Occupation in World War I

The following source document is an excerpt from the long-running chronicle maintained by the clergy of the Aleksandro-Nevskaia church in Limbaži, a small town (4,700 inhabitants in 1914) around 90 kilometres to the north of Riga. This parish was comparatively old, being founded in 1822: in 1913, it contained 1,798 parishioners. The chronicle’s author was Father Aleksei Kolosov (1864-1935), the main priest of the parish from 1913 to 1930: he provides invaluable and fascinating eyewitness descriptions about the coming of the war, the occupation of much of Livland in 1915, the final invasion of the Germans in 1917, and the revolution.

Chronicle of the Limbaži Aleksandro-Nevskaia Church of Riga Diocese

The Second Patriotic War [1]

On 20 July [2], the day of Ilia the holy prophet of God, the imperial manifesto of war with Germany was promulgated. This war came into our peaceful life suddenly. True, we had talked about it earlier with acquaintances close to politics, but the population had not given this great import. In the last week before the war, things became alarming. News spread about the presentation on 10 July of an ultimatum by the Austro-Hungarian ambassador in Belgrade to the Serbian minister-president and about Austro-Hungary’s opening of military activities 48 hours after this against Serbia. Germany interfered in this and tried to paralyse the opportunity for a peaceful outcome.

On the morning of 19 July, announcements were pasted up on the street corners of Limbaži about the calling up of reservists and the supply of horses, soldiers, carts, and harnesses: in a word, about the placement of the army and fleet onto a war footing. In these announcements, all those called up were appointed a three-day period to gather their things and put their domestic affairs in order: bosses and all institutions were obliged to reach a final account with their juniors who had been called up. After this, it became undoubted that war was inevitable. Although fear embraced all, the local population, primarily the Latvians, met the bold call with dignity. They saw in this the dawn of a new day – the liberation from Teutonic persecution that had dominated them for 700 years and the beginning of a time when the privileges of the local German landowners would be limited or even abolished. There was neither dissatisfaction nor grumbling during the mobilisation and call up. People met this as something proper and necessary, all considered going [to war] against the arch-enemy as their holy duty. Faith in victory was unwavering, and I did not hear doubts about a happy outcome to the war. At the very beginning of the war, the spirit of patriotism among the Latvians poured out in a range of processions, the first on 23 July and the second on the evening of 26 July upon the declaration of war against Austro-Hungary. A portrait of the sovereign emperor was carried before a numerous crowd with a multitude of national flags: alternately [one heard] “God Save the Tsar”, “Dievs, sveti Latviju”, [3] and mighty “hurrahs!!!” Processions stopped by the town police office and the apartments of the judge, the priest, the police supervisor, the head of the postal service, and others. Utterly indignant cries of ‘Down with the Germans!’ resounded in front of the apartment of local Germans, like the town doctor Miller, the teacher of the German school Vogel, and others, where portraits of Kaiser Wilhelm occupied first place and they boldly expressed the opinion that in the future war victory would be won by the Germans, who would be in Riga in three months and then take the train to Petersburg. Upon the coming of darkness, the participants in the marches lit them up with multi-coloured lamps.

Faith in a happy outcome strengthened when, through the efforts of the member of the State Duma Mr Goldmanis [4], permission was received to organise separate Latvian rifle battalions, consisting of soldiers of Latvian origin from different parts of the army and from volunteers [5]. Those capable of wielding arms were warmly welcomed into these battalions.

On 22 February, on the name day of the [Dowager] Empress Mariia Fedorovna [6], before prayers the local priest in brief words of greeting to the worshippers, expressing the necessity of love to the fatherland, which had already begun to be expressed in mass celebrations, donations, and others, called for the […] giving of victory over the enemy to [the tsar] and the Christ-loving all-Russian army.

I read the supreme manifesto on the opening of military activities against Germany in the church on 27 July upon the performance liturgy.

[…]

On the reading of this manifesto, the audience were invited to send prayers about the gift of victory to Russian arms. During the prayers, warm tears of internal conviction were seen in the eyes of many worshippers. The supreme manifesto on war with Austro-Hungary was read on 3 August [7], after which followed prayers about the gift of victory. Again it must be noted that these prayers were well timed for the anxious hearts of the worshippers: one even heard signs of tender emotion and tears. The supreme manifesto on war against Turkey was read on 26 October [8], in which it was said that it is necessary to strength oneself in the struggle with a numerous invading enemy with faith in the mercy of God, to protect of the soul of love, to observe a sober life, to care about family celebrations, to be charitable to injured soldiers –this was the guarantee of victory. From this time, prayers to God for the gift of victory were declaimed at every service.

[…]

Before the present war, all concerns about those remaining in the rear were limited to injured and wounded soldiers: now, concern for the families of those called up to the army was introduced into our patriotic duties. Every soldier going into battle with the enemy should have one duty – the duty concerning the Motherland. The Motherland had to take upon itself [the soldier’s] duty concerning his family. A conscript’s family was guaranteed by government rations and had the same apartments which they had occupied before the call up of the head of the family to the army: landowners did not have the right to evict those families, even in cases of non-payment of rent.

