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Originally published in 1923 - translated from the French by F. A. Holt, O.B.E.
Main Menu - Table of Contents
Volume 1:
I. JULY 20-23, 1914 | II. JULY 24-AUGUST 2, 1914 | III.AUGUST 3-17, 1914 | IV. AUGUST 18-SEPTEMBER 11, 1914 | V. SEPTEMBER 12-OCTOBER 28, 1914 | VI. OCTOBER 29-NOVEMBER 30, 1914 | VII. DECEMBER 1-31, 1914 | VIII. JANUARY 1-FEBRUARY 13, 1915 | IX. FEBRUARY 14-MARCH 31, 1915 | X. APRIL 1-JUNE 2, 1915
Volume 2:
I. JUNE 3-AUGUST 24, 1915 | II. AUGUST 25-SEPTEMBER 20, 1915 | III.SEPTEMBER 21-NOVEMBER 8, 1915 | IV. NOVEMBER 9-DECEMBER 31, 1915 | V. JANUARY 1-26, 1916 | VI. JANUARY 27-FEBRUARY 24, 1916 | VII. FEBRUARY 25-MARCH 22, 1916 | VIII. MARCH 23-MAY 3, 1916 | IX. MAY 4-JUNE 15, 1916 | X. JUNE 16-JULY 18, 1916 | XI. JULY 19-AUGUST 18, 1916
Volume 3
I. AUGUST 19-SEPTEMBER 18, 1916 | II. SEPTEMBER 19-OCTOBER 25, 1916 | III. OCTOBER 27-NOVEMBER 22, 1916 | IV. NOVEMBER 23-DECEMBER 24, 1916 | V. DECEMBER 25, 1916-JANUARY 8, 1917 | VI. JANUARY 9-28, 1917 | VII. JANUARY 29-FEBRUARY 21, 1917 | VIII. FEBRUARY 22-MARCH 11, 1917 | IX. MARCH 12-22, 1917 | X. MARCH 23-APRIL 6, 1917 | XI. APRIL 7-21, 1917 | XII. APRIL 22-MAY 6, 1917 | XIII. MAY 7-17, 1917
Volume I
CHAPTER X
APRIL 1-JUNE 2, 1915
Easter services. The Priory
of Malta; the Tsar Paul I's illusion. Russian churches and church
music. - The Grand Duke Sergius and the munitions crisis. - A
Pushkin joke; the proportion of German and Russian blood in the
family of the Romanovs. - The question of the Ukraine. - The
Russian armies begin their general offensive in the direction
of Silesia. The Okhta powder works blown up. - Rasputin causes
a scandal in Moscow. - The counter-offensive of the Germans and
Austro-Hungarians in Galicia. The Battle of the Dunajec. General
retreat of the Russians. Negotiations with Rumania. Italy declares
war on Austria-Hungary. - Rasputin's intrigues against the Grand
Duke Nicholas. A secret rival of the staretz : the youridivi
Mitia Koliaba. - Petrograd and Venice: the estuary of the Neva. - An
alarming prophecy.
Thursday, April 1, 1915.
It is Holy Thursday to-day. In accordance with the traditions
of the imperial court the ambassadors and ministers of the Catholic
powers have been invited in full uniform to the Church of the
Priory of Malta to be present at mass and take part in the Procession
of the Sepulchre.
The church, built on the plan of Latin basilicas and decorated
with Corinthian columns, is next to the superb building of the
Corps of Pages. On the façade is the following inscription
in Roman characters:
DIVO IOANNI BAPTISTAE PAULUS IMP.
HOSP. MAGISTER.
All the walls inside are covered with the Maltese Cross. On
the left of the choir under a purple canopy is the gilded throne
on which the Emperor Paul sat when presiding at the councils of
the Order.
Among all the fantastic and paradoxical improvisations which
marked the extraordinary reign of Paul I surely the most incomprehensible
is the manifesto of September 22, 1798, in which the Tsar Autocrat,
guardian of the Orthodox Church, announced that he took "under
his supreme direction" the independent Order of Saint John
of Jerusalem, deposed the Grand-Master of the Hospitallers, Ferdinand
of Hompesch, and transferred the capital of the brotherhood to
Saint Petersburg.
What was in his mind? Did he want to take Malta from the French
with a view to securing a naval base in the Mediterranean for
the Russian fleet? But England would never have allowed that at
any price. Had he something even more ambitious in view - the
reunion of the Greek and Latin Churches? But Pope Pius VI protested
with all his might against the deposition of Hompesch. Was he
simply indulging in a vague dream of the renaissance of mysticism
and chivalry? All his wild schemes are puzzles. We shall never
be able to see daylight in the incoherent imaginings of the grotesque
and crazy autocrat.
Friday, April 2, 1915.
I returned to the Priory of Malta this morning to be present
at the great ceremony of the Mass of the Presanctified.
In the mood bred by the ever-present fact of the war the service
for to-day is most poignantly expressive. The priests in black,
the bare altar, the absence of lights, the cross covered with
a dark cloth - in memory of the great sacrifice accomplished on
Calvary - the sublime story of the Passion as told by Saint John,
and last, but not least, the solemn prayer in which no form of
human suffering is forgotten, - what an unforgettable accompaniment
all this is to the tragic visions of the present hour! My heart
was full as I thought of the thousands of Frenchmen who have died
to save France and of all the thousands more who will have to
give their lives to bring her victory.
This year Easter Day is the same in both the Catholic and Russian
calendars, and so since yesterday all the churches of Petrograd
have been decking themselves in the full glory of their Asiatic
and Byzantine splendour. When one enters at nightfall the contrast
with the wan and misty street is so striking that one seems to
be entering a fiery furnace or a conflagration of jewels, purple
and gold.
After taking tea with Madame P - - I accompanied her to Saint
Isaac, then to Our Lady of Kazan, and finally to the Cathedral
of the Transfiguration.
In these three churches the singing is of extraordinary beauty.
I know no country except Russia where church music attains such
heights of mystery and majesty by vocal polyphony alone. The choir,
about a hundred in number, is placed near the ikonostasis. At
the back are the basses, then the baritones. In front are two
rows of boys, contraltos and sopranos, whose childish and composed
faces always bring to mind Luca della Robbia's charming work.
The perfect execution reveals not only a remarkable technical
training but still more a natural musical gift of a high order.
