The following morning Rodzianko telephoned, suggesting that before the matter was broached to the War Minister, Kerensky, it would be wise to take it up with the Commander-in-Chief, General Brusilov, who could judge it from the point of view of the army. If he approved of it, it would be easier to obtain Kerensky’s permission.
General Headquarters were then at Moghilev and there we went, Captain Dementiev and I, to obtain an audience with the Commander-in-Chief. We were received by his Adjutant on the 14th of May. He announced our arrival and purpose to General Brusilov, who ordered that we should be shown in.
Hardly a week had elapsed since I left the front, and here I was again, this time not in the trenches, however, but in the presence of the Commander-in-Chief. It was a very sudden metamorphosis and I could not help wondering, deep in my soul, over the strange ways of fortune. Brusilov shook hands with us cordially. He was interested in the idea, he said. Wouldn’t we sit down? We did. Wouldn’t I tell him about myself and my ideas concerning the scheme?
I told him about my soldiering and my leaving the front because I could not reconcile myself to the prevailing conditions. I explained that the purpose of the plan would be to shame the men in the trenches by letting them see the women go over the top first. The Commander-in-Chief then discussed the matter from various points of view with Captain Dementiev and approved of my idea. He bade us adieu, expressing his hope for the success of my enterprise, and, in a happy frame of mine, I left for Petrograd.
Kerensky had returned from the front. We called on Rodzianko and told him of the result of our mission. He informed us that he had already asked for an audience with Kerensky and that the latter wanted to see him at seven o’clock the following morning, when he would broach the subject to him. After his call on Kerensky, Rodzianko telephoned to tell us that he had arranged for an audience for me with Kerensky at the Winter Palace at noon the next day.
Captain Dementiev drove me to the Winter Palace, and a few minutes before twelve I was in the antechamber of the War Minister. I was surprised to find General Brusilov there, and he asked me if I had come to see Kerensky about the scheme I had discussed with him. I replied that I had. He offered to support my idea with the War Minister, and introduced me to General Polovtzev, Commander of the Petrograd Military District, who was with him.
Suddenly the door swung open and a young face, with eyes inflamed from sleeplessness, beckoned to me to come in. It was Kerensky, at that moment the idol of the masses. One of his arms was in a sling. With the other he shook my hand. He walked about nervously and talked briefly and dryly. He told me that he had heard about me and was interested in my idea. I then outlined to him the purpose of the project, saying that there would be no committees, but regular discipline in the battalion of women.
Kerensky listened impatiently. He had evidently made up his mind on the subject. There was only one point of which he was not sure. Would I be able to maintain a high standard of morality in the organization? He would allow me to recruit it immediately if I made myself answerable for the conduct and reputation of the women. I pledged myself to do so. And it was all settled. I was granted the authority there and then to form a unit under the name of The First Russian Women’s Battalion of Death.
It seemed unbelievable. A few days ago it had dawned upon me as a mere fancy. Now the dream was adopted as a practical policy by the highest in authority. I was in ecstasy. As Kerensky showed me out his eyes fell on General Polovtzev. He asked him to give me all necessary help. I was overwhelmed with happiness.
A brief consultation took place immediately between Captain Dementiev and General Polovtzev, who made the following suggestion:
“Why not start at the meeting to be held tomorrow night in the Mariinsky Theatre for the benefit of the Home? Kerensky, Rodzianko, Chkheidze, and others will speak there. Let us put Bochkareva between Rodzianko and Kerensky on the programme.”
I was seized with nervousness and objected strenuously that I could never appear in public and that I should not know what to talk about.
“You will tell them just what you told Rodzianko, Brusilov and Kerensky. Just tell them how you feel about the front and the country,” they said, making light of my objections.
Before I had time to realize it I was already in a photographer’s studio, and there had my portrait taken. The following day this picture appeared at the head of big posters pasted all over the city, announcing my appearance at the Mariinsky Theatre for the purpose of organizing a Women’s Battalion of Death.
I did not close an eye during the entire night preceding the evening fixed for the meeting. It all seemed a fantastic dream. How could I take my place between two such great men as Rodzianko and Kerensky? How could I ever face an assembly of educated people, I, an illiterate peasant woman? And what could I say? My tongue had never been trained to elegant speech. My eyes had never beheld a place like the Mariinsky Theatre, formerly frequented by the Tsar and the Imperial family. I tossed in bed in a state of fever.
“Holy Father,” I prayed, my eyes streaming with tears, “show Thy humble servant the path to truth. I am afraid; instil courage into my heart. I can feel my knees give way; steady them