To provide help to the families of those called up to the army, a guardianship council was founded in the parish in accordance with the Synod’s instruction from 20 July. Besides the indispensable participation of the clergy and church elder, the priest A. Kolosov was elected as the council’s chairman (and secretary): Kolosov’s wife was elected treasurer, and thirteen parishioners were elected as members. All participants in the council were given subscription lists for gathering material and financial donations. On the return of these lists, they showed the collection of: 62 bedsheets, 51 pillow cases, 32 shirts, 4 pairs of drawers, 165 towels, 35 pairs of woollen socks, 27 pairs of woollen mittens, 21 handkerchiefs, 5 bundles of foot cloths, 3 woollen blankets, 4 bottles of wine, 1.5 pounds of tobacco, 270 cigarettes, and other things like matches, soap, letter paper, and envelopes. As well as this, 11 pieces of canvas and 5 pounds of woollen yarn were collected: from this material, the female pupils of the parish school, under the guidance of the handicrafts teacher, made underwear for the soldiers. Cash donations came for dispatch to the families of those called up a large number of  pouches and whole complexes of underwear for dispatch to soldiers as holiday gifts. To replenish the money of the parish guardianship council, a church donation was established, which was the main source of charity to the families of those called up. In view of the inconsiderable amount of incoming funds and the fact that families received government rations, aid from the council was issued prudently only to families in extreme need of such assistance: only with the passage of time, to be more precise from the end of 1915, did the council take upon itself the job of providing aid to refugees in extreme need.

[…]

 The Limbaži city authorities opened in town buildings a hospital for wounded and ill soldiers: the local parish guardianship council issued bed linen to equip this. The blessing of this hospital was performed on 5 October, on the name day of the sovereign’s heir, the tsarevich Aleksei Nikolaevich [9], in the presence of a multitude of the gathered intelligentsia of Limbaži. The sermon was given on the Gospel text “I was sick, and ye visited me”. [10] The first group of injured, numbering 10 people, arrived on 8 October at 10 in the evening. The meeting was most hearty and hospitable. All representatives of the city, the administration of the hospital, and members of the Ladies Committee, many of whom worked in this hospital, were there. As soon as the wounded arrived, they were immediately taken to the baths and their wounds were rebound by the local city doctor: then they were invited to dinner, composed of several hearty dishes, including pastry as a dessert. The wounded enjoyed good care from the administration of the hospital and the members of the Ladies Committee, as well as the attention and love of the public, which was expressed in private visits to the hospital and gifts. The priest daily visited the hospital in the evenings for conversations with the wounded and the performance of evening prayers. Some teachers from the local gymnasium recognised that their duty to the illiterate wounded was to teach them literacy – reading, writing and the first principles of arithmetic, and they had sufficient success in this. Upon the release of soldiers from the hospital, each of them was equipped by the Ladies Committee with a full set of underwear and other things necessary for soldiers [while] the priest gave each one a New Testament, a prayer book, and a crucifix. During the time of their stay, the injured so closely merged with the residents of Limbaži that, upon their exit from the hospital, they maintained uninterrupted correspondence for a long time. There were no cases of deaths from wounds, since in this hospital lived only the lightly wounded due to the distance of Limbaži from the train station . The death of the injured senior non-commissioned officer Fedor Grigor’ev Savel’ev of the 224th Ufa infantry regiment (33 years old, from the peasantry of the village Malo-Zhidkovo, Olzhskaia volost’, Vladimir province) was a consequence of his cold. He was buried with great ceremony on 8 December with the performance of a funeral liturgy. His body was carried to the cemetery by members of the local firefighting organisation in their uniforms, together with a cross procession; it was buried in the enclosure of the fraternal grave appointed for the funerals of soldiers who died from their wounds and illnesses in the war of 1914.

[…]

Noteworthy was the preparedness of the people to tolerate the burdens of the war until the end and place great sacrifices on the altar of the defence of the Motherland from the encroachment of the savage enemy, the Germans. The population bore many losses from the war: there was not a single family which did not send warriors to the field of battle in the person of either a father, brother, husband or close relative, but consciousness of the necessity of the war reconciled them with all sacrifices demanded by the ear. Comfort in misfortune was found in reinforced prayer: the heightening  of the religious mood was noted not only among the Orthodox population but also among the Lutherans, who often asked for prayers about their soldier relatives. There are many reasons why all the burdens of the war were born without grumbling by the population. One was the fact that the German enemy swiftly approached the native land of Kurland [11], which involuntarily prompted each to forget all [else] and give all their possessions to keep the enemy from going further. The population was calmed in its daily burdens: unlike in previous wars, it had help in the form of the government rations issued to families.