However cunningly interwoven the parts, however delicate the modulations
and complex the harmonies, the choristers keep faultless time
and tune without the help of any sort of accompaniment. I could
stay for hours listening to these anthems, responses, chants,
psalms, and free passages. Many of the pieces I have heard to-day
go back to the primitive origins of the eastern liturgy, but several
others - and not the least fine of them - are quite modern, being
the work of Bortniansky (who died in 1825 and is known as the
"Russian Palestrina"), Glinka, Sokolov, Bakhmetiev,
Rimsky-Korsakov, Tschaikovsky, Archangelsky, and Gretchaninov.
What is so particularly splendid in these works is the deep religious
feeling; their appeal is to the mysterious recesses of the soul,
and they touch the most secret places of the heart. They express
and develop with rare feeling all the lyrical elements enshrined
in Christian doctrine. They are successively transports of prayer,
sighs of despair, appeals for mercy, cries of distress, screams
of fear, the anguished voice of repentance, the fervour of regret,
the grief of self-abasement, flickers of hope, outpourings of
love, transport of holy ecstasy, the splendours of glory and bliss.
At times the tragic effects attained a most extraordinary and
overwhelming intensity by the sudden intervention of two or three
basses whose exceptional registers descended nearly an octave
below the normal. At the other end the boys have crystal clear
voices which rise so high and with such sweetness and purity that
they seem to become sheer spirit, superhuman and seraphic. The
heavenly songs which Fra Angelico heard within when he painted
his angelic choirs could not have been more ethereal.
In all three churches there were huge crowds. Every class was
represented, but the majority consisted of people in humble circumstances
and poor peasants. The latter were much the most interesting to
watch. In the first place, however miserable their lot, not one
of them failed as he entered the church to take a few kopecks
from his pocket to buy a candle to place before an ikon. Then
they began their supplications in the Russian fashion; that is,
they crossed themselves repeatedly, heaved deep sighs, knelt continually
and prostrated themselves to the ground. Most of them were lean,
haggard, and reduced to a skeleton by the Lenten fast. Their faces
usually reflected a simple, docile, and contemplative faith. In
many cases there was a curiously unchanging expression of vague
and melancholy reverie. Every now and then one of them would wipe
a tear from a bony cheek with the back of his hand. But the most
striking feature of the whole crowd was the intent way in which
they followed the service. Their heads swayed and their bodies
oscillated in time with the cadence of the rhythms and the melodic
patterns of the music. It was as if that music was a magnetic
fluid coursing through their veins.
Saturday, April 3, 1915.
An official communiqué announces in very guarded terms
the conviction and hanging of Lieutenant-Colonel Miassoyedov,
"found guilty of relations with the agents of an enemy Power."
The note adds that the judicial authorities are engaged in "clearing
up all questions of complicity in the affair."
This last expression is rousing public curiosity which has
long been highly excitable, distrustful of the authorities and
prone to see treason everywhere.
Sunday, April 4, 1915.
This evening I have had a long talk with the Grand Duke Sergius
Michailovitch whom I questioned very closely about the activities
of the munition factories.
The Grand Duke Sergius is Inspector-General of Artillery, and
brings to his duties rare qualities of efficiency, method, and
a genius for command. He thoroughly understands all technical
problems, works fourteen hours a day, and is quite ruthless towards
neglect and incompetence. But all his efforts fail before the
spirit of routine, indifference and dishonesty of the public services.
Down-hearted and sick to death of the whole business he remarked
yesterday to one of my officers for whom he has a particularly
high regard: "French industry has reached an output of 100,000
rounds a day. We produce barely 20,000 here. What a scandal! When
I think that this exhibition of impotence is all that our autocratic
system has to show it makes me want to be a Republican!"
The lack of ammunition means that the role of the artillery
in battle is necessarily insignificant. The whole burden of the
fighting falls on the infantry, and the result is a ghastly expenditure
of human life. A day or two ago one of the Grand Duke Sergius's
collaborators, Colonel Engelhardt, said to Major Wehrlin, my second
military attaché: "We're paying for the crimes of
our administration with the blood of our men."
The day before yesterday a band of Bulgarian comitadji about
2,000 in number, crossed into Serbian territory at Valandovo and
tried to destroy the station at Strumitza, near the Vardar. The
attack was carried out in accordance with tactical rules and machine
guns were used; it is alleged that Bulgarian officers were present.
As a portent the incident is serious. If the Tsar Ferdinand
wanted to rouse the bellicose instincts of his people he would
certainly begin by waving the Macedonian cag in their faces.
Monday, April 5, 1915.
For years to come historians will go on arguing as to whether
the Emperor Paul I was really the son of Peter III or whether
he owed his birth to the brilliant officer who headed the interminable
list of his mother's lovers, Sergius Soltykov.
If the latter is true the successors of Catherine the Great
cannot be the true heirs of the Romanovs. But whatever may be
the solution of this conjugal puzzle, a problem remains. Does
the Tsar Nicholas II trace his descent from the same family as
his people? Is he of the same race? In a word, what proportion
of Russian blood has he in his veins?
A very minute proportion.
This is his descent:
1. The Tsar Alexis Michailovitch (1629-1676) marries Nathalie
Narischkin (1655-1694);
2. Their son Peter the Great (1672-1725) marries the Livonian,
Catherine Skavronsky (1682-1727);
3. Their daughter Anna Petrovna (1708-1728) marries Charles
Frederick, Duke of Holstein-Gottorp (1700-1739);
4. Their son Peter III (1728-1762) marries Catherine Princess
of Anhalt-Zerbst (1729-1796);
5. Their son Paul I (1754-1801) marries Marie Feodorovna,
Princess of Würtemberg (1759-1828);
6. Their son Nicholas I (1796-1855) succeeding his brother,
Alexander I (1777- 1825), marries Alexandra Feodorovna, Princess
of Prussia (1798-1860);
7. Their son Alexander II (1818-1881) marries Marie Alexandrovna,
Princess of Hesse Darmstadt (1824-1880);
8. Their son Alexander III (1848-1894) marries Marie Feodorovna,
Princess of Denmark (1847-....);
9. Their son Nicholas II (1868- ..) marries Alexandra Feodorovna,
Princess of Hesse Darmstadt (1872- ...);
10. Their son Alexis (1904-....) is the present Tsarevitch.
When Peter III was born the heirs of the Romanovs thus had
only one-fourth Russian blood in their veins to three-fourths
German.
