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 struck, 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.
34. Arrest of a police informer; informers were popularly known as “Pharaons.”
At this juncture Nicholas knew there was serious trouble in the capital city, but he did not yet realize its depth and intensity: like Louis XVI on July 14, 1789, he thought he was facing a rebellion, not a revolution. He believed that the disorder could be quelled by force. This is attested to by two decisions. Rejecting the Prime Minister’s request that he and his colleagues be allowed to turn over the reins of administration to a Duma cabinet, he ordered the cabinet to remain at its post.48 He accepted, however, Golitsyn’s recommendation to appoint a military dictator in charge of Petrograd security. He chose for this role sixty-six-year-old N. I. Ivanov, a general who had distinguished himself in the Galician campaign of 1914 and had long experience in the Corps of Gendarmes. During dinner that night, looking pale, sad, and worried,49 Nicholas drew Ivanov aside for a long talk. Ivanov was to proceed to Tsarskoe Selo at the head of loyal troops to ensure the safety of the Imperial family, and then, as newly-appointed head of the Petrograd Military District, assume command of the regiments ordered from the front to help him. All cabinet ministers were to be subordinated to him.50 At 9 p.m. Alekseev wired General Danilov, the chief of staff of the Northern Front in Pskov, to arrange for the dispatch of two cavalry and two infantry regiments composed of “the most stable [and] reliable” troops led by “bold” officers to join Ivanov.51 Similar orders went out to the headquarters of the Western Front.52 The size of the contingent—eight combat regiments augmented by machine-gun units—indicated that Nicholas and his generals envisaged a major operation to put down the mutiny.