This was not all. From the beginning of the war, the taverns were closed: on the day on which the mobilisation and call up was announced, the monopoly tavern was closed for a day, then for two or three; then by supreme instruction, on 22 August 1914, trade in all alcohol shops was stopped for the duration of the entire war [12]. It was thus difficult to obtain wine for the needs of the church: the alcohol shops issued it only on with the certification of the excise inspector and the priest. It was even forbidden to produce beer domestically. Of course, those accustomed to drinking wine had to overcome their passion for it, and in cases of weddings, baptisms, and funerals, many stood in a stupour before the question: how can we celebrate without wine? It was not unusual for wine to be replaced with diluted or denatured spirits or other such surrogates, according to the aphorism ‘if there is nothing desirable, be satisfied with what you have’: but little by little people got used to the strange state of things. There were cases of people asking me [to provide] them with church wine or to issue them certificates for the purchase of church wine in the shops: they declared without constraint that other priests issued similar certification, but I did not satisfy the requests of such petitioners, of course thus drawing on myself great dissatisfaction.

Women and children were joyful about this turn of events because the drunkenness of the head of the family corroded all its life. When wine was sold, the peasant and, especially, the factory worker in the local wool spinning mill spent much money on drunkenness, accompanied by all its [concomitant] ugliness which sadly reflected on the welfare of their families. From this time, their lives changed for the better to the point of being unrecognisable. Cases of hooliganism, altercations, and criminality even on market days declined to a minimum: celebrations were conducted decently, there was a consciousness of the importance of the moment being lived through. Together with this, families achieved material sufficiency; the tears dried in the eyes of wives and children, the childless had children, […] the hungry became full. The drunks and tramps who earlier stood on street corners were met decently dressed and occupied with some kind of work, which previously they considered themselves incapable of. As a consequence of this, at the end of the day all unanimously recognised the beneficent results of the prohibition on the spirits.

[…]

Military events like the taking of Austrian cities of Przemyśl and Erzerum, Italy joining Russia in the war against Germany, Austria, and Turkey, and others were marked with celebratory thanksgiving prayers in the presence of the military divisions in Limbaži and its localities [13]. With the coming of summer [1915], it pleased God to send our armies trials and take from them the results of the earlier victories [14]. A retreat began, and together with it the loss of cheerfulness. The Holy Synod ordered a three-day fast from 26 to 29 August with the performance of the liturgy and calls to forget fun and amusement and to place spiritual renewal first. Day followed day, and our military circumstances did not improve. The sovereign himself took on himself leadership of all land and naval forces in the theatre of war [15]: the Synod ordered prayers to the Lord God for victory, which were performed on the church’s holy day of 30 August. The entirety of the 32nd Don Cossack regiment, which had been positioned in Limbaži since the beginning of August, was present at these prayers. This was the first regiment to be placed in Limbaži itself, and it was met by the residents of the town with great joy. With the arrival of the Cossacks, the residents, scared by news from the field of battle, were encouraged and felt themselves under reliable defence.

When the sovereign emperor took upon himself supreme command of the army, this raised the patriotic mood of the population to a high level: this was expressed in highly patriotic processions in every appropriate setting. Numerous crowds marched around the streets with portraits of the sovereign and the songs ‘God Save the Tsar’ and ‘Dievs, sargi keizaru…’ [16]. These hymns was concluded with shouts of ‘Hurrah!’. At this time, the retreat of our armies stopped. Along the thousand-vertsa front, the army became an iron wall and kept back the terrible German invasion and its onslaught.

At the end of September, the reformed 1st and 2nd Baltic cavalry regiments and the 224th Ufa infantry regiment were in Limbaži. The military chaplain of the 2nd Baltic regiment was temporarily absent and so the religious requirements of the soldiers were fulfilled by the local priest. […] He was only paid three roubles per hour. 

1916

Romania joined Russia in the war against Germany [17]. On this occasion, on 21 August, prayers about victory, proceeded by a sermon appropriate for the occasion, were conducted in the porch of the church in the presence of the armed forces and a great press of people.

The  25th workers battalion, made up of Austrian prisoners of war, 4,000 men, were placed in the Nabe and Steine districts [18]. The administration of this battalion occupied rented rooms in the Orthodox school in Imshi, the furniture of which was almost entirely stolen. A petition was raised about compensation for the damage, but there was no success since the battalion entirely declined to recognise its blame for this. These prisoners of war dug trenches and dug outs and built wire fences, which dragged on in an endless chain along both sides of the roads leading to Riga. 16 people from this battalion died at different times and were buried in the old Limbaži Orthodox cemetery in the low grounds by the wall. By each grave, a tree (mainly a fragrant green fir) was planted, along with a wooden cross and a mounted sign.

1917

As a consequence of military activities, the approach of the enemy, and the revolution, the indifference of the parishioners to the church and parish matters reached an extreme – it was not possible to reform the parish council, which had been broken apart by evacuation and other matters. The parish school in Limbaži and the auxiliary school in Imshi stopped functioning, since their teachers were evacuated to Russia and there was no money available for new teachers, school buildings, etc. The government refused to give money to maintain these schools. However, in the hope that those studying in the school themselves would give money, a school was opened in the autumn in buildings rented by the local priest in the home of Garras on Reval Street. A. Berg was chosen as a teacher with a wage of 100 roubles a month. There were only five pupils, who did not have the means to pay for the teacher’s labour and to maintain and clean the rooms rented by the priest: therefore this enterprise, which existed for one week, was shut down, and it was necessary to toss aside [the idea] of reopening the school.