At each successive stage the national element loses one-half
of its coefficient, so that the proportion of Russian blood is
reduced to 1/16 in Nicholas I, 1/32 in Alexander II, 1/64 in Alexander
III, 1/128 in Nicholas II, and only 1/256 in the Tsarevitch Alexis.
The poet Pushkin was fond of poking fun at the Teutonism of
the modern Romanovs. To illustrate his sarcasms he one evening
sent for several glasses, a bottle of red wine, and a decanter
of water. He set out the glasses in a row and filled the first
with wine up to the brim: "That glass," he said, "
is our glorious Peter the Great: it is pure Russian blood in all
its vigour. just look at the crimson glow!
In the second glass he mixed wine and water in equal quantities.
In the third he put one part wine and three parts water, and continued
thus mixing each fresh glass in accordance with the same inverse
progression.
At the sixth glass, which represented the Tsarevitch, the future
Alexander III, the proportion of wine had already become so small
(1/32) that the liquid. was hardly tinged with it.
1 have continued Pushkin's experiment down to the present Tsarevitch.
The disproportion between the two liquids is so enormous (1/256)
that the very presence of the wine is no longer perceptible.
Tuesday, April 6, 1915.
For the last few days the Russian army has been carrying out
a series of attacks in the western Carpathians. In spite of the
difficult terrain it already holds the principal crests
on a front of 100 kilometres. But the enemy is still resisting
at the Uszok Pass which is the key to the whole region.
These attacks are the prelude to the general offensive of which
the Emperor spoke to me three weeks ago.
Simultaneously an enormous concentration of troops is taking
place throughout Galicia, particularly in the region of Tarnov
and the Dunajec.
Thursday, April 8, 1915.
Sazonov is in possession of a number of secret documents, deciphered
telegrams, and intercepted letters from which it plainly appears
that the recent incursion of Bulgarian comitadji into Serbian
Macedonia was arranged between Vienna and Serbia. He fears that
before long there will be fresh attacks which will involve irreparable
consequences - as Austria calculates. He is therefore inviting
the French and English Governments to join with him in sending
a strongly-worded remonstrance to the Bulgarian Government:
"I don't expect," he said to me, "to effect
any great change in Minister Radoslavoff's feelings towards us;
but the Bulgarian people should know where he is leading them."
Friday, April 9, 1915.
The result of the enquiry on which my Military Attaché
has been engaged shows that the situation as regards ammunition
supply of the Russian army is as follows:
At the moment the daily output of gun ammunition varies from
15,000 to 18,000 rounds.
If the orders placed abroad are carried out to contract time
the Russian artillery will have:
28,000 rounds per day by the end of May;
42,000 rounds per day by the end of July;
58,000 rounds per day by the end of September.
That being so, how can the Emperor think of launching a general
offensive in the direction of Silesia next month?
Saturday, April 10, 1915.
The venerable Goremykin, President of the Council, gave me
an unexpected call this afternoon "for an informal chat."
We spoke of the general situation which he described as "excellent,"
but I know that his official optimism covers mental reservations
and sceptical reflections.
In discussing Constantinople I thought it as well to remind
him that the destruction of Teutonic power must still be the principal
and essential object of our joint efforts:
"I know the Emperor's views on this point," I said,
"so I am sure of yours. But do the Russian people sufficiently
realize it?"
He replied with greater vigour than I expected from this disillusioned
Nestor:
"The Russian people hate the Germans: they hate them in
their very bones. You need have no fear that Constantinople will
turn their thoughts from Berlin!"
Then I asked him about a matter which has been on my mind for
some time, the question of the Ukraine. He broke in:
"There is no Ukrainian question!"
"But there's no doubt that Austria is making great efforts
to create a national movement among the Ukrainians. Surely you
know that there's a society for the Liberation of the Ukraine
in Vienna? It publishes pamphlets and maps in Switzerland. I get
them and they certainly reveal very intense propagandist activity."
"We know all about this society. It's a low haunt of police
spies. It first appealed to our peasants in the Ukraine who didn't
even understand what was being said to them. Feeling that there
was nothing doing in that quarter it tried the workpeople in our
sugar refineries in the region of Kiev and Berditchev. It occasionally
sends them socialist tracts which we seize regularly from Jew
hawkers. You can see there's nothing in it."
"But even if there's no Ukrainian question, or perhaps
I should say no separatist movement in the Ukraine, you won't
deny that there's a very strong particularist spirit in Little
Russia."
"Oh, yes! The Little Russians have a very original individual
character. Their ideas, literature, and songs have a very pronounced
flavour of the soil. But that only shows itself in the intellectual
sphere. From the national point of view the Ukrainians are as
Russian as the purest Muscovites. And from the economic point
of view the Ukraine is necessarily tied to Russia."
Sunday, April 11, 1915.
Through his secret agencies Sazonov has received another series
of documents showing that the Tsar Ferdinand and the Court of
Vienna have come to terms during the last few days. He was greatly
excited and shaking with indignation as he said to me:
"Teutonic influences are decidedly getting the upper hand
at Sophia. I've got proof of it now. I must expect anything of
the infamous Ferdinand. Austria has him in her pocket. I must
therefore insist on the ministers of the three Powers presenting
the Bulgarian Government with the protest I suggested to you three
days ago. If your Government and the British Government do not
agree to this step Russia will be compelled to act alone. If the
protest is not enough I shall ask the Emperor to recall Savinsky
and perhaps order the occupation of Bourgas."
I immediately telegraphed all this to Delcassé, but
knowing that he cherishes all sorts of illusions about the attitude
of Bulgaria towards us I thought I had better add: "My memories
of my long dealings with the Tsar Ferdinand and all that I know
of his perfidy and cowardice, not to mention the convincing documents
in the possession of the Russian Government, make me share Monsieur
Sazonov's opinion in its entirety."
Monday, April 12, 1915.
This evening I had my second military attaché, Major
Wehrlin, and two French officers attached to the expert munition
mission to dinner with me. As we were going in there was a terrific
explosion which shook all the windows of the room and made the
chandeliers quiver. At the same time a huge cloud of purple smoke
rose across the Neva, east of Petrograd.
"The Okhta powder factory's been blown up!" my officers
cried with one voice.
A few less violent explosions followed. The flames of the conflagration
illuminated the horizon. There could be no doubt; the great Okhta
works - the most important of the factories for the manufacture
of explosives, cartridges, propellants, fuses, and grenades from
which the Russian army is supplied - has been destroyed.
