg.”
The survival of the tsarist regime ultimately depended on the loyalty of the army since the usual forces of order—the police and the Cossacks—did not have the numbers to cope with thousands of rebels. In February 1917, these forces consisted of 3,500 policemen, armed with antiquated Japanese rifles, and Cossack detachments which, for an unaccountable reason, had been divested of nagaiki, their dreaded whips.30 Nicholas showed that he was aware of his dependence on the troops w
hen he assured the British Ambassador the army would save him. But the troops’ loyalty wavered when ordered to fire on unarmed crowds. The Russian army never liked being used against civilians; it liked this role less than ever now because its green recruits shared the grievances of the crowds. Observing the Cossacks and troops during these critical days, Sukhanov felt they were merely looking for a pretext to join the demonstrators.31 One of the very last reports filed by the Okhrana on February 26, just before it was shut down by the rioters, shared this assessment:
The movement broke out spontaneously, without preparation and exclusively on the basis of the supply crisis. Inasmuch as the military units did not hinder the crowd and in individual cases even took steps to paralyze the actions of the police, the masses gained confidence that they could act with impunity. Now, after two days of unimpeded movement on the streets, when revolutionary circles have raised the slogans “Down with the war” and “Down with the government,” the people have become convinced that the revolution has begun, that the masses are winning, that the authorities are powerless to suppress the movement by virtue of the fact that the military units are not on their side, that the decisive victory is near because the military either today or tomorrow will come out openly on the side of the revolutionary forces, that the movement which has begun will not subside but grow ceaselessly until ultimate victory and the overthrow of the government.
32
E. I. Martynov, a tsarist general who after October went over to the Bolsheviks, in his excellent account of the role of the army in the February Revolution commented critically on the passivity of the Imperial authorities in the face of fraternization of the Petrograd garrison with the rioters. He contrasted this behavior with the energetic measures of the French President, Adolphe Thiers, in March 1871. As soon as the troops were observed fraternizing with the Parisian mobs, Thiers ordered them to Versailles, from where they later counterattacked and recaptured the capital.33 Beliaev and Khabalov, by contrast, helplessly watched the rising storm.
The first break in the garrison’s discipline occurred in the afternoon of February 26 in reaction to the shooting on Znamenskii Square. Immediately after the event, a group of angry workers went to the Champs de Mars, where the Pavlovskii Regiment had its billets. They told the men of the 4th Company of the Reserve Battalion that their comrades in the Volynskii Regiment had fired on an unarmed crowd. Incensed, the Pavlovtsy broke into the company arsenal, removed thirty rifles, and took to the streets. One hundred strong, they marched toward Nevsky intending to persuade or compel the Volyntsy on Znamenskii Square to stop the shooting. En route, they ran into a detachment of mounted policemen, with whom they exchanged fire. The leader of the mutineers, a young lieutenant, received a disabling wound. The loss of the commander threw them into confusion. No support came from other garrison units. By nightfall, when the Pavlovtsy returned to their barracks, nineteen of their ringleaders were placed under guard.34 In cables sent to Mogilev that evening, Khabalov and Beliaev alluded to the mutiny of some units, but assured the Tsar they would be suppressed.35
If the February Revolution is to have a date when it began, that date has to be February 27/March 12, 1917, when “worker demonstrations turned into a soldier mutiny”36 and the tsarist authorities lost control of the capital. The most stupendous military revolt in recorded history, it started with the Pavlovskii Regiment. The regiment’s troops held meetings through the night to protest the Znamenskii Square massacre and finally voted to disobey further orders to fire at civilians. Messengers were sent to the Preobrazhenskii and Litovskii Guard Regiments, billeted nearby, which agreed to follow suit. The next morning the three regiments went into the streets. The Pavlovtsy killed one of their officers. Gendarme barracks were attacked and demolished. Pushing aside pro-government pickets, soldiers made their way to the Vyborg District, where they were joined by rebellious workers. The mutinous troops drove around the snow-covered streets in commandeered armored cars, waving their weapons and shouting. Anyone who stood in their way risked being lynched. Other soldiers broke into the Peter and Paul Fortress, releasing prisoners. A mob sacked the Ministry of the Interior. The red flag went over the Winter Palace. Policemen caught in uniform were beaten and killed. In the late afternoon, crowds stormed the Okhrana headquarters, scattering and burning files—Okhrana informers were observed to display particular zeal on this occasion. Arsenals were broken into and thousands of guns removed. There was widespread looting of shops, restaurants, and private residences.