[…]

New failures on the battlefield, the continual surrender of strong positions to the enemy, and the uninterrupted retreat of our soldiers into the depths of their position were used by unreliable elements in the state for a people’s rebellion against the government, the consequences of which quickly appeared. On 24 February, disorders flared up in Petrograd: echoes of these occurred in other places of the state. The sovereign emperor Nicholas II was compelled to sign an abdication from the throne. They arrested him and then erupted ubiquitous revolution. The echoes of the revolution in Limbaži were expressed in the following. On 6 March, the soldiers of the local garrison held a meeting in the town square: after inflammatory speeches, it was resolved to disarm the police, which was greeted with cries of hurrah and weapons in hands, despite the exhortations of the officers to observe order and obedience. The chancelleries of the city warden and the junior assistant of the district official were turned upside down, the documents and archives were torn to shreds and burnt in ovens, portraits of the sovereign were trampled in the mud, prisoners in the jails were let out, the apartments of the police were searched […]. The police supervisor P. E. Filakov and the junior assistant B. A. Vinogradov were saved from a reckoning with the furious crowd of soldiers thanks only to the circumstance that beforehand they, unnoticed by anyone, ran to the apartment of the local priest, who hid them while the rage of the crowd cooled: at night, they redressed in everyday clothes and fled, never to return.

Thus the autocratic order left the historical scene, giving its position to national representation with full legislative, executive, and judicial power. But in place of democracy, the autocracy of the communist party, that is a select part of the working proletariat in the form of the Bolshevik regime, rapidly made its appearance. It trampled the most sacred democratic freedoms into the mud: social equality, equality of rights, freedom of conscience, speech, assembly, family, religion and private property. Executive committees began to rule.

[…]

On the evening of 7 March, a march was held by the pupils of the local school with flags and burning torches. Their songs alternated between ‘Cik slavens ir tas Kungs Ciana’ and ‘Dievs, sveti Latviiju’, thus anticipating the dawn of a new day.

But this dawn shone dimly, at least at first: it was encompassed by the darkness. Constant meetings occurred in which the officials of the deposed tsarist regime was mercilessly condemned. The officers quit the soldiers’ executive committees, in which were ignoramuses: sergeant majors installed themselves as leaders. The regimental priests were driven out: matins, evensong, and prayers in general were completely driven out from the barracks as unnecessary. The field churches and their property were destroyed and robbed. The icons were thrown out and exposed to ridicule. The officers went through an especially difficult time: they were mercilessly abused, publicly condemned, and forcibly deprived of epaulettes and symbols of officer rank. The members of the executive committee and even simple soldiers (‘comrades’) drove around in carriages or sleighs, while the officers drove normal carts and drovnikah. I was an observer when a dog with officer’s epaulets tied to its back ran along Park Street: a comrade shouted with all his might, ‘Look! Look! What nobility, he even has a captain’s rank!’ The officers, driven out by the taunts and mockery of the ‘comrades’, did not show themselves on the streets during the day: only with the arrival of dusk did they dare to leave, and then only at the most pressing need.

In consequence of the full demoralisation of our army, the enemy invaded with great energy and without especial effort jostled the ‘comrades’ into the depths of the country. At this time, the enemy took Iskuld, Kemmern and other towns, and on 20 August took Riga. Our army blew up the fortress of Ust-Dvinsk. Thus began the uninterrupted retreat of our army through Limbaži. On the path of the retreat, the ‘comrades’ indulged in robbery and banditry in manors, pastoral homes, and peasant plots. German zeppelins chased the retreating soldiers, equipped with bullets and explosive bombs. They appeared more than once over Limbaži and its surroundings. More than 30 explosive shells were dropped on the Sepkul station of the Vol’mar-Gainazh narrow gauge railway.

In view of this, the evacuation of Limbaži was declared. With the closure of the post office, its residents were cut off from the rest of the world. Of course, an instruction followed about the evacuation of the church property. The valuable church property and documents were sent to the Novgorod Sviato-Dukhovskii convent, and 6 bells and 4 boxes with chandeliers, candle sticks, metal gonfalons, marital crowns, icon lamps and other things were sent to the Moscow artillery warehouse, in accordance with the telegrammed instruction of General Danilov. The local psalmists were evacuated together with the property. From the clergy, only the priest remained in place, fulfilling rites and continuing the liturgy in the church: moreover, the soldiers from the hospitals and garrisons still present in Limbaži came for readings and to sing in the choir. From September to the end of the year, a marvellous choir was organised among the soldiers under the direction of a Siberian experienced in church singing. There were opera singers with excellent tenors and basses in the choir. Their singing was distinguished by its harmony and variety of numbers, and it acted like a healing balm on the sick hearts of the worshippers.