My officers stared at each other in consternation: "An
absolute disaster!"
We spent the whole of dinner in calculating the consequences
of the catastrophe and considering means of repairing them.
After coffee I took my three officers in my car towards Okhta.
We reached the suburb where, the disaster had taken place via
Alexander Bridge and the Viborg quarter.
People were running about wildly. There were dead and wounded
and burning houses everywhere. I saw the Prefect of Police in
a square; he enabled us to approach the fantastic brazier in which
the buildings of the factory, occupying an immense area, were
crumbling to ruin in a whirlwind of flame. While my officers went
round picking up information I contemplated the dreadful beauty
of the spectacle before my eyes, a spectacle which was the fulfilment
of one of the most tragic visions of Dante's Hell; I seemed to
see the City of Dis, the infernal Babylon, with its fiery
dome's white-hot ramparts.
When my officers returned their reports all agreed: the works
have been entirely destroyed.
The cause of the catastrophe is not yet known. But the first
theory that comes to mind is certainly the activities of German
agents.
Tuesday, April 13, 1915.
The Okhta explosion has spread consternation in every quarter.
As a matter of fact no one worries much about the practical consequences
but everyone regards yesterday's disaster as an evil portent,
"a bad sign from God." Nor does anyone doubt that it
is the work of a German agent. "Miassoyedov had so many accomplices!"
The German General Staff know only too much about the Russian
munitions crisis. On the other hand, they must be in possession
of many indications pointing to the impending general offensive
against Silesia. To deprive their adversary of the material means
of continuing, if not of starting that offensive is too obvious
an idea not to have occurred to them. With all the agents at their
disposal in Petrograd it was a simple matter for them to get an
infernal machine concealed in one of the Okhta powder factories.
Wednesday, April 14, 1915.
The French and British Governments have decided to land an
expeditionary force on the Gallipoli Peninsula, with a view to
overcoming the defences of the Dardanelles by land.
The command of this force has been entrusted to, General d'Amade.
It was concentrated at Bizerta from which it has just been transferred
to the Egyptian delta.
Thursday, April 15, 1915.
A few days ago the papers announced that Rasputin had gone
to Moscow. In fulfilment of a vow he took last summer when the
doctors were fighting for his life the holy man has gone to pray
at the tomb of the Patriarch Hermogenes in the Kremlin.
It is true he has been seen absorbed in fervent prayer at the
tomb of the revered patriarch and before each of the miraculous
ikons and sacred relics which make the Uspensky Sobor (Cathedral
of the Assumption) one of the most precious sanctuaries of the
orthodox faith.
But in the evening he indulged in exercises of another kind,
and although the orgy took place within closed doors enough details
have leaked out to cause a great scandal and a dumb growl of anger
and disgust in every class of Muscovite society.
This is the story as told to me by a relative of General Adrianov,
the Emperor's aide-de-camp, who has just arrived here from Moscow.
The scene took place in a room in the Yar Restaurant in Petrovsky
Park. Rasputin was accompanied by two journalists and three young
women, one at least of whom moved in high social circles in Moscow.
Supper began about midnight. There was heavy drinking. A balalaika
band played national airs. Rasputin became very excited and
with cynical effrontery began to give his audience a description
of his amorous feats in Petrograd, naming the women who had accepted
his overtures, relating every detail of the scene and pointing
out the particular charm and the most spicy or grotesque feature
of each occasion.
When supper was over the balalaika band was succeeded
by gipsy girls who sang. Rasputin, dead drunk, began to talk about
the Empress whom he called the "old girl." The atmosphere
of the assembly at once became chilly. He went on unheeding. Showing
an embroidered waistcoat he was wearing under his caftan he said:
"The old girl made me this waistcoat... . I can do anything
I like with her ... ."
The well-bred woman who had strayed into this adventure by
mistake, protested and wanted to leave. Staggering with fury Rasputin
expressed his feelings in obscene gestures.
Then he attacked the gipsy girls but met with a rebuff. He
swore at them and the name of the Tsaritsa mingled with his oaths.
The guests were now alarmed at the prospect of being mixed
up in such a scandal which was already the talk of the whole restaurant
and might have serious legal consequences owing to the insult
to the Empress.
The bill was hastily demanded. The moment the tchelloviek
brought it the society lady threw a bundle of rouble notes - far
more than the whole bill - on the table and promptly disappeared.
The gipsy singers followed her.
The rest of the company soon did likewise. Rasputin came out
last, staggering, gasping, and swearing volubly.
Sunday, April 18, 1915.
The general offensive of which the Emperor spoke to me at Baranovici
has begun.
In the western Carpathians the Russians are putting forth great
efforts. The focus of their attacks at the moment is the Uszok
Pass, which is not only at the source of the great rivers of Galicia
but commands the entrance into Transylvania.
In the last few days the Austro-Hungarians have left 50,000
prisoners in the hands of their enemy.
Saturday, April 24, 1915.
The Moscow Prefect of Police, General Adrianov, a man of courage
and conscience, desired to report personally to the Emperor on
the scandal of Rasputin's recent conduct in the Yar Restaurant,
a scandal about which the people of Moscow are still furious.
He therefore appeared in full dress at Tsarskoe Selo the
other morning and asked an audience. But the Governor of the Imperial
Palaces, General Voyeikov, did not let him reach the sovereign.
General Adrianov then applied to General Djunkovsky. Commander
of the Gendarmerie, who represents the police services
at the Ministry of the Interior. He, too, is a man of courage
and has tried at least twenty times already to convince his master
of the infamy of the staretz.
In this roundabout way Nicholas II knows every detail of the
disgusting orgy in the Yar Restaurant, but as he doubts the truth
of what he has been told he has ordered a supplementary enquiry
and entrusted it to his favourite aide-de-camp, Captain Sablin,
the Empress's close friend.
In spite of his intimacy with Rasputin, Sablin has been compelled
to admit that the statements made by General Adrianov are perfectly
true.
Faced with these incontestable facts the Emperor, the Empress,
and Madame Vyrubova have agreed to conclude that the powers of
evil set a fearsome trap for their holy friend and that without
assistance from above he would never have been able to get out
of it so cheaply.
Monday, April 26, 1915.