32. Mutinous soldiers in Petrograd: February 1917.
By nighttime, Petrograd was in the hands of peasants in uniform. Of the 160,000-man garrison, half was in full mutiny, while the remainder adopted a “neutral” stance. Khabalov could count on a mere 1,000–2,000 loyal troops, mostly from the Izmailovskii Regiment.37 Only half a dozen public buildings scattered throughout Petrograd still remained in government hands.
The rapidity with which the mutiny spread through the Petrograd garrison on February 27 cannot be explained by specific grievances, although these clearly existed. The progress of the mutiny suggests that nothing could have been done to stop it. It was not really a military mutiny of the kind that broke out during the war in other armies, including the French and German, but a typical Russian bunt, with powerful anarchist overtones.* The rebellious soldiers were, for the major part, peasants born in the 1880s. They carried in their bones three hundred years of serfdom. They obeyed only as long as disobedience carried mandatory punishment: the instant they sensed that they could do what they wished with impunity, they ceased to obey. The chronology of the mutiny indicates that it originated with the Pavlovskii Regiment, which rose during the night of February 26–27 following the aborted rebellion of one company. Beliaev wanted the participants in this rebellion to be court-martialed and those found guilty to be executed, but Khabalov overruled him and ordered instead the arrest of the ringleaders.38 It was a fatal loss of nerve. Trotsky, who in such situations would act with unhesitating brutality, describes as follows the psychology of the Russian on the brink of military rebellion:
The critical hour of contact between the pushing crowd and the soldiers who bar their way has its critical minute. That is when the gray barrier has not yet given way, still holds together shoulder to shoulder, but already wavers, and the officer, gathering his last strength of will, gives the command: “Fire!” The cry of the crowd, the yell of terror and threat, drowns the command, but not wholly. The rifles waver. The crowd pushes. Then the officer points the barrel of his revolver at the most suspicious soldier. From the decisive moment now stands out the decisive second. The death of the boldest soldier, to whom the others have involuntarily looked for guidance, a shot into the crowd by a corporal from the dead man’s rifle, and the barrier closes, the guns go off of themselves, scattering the crowd into the alleys and backyards.
39
On February 26, the hand of Imperial authority wavered: once it refused to shoot “the most suspicious soldiers” discipline collapsed and the mutiny spread like fire.
Nicholas still had no idea of the gravity of the situation. He was, therefore, understandably annoyed in the evening of February 26 when shown a cable from Rodzianko, so much at odds with the reassuring messages sent by Khabalov and Beliaev:
Situation serious. In the capital anarchy. Government paralyzed. Transport of food and fuel completely disorganized. Public disaffection growing. On the streets chaotic shooting. Army units fire at each other. It is essential at once to entrust a person enjoying country’s confidence with the formation of new government. There should be no delay. All delay is death. I pray to God that in this hour responsibility not fall on the sovereign.
40
Nicholas chose to ignore this warning, convinced that Rodzianko spread alarm to extract political concessions for the Duma. The following morning another cable came from the Duma chairman: “Situation deteriorating. Imperative to take immediate steps for tomorrow will be late. The last hour has stru
ck, decisive as the fate of the Fatherland and dynasty.”41 Nicholas glanced at the message and turned to his aide, Count Fredericks, saying: “That fat fellow Rodzianko has again written me all kinds of nonsense which I shan’t even bother to answer.”42
But as the day went on Nicholas’s equanimity was severely tested, for Rodzianko’s alarmist assessments received confirmation from sources in which he had greater confidence. A cable came from Khabalov to the effect that he could not prevent unauthorized assemblies because the troops were in mutiny and refused to fire on crowds.43 There were several messages from the Empress, in one of which she tersely urged: “Concessions necessary.”44 Grand Duke Michael counseled the dismissal of the cabinet and its replacement by one responsible to the Duma under Prince G. Lvov. He offered himself as Regent.* Golitsyn informed the Tsar at 2 p.m. in the name of the cabinet that the raging mobs were out of control and that the cabinet wished to resign in favor of a Duma ministry, preferably chaired by either Lvov or Rodzianko. He further recommended the imposition of martial law and the appointment of a popular general, with combat experience, to take charge of the capital’s security.45 Nicholas requested Voeikov to contact the Minister of War, Beliaev, for an assessment. Beliaev confirmed that Petrograd had become unmanageable.46 The decisive communication came from Count Paul Benckendorff, the Grand Marshal of the Court, who inquired whether the Tsar wished his wife and children to join him. The children happened to be ill with measles, and since he did not want them to travel, Nicholas decided to return to Tsarskoe: he gave orders to have his train ready for departure that night (February 27–28).47
33. Petrograd crowds burning emblems of the Imperial regime: February 1917.
The Russian Revolution Page 45