The revolution occurring in the state unfavourably reflected on the material conditions of the clergy. The priest was deprived of payments from the state, rent, and the issue of firewood from the state’s supply: he was left to his own devices, without the means to live. As religious lessons had been driven out of the schools, he was deprived of his teacher’s wage. Taking this into account, the parish council decreed a charge of 3 roubles a year from every parishioner for the clergy: this gave the priest only 150 roubles a month. The meagerness of these payments caused extreme poverty. Cases occurred when it was not possible to buy bread. 1.5 years passed without butter. Breakfast consisted mostly of bread, salt, and grass tea. Lunch was little different. By the recommendation of the local doctor, the priest switched to horse meat: it was comparatively much cheaper than other kinds of meat, but after 2 or 3 times he could no longer eat it, as it led to nausea. Sugar was out of reach due to price: it cost 40 roubles a pound. One could not think about obtaining any clothing. There was not enough money to acquire thread to repair worn-out shirts: it was necessary to sew patches onto degrading clothes. The position became truly critical. The question about receiving firewood was completely irresolvable because a sazhen of wood was valued at 1,000 roubles. An escape from this dead end was to open a boarding house for students, but this enterprise provided little.

1918

The first Easter liturgy was performed not at 12 at night, as is required by the regulations, but, in view of the circumstances, at dawn, at 6 in the morning. The reason for such an innovation was, firstly, the insufficiency of lighting material and its exorbitant cost, and, secondly and chiefly, that during the German occupation it was not permitted to walk around the town and its suburbs after evening and before dawn without the permission of the commandant. In view of this, all the Orthodox who desired to visit the Easter liturgy at 12 at night would have to do so with written certification from the commandant and present this to the patrols posted on the streets, which seemed entirely difficult and undoable. At this Easter liturgy, a sufficiently large number of worshippers were present, but not in as great a number as in the previous Easter celebrations.

Bolshevism and the German occupation

Bolshevism-communism declared itself the complete master, trampling all rights to property and using unheard-of force. They took homes from property owners. Rent was deposited with the city executive committee. Shops were requisitioned and closed, and the goods went to satisfying the needs of the chief. The request to release a bottle of wine for the needs of the church was met with a refusal and the explanation “drunkenness should not be indulged”, [even though] the chiefs themselves did not manage to wake up from hangovers before again getting drunk. The tenants on church land were forbidden to pay rent to the clergy. Assemblies were held in the town square, in the house of social gatherings, and even in the Lutheran church: [in these meetings] they killed faith in God and ridiculed the clergy and the rituals of the church. On street corners, posters were placed in which clerical persons were depicted with sarcastic slogans under them. All this strongly undermined the religiosity of the people: they cooled towards visiting the church, declined from fulfilling the Christian duties of confession and taking the eucharist: only an inconsiderable loyal part was left, a small proportion of what had been before. The decline in the number of visitors to the church liturgy should also be explained by the fact that they had nothing to wear or put on their feet because of the unheard-of cost: in the severe cold and rain, the majority of my parishioners were shoed in boots made from sewn-together rags, without leather.

At the same time, the Germans and their hordes got closer and closer to Limbaži. The commandant of Limbaži finally recognised that it was the right time to order that military weapons be rendered unusable and that spare parts be destroyed: on 6/19 February at 12 at night they left Limbaži. One’s heart poured blood on seeing what they left behind: whole fields of spoilt weapons, whole fields of wagon carts and carriages, an endless chain of trenches, dug outs, and barbed wire stretching all along the Riga road and across streets and bridges, on which had been spent much money and labour – all this was left to the invading enemy. It felt in your heart as if you had been robbed, that you had been buried on some road, that you were orphaned, and unwilling tears flowed out. One’s heart became heavier still when, on 7/20 February at 1 in the afternoon, German cavalry appeared on the city square, [stood] in the centre of this square, raised their flag, and required the rapid delivery to the square of all those with arms. After this, with the cooperation of the local Germans, people favourable to the Bolshevik movement were arrested, 9 in number: they [the German army] shot them in the ravine along the road from Limbaži to the Ozoli station, between the water mill, the pond, and the barn. They did not allow us to collect their bodies for three days due to the fear of the townsfolk: only after this period did relatives collect the bodies of the executed.

The Bolshevik executive and land committees were liquidated by the Germans, and those members who remained (the majority hid) were held responsible for their actions. Town and district administrations were introduced with [the appointment of] city heads and volost seniors. Requisitions in kind were established for every cow, chicken, and bee hive and so on. It was forbidden to walk around the town from 5 in the evening until dawn. Upon a patrol’s call of “Halt!”, the pedestrian had to rapidly stop: if not, they caught a bullet and often died. The names of town streets and the surnames of homeowners had to be written on houses in German. On the road, stop signs were also marked in German, and the distance between them [was written] not in versta but in kilometres. A new style was introduced for marking time and the celebration of holidays. New signs of purchase and sale were introduced in marks and pfennings. The previous passports were replaced with new ones with photographic pictures, finger prints from the index finger of the right hand, and so on.

Pastor Blumenbach was appointed the school inspector: he made a careful selection on hiring teachers, considering the confession of the candidate – Orthodox teachers were not given positions. The Russian language was totally driven out of the elementary schools, in violation of the wishes of the parents – German was taught in 10 lessons a week, while in the secondary school Russian was taught only from the 5th class, and only to successful pupils. After repeated written and personal requests, I was given religious lessons for Orthodox pupils and wages for this.