At dawn yesterday a corps of Anglo-French troops landed near
Sedul Bahr on the Gallipoli Peninsula. Operating under the cover
of the guns of the Allied fleet they have established themselves
at the end of the peninsula. The resistance of the Turks has been
very hard to break.
Tuesday, April 27, 1915.
The Grand Duke Nicholas and his staff accompanied the Emperor
during his recent visit to the Galician front.
Everyone has been struck by the indifference, or rather coldness,
with which the Emperor was received by his army. The legend which
has grown up around the Empress and Rasputin has been a serious
blow to the prestige of the Emperor both with the men and their
officers. No one doubts that treachery has its lair in Tsarskoe Selo
palace and the Miassoyedov affair provides an argument for all
suspicion.
Near Lvov one of my officers overheard the following conversation
between two lieutenants:
"Which Nicholas are you talking about?"
"The Grand Duke, of course! The other one's nothing but
a German! "
Friday, April 30, 1915.
The information coming in from every quarter about the concentration
of Austro-German troops in Galicia is becoming alarming. The enemy
is certainly preparing a sledgehammer blow in that region.
By way of diversion the Germans are boldly thrusting into Courland,
in the direction of Mitau and Libau.
Saturday, May 1, 1915.
A quiet dinner at the Embassy with Princess Orlov, Sir George
and Lady Georgina Buchanan, General and Countess Stackelberg,
&c.
During the evening I have had a long talk with Stackelberg,
who inherits a serious, logical, and practical mind from his German
ancestors:
"It's a bit of luck for me to have got you here to-night
you're never to be found in these days."
"It's no pleasure for me to go out now. In nationalist
circles I'm supposed to be a Boche and that makes me angry. In
reactionary circles the victory of Germany is desired and that
disgusts me. Notwithstanding my Teutonic origins I'm passionately
devoted to Russia and the Emperor has no more loyal subject than
I or one more ready to sacrifice himself.(1)
You know that I've lived in France and England a good deal. I'm
a tremendous admirer of the French spirit and have a great weakness
for things English. As for France, I can't tell you how much I
admire her since the war began: in a few months she has done finer
things than ever before in her history. You can see for yourself
I'm no Boche! But as a Russian I'm more alarmed every day at the
abyss into which the Anglo-French alliance is leading us. Russia
is going straight to defeat and revolution, for we shall never
beat the Germans; we cannot hold our own with them; I'm utterly
downhearted."
I tried to fortify his courage a little, pointing out that
the patent inferiority of the Russian army to the German army
is only temporary:
"Your men are fighting splendidly. Your reserves of man-power
are inexhaustible. What you lack is heavy artillery, aeroplanes,
and munitions of war. In a few months from now you'll be abundantly
supplied, and then you'll make the Germans feel the weight of
your numbers."
"No! History shows that Russia is never so strong as at
the beginning of a war. We haven't that wonderful faculty for
adaptation and improvisation which enables you French and English
to make good all your omissions in peace in the very middle of
a war. With us war only aggravates the evils of our political
system because it sets our bureaucrats a task they are utterly
incapable of performing. Would that I were mistaken! But I expect
that things will go from bad to worse. Look what a tragic position
we're in! We cannot make peace without dishonouring ourselves,
and yet if we continue the war we are inevitably heading straight
for a catastrophe!"
Tuesday, May 4, 1915.
For the last two days the Germans and Austro-Hungarians have
been attacking the sector of the Russian front between the Vistula
and the Carpathians in full force. They are advancing irresistibly
in an easterly direction; their left wing has already crossed
the lower Dunajec which pours into the Vistula 65 kilometres above
Cracow.
Thursday, May 6, 1915.
Between the Carpathians and the Vistula the Russian situation
is becoming critical. After very severe fighting at Tarnov, Gorlice,
and Jaslo they are hastily retiring behind the Dunajec and the
Wisloka. The losses are enormous: the number of prisoners is said
to be 40,000.
Friday, May 7, 1915.
The victory of the Austro-Germans at Tarnov, Gorlice, and Jaslo
is now reacting on the whole line in the Carpathians to well beyond
the Uszok Pass. In a few days the Russians have lost the series
of passes and crests they had gained after such tremendous efforts
in the winter. The road into Transylvania is now closed to them.
This situation is also reacting on the attitude of the Rumanian
Government. Bratiano is sticking to his territorial claims with
the most frigid obstinacy. He is obviously calculating that he
will force Russia to a flat refusal which he will then utilize
to secure the triumph of the policy of neutrality on which he
is secretly set.
Saturday, May 8, 1915.
On the Courland front in the north the Germans have started
a series of vigorous attacks with a view to preventing the enemy
from transferring all his reserves to Galicia. Yesterday they
seized Libau, which will give them an excellent naval base for
their further operations in the Gulf of Riga.
Sunday, May 9, 1915.
From the Uszok Pass to the Vistula, i.e., on a front of 200
kilometres, the battle is still raging furiously.
The Russians are in retreat all along the line. The speed of
their retirement threatens before long to render untenable their
positions on the line of the Nida north of the Vistula.
Wednesday, May 12, 1915.
In the Dardanelles the Anglo-French are making methodical progress,
digging in each night on the ground won during the day. The Turks
are putting up an extremely fierce resistance.
Public opinion in Russia is closely following every detail
of the fighting: it does not doubt the ultimate result and thinks
it is near at hand. In imagination it already sees the allied
squadrons passing through the Hellespont and anchoring off the
Golden Horn. It is almost forgetting the defeats in Galicia. As
usual, it seeks in dreams an opiate against reality.
Thursday, May 13, 1915.
The Russians are continuing their retreat in a northeasterly
direction, but it is a retreat in perfect order and each position
is defended. The total number of prisoners left in the enemy's
hands in the last ten days is said to amount to 140,000.
Friday, May 14, 1915.
Ministerial crisis in Italy. The Salandra-Sonnino Cabinet has
very cleverly submitted its resignation to the King without waiting
for the meeting of the Chamber so that the question of the war
can be put straight to public opinion and Giolitti's parliamentary
intrigues thus foiled.
The advocates of intervention are gaining ground every day.
Sunday, May 16, 1915.
The Germans have captured Jaroslav, which will give them a
bridge-head on the San. The Russians are accelerating their retreat
east of Kielce and south of the Pilica.
