To Your Imperial Highness I wish to express my profound gratitude and that of the country for all your work in the war.
Nicholas
The letter was personally delivered to Grand Duke Nicholas at Headquarters by the War Minister, Polivanov. “God be praised,” said Nicholas Nicolaievich simply. “The Emperor releases me from a task which was wearing me out.” When the Tsar himself arrived at
The fall of the Grand Duke was a source of grim satisfaction to the Germans. “The Grand Duke,” Ludendorff wrote later, “was really a great soldier and strategist.” In the Russian army, officers and men were sad to see him go, but the summer of disaster had dimmed his hero’s luster. Within the mauve boudoir at Tsarskoe Selo, the change was hailed as a supreme personal triumph. When Nicholas left for
My very own beloved one, I cannot find words to express all I want to—my heart is too full. I only long to hold you tight in my arms and whisper words of intense love, courage, strength and endless blessings.… You have fought this great fight for your country and throne—alone and with bravery and decision. Never have they seen such firmness in you before.… I know what it costs you … forgive me, I beseech you, my Angel, for having left you no peace and worried you so much, but I too well know your marvelously gentle character and you had to shake it off this time, had to win your fight alone against all. It will be a glorious page in your reign and Russian history, the story of these weeks and days.… God anointed you at your coronation, he placed you where you stand and you have done your duty, be sure, quite sure of that and He forsaketh not his anointed. Our Friend’s prayers arise day and night for you to Heaven and God will hear them.… It is the beginning of the great glory of your reign, He said so and I absolutely believe it.… Sleep well, my Sunshine, Russia’s Savior. Remember last night how tenderly we clung together. I shall yearn for your caresses.… I kiss you without end and bless you. Holy Angels guard your slumber. I am near and with you forever and ever and none shall separate us.
Your very own wife,
Sunny
In France and England, the Tsar’s decision was greeted with a sigh of relief. Russian defeats had aroused fear in both countries that the Tsar’s government might be forced to withdraw from the war. By taking personal command, Nicholas was regarded as pledging himself and his empire once again to the alliance.
In the Russian army, it was clearly understood that the Tsar’s role would be that of a figurehead, and that the actual military decisions would be made by whichever professional soldier became his chief of staff. Nicholas’s choice for this post was reassuring. Michael Vasilevich Alexeiev was an energetic soldier of humble beginnings who had risen to the top by sheer ability and hard work. A former professor at the military staff college, he had served in the southwest against the Austrians and had commanded the Northern Front. Now, as Chief of Staff, he was in fact, if not in name, Commander-in-Chief of the Russian armies.
In appearance, Alexeiev compared poorly with the Grand Duke. He was short, with a simple, wide Russian face which, unlike most Russian generals, he chose to expose without a beard. He had trouble with an eye muscle, and Nicholas once described him to Alexandra as “Alexeiev, my cross-eyed friend.” At Headquarters, he was solitary, avoiding contact with the Imperial suite. His weakness was a failure to delegate authority; he tried to do everything himself, including checking map references on the huge war maps spread out on Headquarters tables. Nevertheless, Nicholas was delighted with him. “I have such good help from Alexeiev,” he telegraphed immediately after taking command. And a few days later: “I cannot tell you how pleased I am with Alexeiev. Conscientious, clever, modest and what a worker!”
In September 1915, soon after the change of command at Russian Headquarters, the German offensive began to lose impetus. Russian troops, fighting now on the soil of Russia itself, gave ground slowly, contesting every river, hill and marsh. By November, as winter closed down most of the front, Alexeiev had managed to stabilize a line which ran, on the average, two hundred miles east of the front in May. Firmly in German hands lay all of Russian Poland and the lower Baltic territories. Indeed, the battle line at the end of 1915 became almost precisely the western frontier of Soviet Russia until 1939 and the outbreak of the Second World War.
There were no further great German offensives in the East during the war. Assuming that the losses of 1915 had broken the back of the Russian army, the German General Staff transferred its main effort back to the Western Front. Beginning in February 1916, all of the great mass of German artillery and a million infantrymen were hurled at the pivotal French fortress of Verdun. To the utter astonishment and intense dismay of the Kaiser’s generals, no sooner were they committed in the West than the Russians attacked again in the East. From May until October, the Russians pressed forward; by July, eighteen German divisions had been transferred from West to East and the assault on Verdun had been abandoned. But the cost to the Russian army of the 1916 campaign again was a terrible one: 1,200,000 men.
After the war, Hindenburg paid tribute to the bravery and sacrifices of his Russian enemies: “In the Great War ledger the page on which the Russian losses were written has been torn out. No one knows the figures. Five or eight millions? We too have no idea. All we know is that sometimes in our battles with the Russians we had to remove the mounds of enemy corpses from before our trenches in order to get a clear field of fire against fresh assaulting waves.” Ten years after Hindenburg wrote, a careful analysis of Russian casualties was made by Nicholas Golovine, a former general of the Imperial army. Weighing all the evidence, he estimated that 1,300,000 men were killed in action; 4,200,000 were wounded, of whom 350,000 later died of wounds; and 2,400,000 were taken prisoner. The total is 7,900,000—over half of the 15,500,000 men who were mobilized.
Thus, the military collapse of 1915 played a major part in all that was to happen afterward. For it was the tragic and bloody defeat of the army which weakened the grip of Grand Duke Nicholas and persuaded the Tsar to take personal command of his troops. By going to the army, hundreds of miles from the seat of government, the Tsar gave up all but a vague, supervisory control over affairs of state. In an autocracy, this arrangement was impossible; a substitute autocrat had to be found. Uncertainly at first, then with growing self-confidence, this role was filled by the Empress Alexandra. At her shoulder, his “prayers arising day and night,” stood her Friend, Rasputin. Together they would finally bring down the Russian Empire.
* Not surprisingly, those Russian soldiers who survived this maelstrom came to regard artillery as the God of War. Thirty years later, in April 1945, when Marshal Zhukov began the Red Army’s final assault on Berlin, his attack was preceded by a barrage from 20,000 guns.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
THE Empress had thrown herself heart and soul into the war. Burning with patriotism, filled with energy and enthusiasm, she forgot her own illness to plunge into hospital work. Alexandra was happiest when immersed in other people’s problems, and the war gave endless scope to this side of her nature. “To some it may seem unnecessary my doing this,” she said, “but … help is much needed and every hand is useful.” Nursing became her passion. The huge Catherine Palace at Tsarskoe Selo was converted into a military hospital, and before the end of 1914 eighty-five hospitals were operated under her patronage in the Petrograd area alone. This activity, although on a grand scale, was not unique; many Russian ladies at this time established themselves as patrons of hospitals and hospital trains. But only a few followed the Empress’s example by enrolling in nursing courses and coming daily in person to tend the wounded.
Life inside the Alexander Palace was transformed. The Empress, who had stayed in bed nursing her ills until noon, now was up for Mass at seven. Promptly at nine, dressed in the gray uniform of a nursing sister, she arrived at the hospital along with her two eldest daughters, Olga and Tatiana, and Anna Vyrubova for her nursing course. The hospital atmosphere was brutal and pathetic. Every day, Red Cross trains brought long lines of wounded and