With the arrival of the German soldiers, the local Germans put on airs and felt themselves to be the masters of things. For entire days they gallivanted around the streets and conducted loud conversations in German, until then a forbidden language. Meanwhile the residents of other nationalities were completely not seen: they, seeing themselves as [unwanted] stepsons, hid themselves or, at least, showed themselves on the street only in cases of extreme necessity. The local pastor Blumenbach, also school inspector and by origin German, strongly raised his voice against Orthodoxy: not only in private conversations but also from the church cathedra, he mercilessly condemned and ridiculed Orthodoxy. In this matter, he found himself zealous assistants among the Germans. Such a position towards Orthodoxy shook some of the frivolous Orthodox: in a comparatively brief period of time, the pastor married two mixed couples and baptised one child born from a mixed couple [19]. […] Soon his authority was undermined. Rumours began to circulate among the people, for the most part factually confirmed, that Blumenbach had given to the German soldiers those implicated in Bolshevism, in which matter, of course, the army did not stand on ceremony: thus, he showed himself not as a pastor, but as a traitor and executor of his parishioners. Due to this, Blumenbach’s talk against Orthodoxy lost its attractiveness and strength, and those Orthodox who were wavering were compelled to rethink and cast aside their intention to convert to Lutheranism.

The other Germans were no better than Blumenbach at this time. They did not stand on ceremony with anyone, least of all with the Russians, their enemy. Here is an example. I had an apartment in the home of Garras, with a cellar, a pig sty, and a barn. The German Sokolovskii managed this house: before the arrival of the German army in Limbaži, he always behaved correctly towards me, and as such no unpleasantness or misunderstandings had arisen between us during the five years of living together in this house. But as soon as the foreign Germans appeared, here is what happened: my host became unrecognisable. Above all, he took from me the pig sty and then the barn (in exchange for which I was given a small hay loft): despite this, the rent rose first 1.5 times and then, a month later, 2.5 times compared to the original amount. Such injustice compelled me to go to another apartment. Here is another case about the Germans at this time. Bindeman, a former officer in the Russian army, had until this time been unceasingly respectful towards me: [but now] he met me on Morskii street, opposite the home of Kreishman (he found a place where to talk about business), and crudely demanded from me the return of school land, alienated at the beginning of 1917. When I said that I had received this land legally and therefore it would not be returned, he publically expressed that this was a seizure, arbitrariness, theft. After this, I exited without giving an answer, leaving him on the pavement.

Only the emboldened local German population expressed such an attitude towards Orthodoxy: the incoming Germans conducted themselves fairly in this matter. So, at my request they permitted me firewood from the state forest to warm my apartment. They returned the parochial house and ordered tenants on church land to pay me rent. They gave me a ticket to freely move about at any time day and night in order to fulfil my pastoral duties in the city and the surrounding region. Without a hitch, they gave permission for cross processions to the cemetery, general meetings, and assemblies of the parish council. Once, walking along the town streets, I noted that a broken window in the shop of a Jew had been replaced with an icon of the Saviour, painted on canvas sized roughly 1 by 1.5 arshin. 10 minutes after I reported this to the commandant, an order was issued about removing the icon.

Here is one more example of the perspicuity of the incoming Germans. On 29 July, the commandant of Limbaži told me about the arrival on 1 August of the district officer of Volmar and Venden district, and about his intention to visit and review the Lutheran and Orthodox churches after an inspection of other institutions: the visit was to occur at 11:20 in the morning. Punctually, the general and his retinue stood on the church porch: remaining in the middle of it, they listened to the singing of the 22nd psalm. Upon the conclusion of the psalm, I, clothed in the phelonion and epitrachelion, stood on the ambon and pronounced in Russian the following greeting [20]:

Your Excellency! A great honour has fallen on me to greet you in the name of the Limbaži Orthodox parish. Flattered by your gracious visit to our holy place, the church of God, we greet you with deep gratitude for the high attention which you allowed yourself to show to our holy place with your current visit. The Limbaži Orthodox parish, which was founded in 1822, has existed already for almost 100 years and at the current time counts 2,000 parishioners within its walls. The Orthodox Church, as a divine institution, has always seen its task not in politics but in the enlightenment of the people with  Christ’s teachings, joining all into the single body of Christ, which lives and breathes love, planting here on earth the eternal kingdom of love, about which we daily pray through the words of the Lord’s Prayer, ‘Our Father, your kingdom come!’. Succoured by the hope of the highly enlightened and magnanimous sponsorship of Your Excellency, we humbly ask that you do not consider the flock of the Orthodox Church as the stepsons but as true children, always prepared, in the words of Christ our saviour, to ‘Render therefore unto Cæsar the things which are Cæsar’s; and unto God the things that are God’s’ [Matt. 22.21] or, in the words of the apostle St Paul, to ‘Render therefore to all their dues: tribute to whom tribute is due; custom to whom custom; fear to whom fear; honour to whom honour’ [Romans 13.7]. The grace of our Lord Jesus Christ, the love of God the Father, and the communion of the Holy Spirit be with you now and forever.

Upon the final words, I flashed the cross to the non-Orthodox present, including Pastor Blumenbach. My greeting was translated into German by Mr Savar, a former officer in the Russian army.