On the other hand at the other end eastern of Galicia the Austrians
have suffered a heavy reverse between Kolomea and Czernovitz,
and left 20,000 prisoners behind them. The whole area between
the Dniester and the Pruth is thus in the hands of the Russians.
Monday, May 17, 19IS
There is intense excitement in Italy. In Rome, Milan, Venice,
and Genoa there is a continuous succession of stormy demonstrations
which are almost revolutionary in character.
Under the pressure of popular feeling King Victor Emmanuel
yesterday refused the resignation of the Salandra-Sonnino Cabinet.
Giolitti's plot has thus failed. The only course now open to the
"neutralist" Parliament is to bow to the demands of
the national instinct.
Tuesday, May 18, 1915.
This morning I resumed with Sazonov our interminable discussion
of Rumania's territorial claims and I urged him vigorously to
go a little further in the way of concession. But I found him
very angry at a telegram he received yesterday from Bucharest
he waved it in my face with trembling fingers.
"Bratiano thinks he can get his own way: he's talking
of Russia in the most arrogant way and I won't stand it. I know
for a fact that he's gone so far as to tell several foreign diplomats
that 'it's hardly the moment for Russia to talk so loud!' He's
making a great mistake. Russia is a great Power and a temporary
check to her armies will not make her forget her duty to herself,
her past, her future, and her historic mission."
"If Bratiano has been talking like that he is wrong. But
it is just because Russia is a great Power that she cannot raise
her point of view too high. The only question at the moment is
whether the help of Rumania is useful to us and whether it costs
us too much to abandon a little more enemy territory to Rumanian
appetite. Let's be frank with each other, my dear Minister! Consider
our military situation! Aren't you horrified at this unforeseen
and rapid retreat? Don't you realize that you are about to lose
Przemysl and that by to-morrow the Austro-Germans will perhaps
have crossed the San in force? Are you quite sure that two or
three weeks hence you will not bitterly regret having haggled
too much over Rumania's help?"
Sazonov's obstinacy seemed to be shaken:
"I'm going to try and find a new formula for further concessions
in the Bukovina and on the Danubian bank of the Banat. But I shall
make the immediate intervention of the Rumanian army a strict
condition of the agreement. I'll give you my answer to-morrow."
Wednesday, May 19, 1915.
Sazonov has given way on the two points still in dispute in
the negotiations with Bucharest. He has agreed that the future
frontier between Russia and Rumania in the Bukovina shall be the
Sereth. He has also admitted Rumania's claim to annex the district
of Torontal on the Danubian bank of the Banat; but he has declared
once more that the immediate co-operation of the Rumanian army
is an absolute condition of this double concession.
Thursday, May 20, 1915.
The Russian General Staff estimate that the Austro-German forces
employed against Russia amount to not less than 55 corps and 20
cavalry divisions. Of these 55 corps three have just arrived from
France.
Sunday, May 23, 1915.
Italy has declared war on Austria-Hungary.
I went to congratulate my good friend and colleague, Carlotti.
I found him radiant. He is in a large measure responsible for
the serious step his country has just taken. Ever since the war
began he has never ceased to impress on his Government that neither
politically nor morally could Italy stand out of the European
conflict, that she would dishonour herself and lower her prestige
by a shopkeeping neutrality and that her national traditions and
vital interests impelled her to declare herself at the earliest
possible moment on the side her Latin affinities dictated.
Monday, May 24, 1915.
General Joffre has instructed General de Laguiche to convey
to the Grand Duke Nicholas his admiration of the magnificent effort
of the Russian armies in the course of the last few weeks: Thanks
to their courage and tenacity they have succeeded, without
being broken or losing their fighting power, in neutralizing hostile
forces very superior in number, inflicting enormous losses upon
them and thus rendering the greatest service to the common cause.
It is one more fine page in the glorious history of Russia.
Tuesday, May 25, 1915.
The succession of reverses which the Russian army has suffered
has given Rasputin his chance of giving vent to the implacable
hatred he has long felt for the Grand Duke Nicholas. He is always
railing against the Generalissimo, whom he accuses of blank ignorance
of the military art and of having no other ambition than to gain
an illegitimate popularity with the troops with the ulterior object
of supplanting the Emperor. The character and the whole past of
the Grand Duke are alone enough to demonstrate the fatuity of
this last charge, but I know that it has had some effect on the
sovereigns.
I have also found out that of late Rasputin has returned to
his old theme: This war is an offence to God! The other
evening, when he was holding forth in the house of old Madame
G - -, who is one of his most exalted devotees, he declared in
the accent of a biblical prophet:
"Russia entered this war against the will of God. Evil
be to those who still refuse to believe it! To hear the voice
of God all that is necessary is to listen humbly. But when men
are strong they are puffed up with pride: they think themselves
clever and despise the simple until one day the judgment of God
falls upon them like a thunderclap. Christ is angry at all the
groans that mount to him from the soil of Russia. But what do
they care, the generals, about having moujiks killed;
it doesn't prevent them eating or drinking or getting rich. .
. . Alas! the blood of the victims will not bespatter them alone:
it will bespatter the Tsar himself for he is the father of the
moujiks... . I tell you, the vengeance of God will be
terrible!"
I am told that this dies iræ made everyone present
simply shiver with fright. Madame G - - kept on repeating: "Gospodi
pomiloui! Lord, have mercy upon us! "
Friday, May 28, 1915
The Austro-German offensive is proceeding uninterruptedly on
both banks of the San as well as in the Przemysl sector and the
region of Stryj.
For several days a great wave of pessimism has been sweeping
over Russia. Public opinion begins to realize all that the Austro-German
advance across Galicia means and promises. All the more anxiously
is the public gaze turned towards the Dardanelles. Yet the Gallipoli
expedition seems to me to have lost something of its power as
a mirage and a diversion.
Saturday, May 29, 1915.
The Grand Duke Nicholas Michailovitch, Sir George Buchanan,
and the Marquis Carlotti have lunched with me to-day, and we celebrated
Italy's entry into the Triple Alliance.
The Grand Duke was in the highest spirits: he held his head
high, his cheeks were agreeably flushed, and his voice had a prouder
and more resonant ring than ever. Several times he exclaimed:
"We've got Germany now. The wretch won't escape us now!"
And each time, as if to restore the energy he expended on his
declaration, he tossed down the glass of Pommard which the butler
filled up as fast as he emptied it.