Hearing the greeting, His Excellency made a response in German, which, judging by the words of the translator, expressed thanks for his greeting and his satisfaction that the parishioners of this church did not allow the revolutionary mob to insult the holiness of the church of God. After this the choristers sang the 145th psalm, and the priest, bowing before the altar, concluded with the Lord’s Prayer in Latvian. The attentive attitude of the German general to the Orthodox church and the exchanged greetings served as a subject of conversation for a long time; moreover, it was noted that Pastor Blumbenbach said nothing similar in the Lutheran church […].

On 18 November, the proclamation of the Latvian Republic was held, but this circumstance completely did not change the essence of the established order: for now, there was no improvement of matters [21].

At the insistence of England and other states, Germany was compelled to lift the occupation in Latvia and withdraw its occupying army. By virtue of this, on 9 December the German left Limbaži, and together with them to the Vaterland departed the inveterate local Germans – pastor Bauman, the German language teacher Vogel, the chemist Zument, and others.

With the withdrawal of the German army, Bolshevism-communism was established in the full sense, expressing its cruelty to a greater extent than at the beginning of 1918. The Red Army soldiers of Soviet Russia appeared in Riga to rule the roost on Christmas Day itself and declared Soviet rule in Latvia [22], but simultaneously Bermont’s force moved into Latvia, dreaming about re-establishing the former German order in the Baltic republics, in Latvia and Estonia [23].

1919

The new-style calendar [24] was introduced from 1st January. From this time, notes in the registries in cases of births, marriages and deaths were made in the new style; equally, holy days were celebrated according to the new style.

Red Terror

On 20 February, the directive about the separation of the church from the state and school was announced [25]. This was late, since everything in it had practically been introduced at the beginning of the previous year. In fulfilment of this directive, some E. Reinhert, the representative of the Limbaži workers’ soviet, a Lutheran man with a dark past and an inveterate drunk, required an inventory of all the parish property, like: the property of the church, the sums in cash, the cemetery, the land and the house; as popular property, it was transferred in free use to the parishioners under receipt, with the obligation that they would be responsible for its integrity and maintenance. It should be used only for religious needs. By no means did he [Reinhert] allow anything contrary to Soviet power in the church: agitation against it, anti-Soviet preaching and speeches, the sale and distribution of brochures directed against the Soviet authorities, or the use of church bells to raise the alarm against the authorities. If the parishioners did not fulfil these conditions, they were responsible before revolutionary law. The parishioners agreed and gave their signatures to all this. Finally, Reinhardt took from the archive three registries for recent years and then closed the matter. Why he needed the registries, God alone knows. Perhaps by this act he wanted to demonstrate that he was the steward and master of the parish property: in a word, a bishop.

At this time, the same that occurred prior to the German occupation repeated but on a bigger scale. Religious lessons were driven from the schools, prayers could not be said in them: icons were taken from school buildings and other institutions. Endless meetings began, and predominantly they chose the Lutheran church as the place for these, where a question of great importance was resolved: “Do we need a church of God? How can it be better used?” In these meetings, they mercilessly scolded and crucified [figuratively] pastors and priests. In the church, they did not restrain from smoking cheap cigarettes: they stood and sat in their hats and even camped around the altar. It was said that in one of the meetings held in the church, when the orator ascended to the cathedra and concentrated on the resolution of blasphemous questions, some Filker (a psychologically abnormal person) ran into the church, out of breath and with a club in hand. Hitting his club on the floor, he shouted loudly: “Damn you! What are you doing here?! Fighting is going on outside the church.” Everyone one went in a single movement and began pushing for the exits, […], and the brave orator, thinking that the White Guards had truly arrived, began to run along the path to save his own skin, [shouting] “zaku pastalas”. It was also said that at another meeting in the church, a few pupils from the local middle school climbed into the choir stalls, where they indulged in pranks, smoked, laughed, and shouted….finally, from the highest point of the choir stalls one of them sprinkled those below him with his urine.

Fortunately, the Orthodox church was not chosen as the place for similar blasphemous assemblies, although outlandish rumours went around the people who had disgraced it. Such an attitude to the Orthodox church is explained only by the fact that that its head priest was on hand and, secondly and chiefly, because Russian soldiers were still in town: the hooligans feared clashing with Russian ‘comrades’ who remained loyal to previous religious traditions and love for the temple of God. […]

All the necessary goods, like grain, flour, groats, potatoes, etc., were in every case seized. The bourgeois was deprived of his rations from the warehouse. The bourgeois was driven onto the street to rake manure and, without the aid of a horse, full carts to take out of town. The bourgeois was forced to take care of those infected with typhus in the hospital, wash their bedclothes and so on. For those who throughout their past lives had never used a broom, shovel, crowbar, or crank, now came the time to master this. For the bourgeois, it was a truly hard time. No-one could vouch for the integrity of his property and the protection of his life tomorrow. In the evening he laid down to sleep with the fear: “Will I be a lifeless corpse by the morning?” […]. In this hard time, many residents of Limbaži paid with their lives: doctor Miller, medical assistant Dreiman and his wife, the wife of the pharmacist Zument, the merchant Tsiberg and his son, the home owners Mednis, Gren, Raman, Pautskis, and Ozol’t, the maintainer of the printing press Stumps, the clerk Rukis, the merchant Berzin, the White Army officer Bindeman, and many in the outskirts of Limbaži. (At this time in Tartu on 14 January 1919 the Bolsheviks shot the long imprisoned Bishop Platon of Reval and Riga and the archpriests N. Bezhanitskii and M. Bleive) [26]. Due to the denunciations of malicious personages, arrests happened daily. All those arrested were sent to Vol’mar to a concentration camp, from which there was only one exit for the majority – to be put against a wall and take a bullet in the forehead. Thus a person was struck from the list of the living.