Although he has German blood in his veins through his mother,
a Princess of Baden, he hates Germany, German ideas, and the German
spirit. His whole intellectual and moral make-up and all his sympathies
and tastes incline him towards France. His intense interest in
Napoleon I which he puts to such noble purpose in his historical
work is only one form of his admiration of the French genius.
When he had settled down for a smoke he continued to talk freely,
expressing the same opinions but in another tone. It is a phenomenon
I have often observed in my dealings with him. His open-hearted
talk and the outbursts of confidence and enthusiasm by which he
satisfies the selfless needs of his impetuous nature have almost
at once a reaction which expresses itself in cynicism, disparagement,
and jealous egotism. It is then that deep down within him one
catches a glimpse of a great open sore - his pride - and suspects
the uneasy presence of ambitious dreams and hopes unfulfilled.
He knows his personal worth, which is above the ordinary, and
thinks there is no role he is not competent to fill. At the same
time he feels himself slighted and looked down upon, useless and
impotent, an object of suspicion to his sovereign and his caste,
a guarantor of a political system which he despises but from which
he derives enormous advantages. In many ways he deserves the nickname
of "Nicholas Egalité," which he often jokes about.
Among other resemblances to the Duc d'Orléans he has the
same weakness of character. He is too fond of criticism and scandal
to be a man of action, initiative or authority: he's a reformer,
but only in words. If the course of political events ever brings
him into contact with reality, if he ever has to act in a revolutionary
crisis, I am afraid he will have to apply to himself the melancholy
confession with which Philippe-Egalité replied to the reproaches
of his mistress, the lovely and courageous Mrs. Elliott: "
Alas! I'm not the leader of my party: I'm its slave!"
Sunday, May 30, 1915.
Thinking of Rasputin's ever-growing power and his evil influence
on Russian politics I have sometimes wondered whether the Allies
ought not to try and turn the mystical and other gifts of the
magician to their own advantage by greasing his palm: we should
thus direct his "inspirations" instead of always being
inconvenienced, thwarted, and paralysed by them. I confess that
I was tempted to try it myself - just as an experiment: but I
had to admit that it would be futile, compromising, and also dangerous.
Quite recently I mentioned the matter casually and indirectly
to a highly-placed individual, E - -, who had been once more
giving free rein to his rabid nationalism in my presence. As he
was furiously denouncing the latest impertinences and insanities
of Grishka I said to him:
"May I ask you something? Why don't your political friends
try to win Rasputin over to their cause? Why don't they buy him?"
He nodded, then reflected a moment and said
"You can't buy Rasputin."
"Is he as virtuous as all that?"
"Oh dear no! The brute hasn't the slightest moral sense
and is quite capable of any infamy. But in the first place he
doesn't want money; he gets much more than he needs. You know
how he lives. What expenses has he besides his little flat on
the Gorokhovaia? He dresses like a moujik, and his wife
and daughters go about like beggars. His food costs him nothing,
as he gets all his meals outside. His pleasures, far from costing
him money, bring it in: the beastly women, young and old, by whom
he is surrounded are always sending him presents. Besides, the
Emperor and Empress are continually giving him presents. And you
can imagine what he makes out of the place-hunters who pester
him every day to plead their cause. You can see the holy man is
not exactly without resources!"
"What does he do with all this money?"
"Well, to begin with, he's very generous: he gives a lot
to the poor. He buys land in his village, Pokrovskoïe, and
is having a church built there. He also has something in banks - saving
up for a rainy day, as he's very nervous about his future."
"What you say confirms me in my notion. You have a hold
over Rasputin because he likes adding to his land, building churches,
and increasing his investments. Your friends must really try and
buy him."
"No, Ambassador, the difficulty is not in offering Rasputin
money; he'll take it from anyone. The hard thing is to make him
play his part, because he's incapable of learning it. Don't forget
he's an uneducated peasant."
"But he's no fool!"
"He has a sort of low cunning. His intelligence is very
limited. He understands nothing about politics. You can't make
him grasp ideas or reasoning to which he is not accustomed. All
sustained conversation or serious and logical discussion with
him is impossible. He can only repeat the lesson you've dinned
into him."
"Yet he embroiders it in his own way!"
"Yes, he decorates it with obscene gestures and mystical
jokes. But the crowd whose tool he is keep watch on him. He knows
that he's watched, that his correspondence is opened, and his
actions and haunts kept under observation. On the pretext of protecting
him the palace police, General Voyeikov's Okhrana, is always
on his tracks. And he knows, too, that even in his own gang he
has enemies, rivals, and the merely envious who are secretly working
to injure him with Their Majesties and bring about his dismissal.
He's always terrified that some successor may turn up. You must
have heard of the Montenegrin beauty, Father Mordary, and the
idiot, Mitia Koliaba, who are the present candidates. And there
must be others up somebody's sleeve. Rasputin knows the dangers
of his position only too well and is much too cunning not to remain
faithful to his party. You may be certain that if any suspicious
proposal were made to him he would at once inform Voyeikov."
Our conversation ended there, but I took the subject up again,
and almost in the same terms, with S - -, one of my informers
who moves in nationalist and orthodox circles in Moscow.
"I'm afraid we may get lower than Rasputin one of these
days, worse luck!"
"Is that possible?"
"Don't doubt it! In the realm of the absurd there's no
limit. If Rasputin disappeared it's quite possible we should be
regretting it before long."
"Who is there to make us regret him?"
"Mitia Koliaba, for example."
As ground for his fears he then gave me certain information
about this individual of whom all that I knew was his former relations
with the monk Heliodorus of Tsarytsin and Father John of Kronstadt.
Mitia Koliaba is a simpleton, a harmless idiot. a yourodivi
like the one who utters the fateful words in Boris Godounov.
Born somewhere about 1865 in the neighbourhood of Kaluga,
he is deaf, dumb, half-blind, bandy-legged, and deformed, and
has only two stumps for arms. His brain, as atrophied as his limbs,
conceives but a very small number of ideas which he expresses
by guttural cries, stammerings, grunts, roars, squeaks, and a
wild waving of his stumps. For several years he was received,
from motives of charity, in Optina-Pustyn Monastery, near Kozielsk.
One day he was seen to be in a most extraordinary sort of fit
with intervals of stupor which resembled a trance. The whole community
at once realized that a divine influence was manifesting itself
through this rudimentary mind; but no one could get beyond that.
While they were all exhausting themselves in conjectures the
secret was supernaturally betrayed to a monk. As he was on the
point of kneeling to pray in a dark chapel Saint Nicholas appeared
to him and revealed the meaning to be attached to the cries and
contortions of the yourodivi: the monk wrote down
the exact interpretation under the dictation of Saint Nicholas
himself. The community was then amazed at all the knowledge and
prophetic instinct revealed in the inarticulate sounds made by
the idiot: he knew everything - the past, the present, the future.
In 1901 he was taken to Petersburg where the Emperor and Empress
highly esteemed his power of foretelling the future although they
were then completely under the thumb of the magician Philippe.
In the evil days of the Japanese War it seemed as if Mitia Koliaba
was marked out for a great part, but some stupid friends thrust
him into the epic quarrel between Rasputin and Bishop Hermogenes.
He was obliged to disappear for a time to escape the vengeance
of his terrible adversary. At the present time he lives among
a small and secret, but fervent, sect and is biding his time.
Monday, May 31, 1915.
This afternoon I called on the President of the Duma, Rodzianko,
whose fervent patriotism and great energy have often strengthened
my faith. But to-day my first impression of him affected me painfully.
His face was drawn and there was a greenish hue in his cheeks.
As a rule he holds himself well, but now his great height seemed
to be under the weight of an excessive load, and when he sat down
opposite me he collapsed in a heap. After shaking his head sadly
and sighing deeply he said:
"I'm in a dark mood, Ambassador. Oh, nothing's lost, of
course! No doubt this trial was needed to shake us out of our
slumbers and compel us to pull ourselves together and set our
house in order. We shall do so; we shall do so! You have my word
for that!"
He then told me that the recent defeats of the Russian army,
the terrible losses it has suffered, and the highly dangerous
situation in which it is still fighting so heroically have stirred
the public conscience to its depths. In the last few weeks he
has received from the provinces more than three hundred letters
pointing out how alarmed and indignant the country is. In every
quarter there is the same complaint: the bureaucracy is incapable
of organizing the industrial activities of the nation and creating
the war machinery without which the army will go from disaster
to disaster.
"So I asked the Emperor for an audience," he continued,
"which he was good enough to grant me at once. I told him
the whole truth, showed him the whole peril. I had little difficulty
in proving that our administration is powerless to solve the technical
problems of the war unaided and that recourse must be had to the
assistance of private sources to rope in all the live forces in
the nation, augment the output of raw material, and co-ordinate
the work of the factories. The Emperor was good enough to admit
all this and there and then I obtained his consent to an important
reform. A Munitions Council has just been established under the
presidency of the Minister of War; it consists of four generals,
four members of the Duma, including myself, and four representatives
of the metallurgical industries. We got to work without losing
a moment."
Tuesday, June 1, 1915.
At this time of the year when the northern night is not even
two hours long and the atmosphere is as it were saturated with
light, Petrograd constantly makes me think of Venice.
With its river, islands, canals, curving bridges, and houses
with pink façades, the salty spice of the evening breeze
from the Gulf of Finland, the odour of tar, mud, and damp to be
perceived on some of the quays, the glorious brightness of the
sky and the depth of the aerial perspectives, the transparence
and fluidity of the shadows, the magic of the sunsets and the
dawns - with all this the spectacle before my eyes makes me think
every minute that I am on the Riva degli Schiavoni or
the Giudecca.
When I want the illusion to be even more complete I go for
an evening walk in the woods at the end of Krestrovsky Island
where the estuary of the Neva suddenly widens. This spot is most
moving in its solitude. Under a sky dappled with pink and violent
clouds the lagoon is a sheet of iridescent waters stretching away
to the Gulf of Finland. Not far away the little Volny Island emerges
from a grey-green mist in which ruins and a few miserable trees
can be distinguished. As the sun drops to the horizon an odour
of fever and death rises from the sluggish waters. Not a single
human sound. At times the landscape is deathly in its desolation.
I might be at Torcello.
Wednesday, June 2, 1915.
I dined quite privately this evening with the most important
metallurgist and financier in Russia, the multimillionaire Putilov.
I always derive great pleasure and profit from my meetings with
this business man whose psychology is most original. He possesses
in a high degree the dominating characteristics of an American
business man, the creative instinct and spirit of initiative,
the craving for vast undertakings, a strict sense of reality and
the feasible, values and forces. But he is none the less a Slav
in certain intimate sides of his nature and the most pessimistic
outlook I have yet met with in Russia.
He is one of the four industrials who are members of the Munitions
Council, established at the War Ministry. His first impressions
were simply deplorable. It is not merely a technical problem,
a question of labour and output which has to be solved. The whole
administrative system of Russia must be reformed from top to bottom.
We had not exhausted the subject when dinner was over.
The moment the cigars were lit champagne was brought and we
discussed the future; he almost revelled in describing the fatal
consequences of the imminent catastrophes and the silent work
of decadence and dislocation which is undermining the Russian
edifice:
"The days of Tsarisin are numbered; it is lost, lost beyond
hope. But Tsarism is the very framework of Russia and the sole
bond of unity for the nation. Revolution is now inevitable; it
is only waiting for a favourable opportunity. Such an opportunity
will come with some military defeat, a famine in the provinces,
a strike in Petrograd, a riot in Moscow, some scandal or tragedy
at the palace. It doesn't matter how! In any case, the revolution
isn't the worst peril threatening Russia. What is a revolution,
strictly speaking? It is the substitution of one political system
for another by violence. A revolution may be a great benefit to
a nation if it can reconstruct after having destroyed. From that
point of view the English and French Revolutions strike me as
having been rather salutary. But with us revolution can only be
destructive because the educated class is only a tiny minority,
without organization, political experience, or contact with the
masses. To my mind that is the greatest crime of
Tsarism: it will not tolerate any centre of political life and
activity outside its own bureaucracy. Its success in that way
has been so great that the day the tchinovniks disappear
the whole Russian State will dissolve. No doubt it will be the
bourgeois, intellectuals, "Cadets" who give the signal
for the revolution, thinking that they're saving Russia. But from
the bourgeois revolution we shall at once descend to the working
class revolution and soon after to the peasant revolution. And
then will begin the most frightful anarchy, interminable anarchy,
... ten years of anarchy! ... We shall see the days of Pugatchev
again, and perhaps worse! "
Chapter Footnote
1. Count Stackelberg was murdered on March
16, 1917, by a band of mutinous soldiers.