Meanwhile, Bermont’s forces drew ever closer and at the beginning of June advanced to the border of Limbaži and Laden provinces, on the border of the Mutseniek estate, where they destroyed the Paldazh windmill. This was only 5 versta from Limbaži. But their progress came to a halt. It is seems not superfluous to note the following. When the hum of the guns from the clash was heard in Limbaži, the local Germans […] were jubilant and prophesized that in an hour Bermont’s forces would be in Limbaži. For them, the Germans had already prepared coffee, cookies, and flower bouquets for the tribute. But this was only pleasant dreams and a soap bubble.   

Pressed by the government armies, the Red Army soldiers of the Soviet authorities had to make a retreat: such circumstances forced the lord of the red terror to abandon Limbaži on 26 May. On 27 May at one in the afternoon, an Estonian cavalry regiment arrived in Limbaži, coming to the aid of the Latvian White soldiers in the struggle with Bermont’s foces and the Red Army. In their first act, this regiment ripped down the unfurled red flags at the entrance to the town administration and on the squares of the town. The united forces of Latvia and Estonia expelled the Red Army soldiers and the Bermont forces. After this, the residents breathed with relief, but already much had been lost during the liberation wars – many were not accounted for, property had been ravaged, the holy treasures trampled, morality had fallen low, and the number of capital crimes increased as never before. Everyone knew egregious insufficiency, in provisions, clothes, and shoes. Prices were exorbitant […].

Notes

[1] As the First World War was called at the time in Russia: the First Patriotic War was the Napoleonic invasion of Russia in 1812 and the subsequent campaigns.

[2] 1 August 1914 in the Gregorian calendar.

[3] ‘Dievs, sveti Latviju’ – ‘God Bless Latvia’

[4] Jānis Goldmanis (1875-1955). Elected to the 4th State Duma on 10 November 1912, became a member of the ‘Progressive group’.

[5] The author of the chronicle has perhaps confused the dates: the Latvian Riflemen were formed on 19 July 1915. The riflemen remained celebrated for their heroism during the Russian attacks in December 1916, which cost the Latvian brigades some 9,000 men, a third of the total.

[6] Dowager Empress Maria Fedorovna (1847-1928, originally Marie Sophie Frederikke Dagmar), the wife of Alexander III and mother of Nicholas II.

[7] War was declared against Austro-Hungary on 26 July 1914 (New Style, NS).

[8] War was declared against the Ottoman Empire on 1 November 1914 (NS).

[9] Tsarevich Aleksei (1904-1918), the only son and heir of Nicholas II.

[10] Matt. 25:36

[11] The German invasion of Kurland began on 27 April 1915 (NS).

[12] From the beginning of the war, the Russian government allowed the sale of vodka only in restaurants in an effort to reduce drunkenness on both the home and war fronts. However, since the government extracted a considerable amount of revenue from alcohol sales, this prohibition only exacerbated the scale of the financial crisis caused by the war.

[13] The Russian army besieged the Austrian fortress of Przemyśl from 16 September 1914 to 22 March 1915. Italy joined the war on the side of the allies in August 1915.

[14] The Gorlice–Tarnów offensive (2 May – 22 June 1915) resulted not only in the loss of lands taken from Austro-Hungary in the previous year, but also most of the Baltic and Polish provinces of the Russian Empire.

[15] Nicholas II assumed the role of the Russian Empire’s supreme commander on 5 September 1915.

[16] ‘Dievs, sargi keizar’ – ‘God Save the Emperor’

[17] Romania declared war on Austro-Hungary on 27 August 1916 (NS).

[18] Prisoners of war in the Russian Empire were often used as an auxiliary labour force.

[19] In the Russian Empire, the children of couples where one partner was Orthodox were legally obliged to have their child baptised in the Russian Orthodox Church.

[20] Phelonion: liturgical vestment worn on top of other vestments, equivalent to a chasuble.  Epitrachelion:  a stole worn around the neck. Ambon: projection emerging from the holy doors of the iconostasis.

[21] The Republic of Latvia was declared on 18 November 1918 (NS).

[22] Soviet Russian forces invaded Latvia on 1 December 1918, with a Latvian Socialist Soviet Republic declared on 13 January 1919. The Soviets were driven back by the end of May 1919.

[23] General Pavel Bermont-Avalov was a White Army general who incorporated elements of the German army into his army: his forces managed to control much of Latvia during October 1919: in November 1919, a Latvian counter-offensive drove Bermont’s army, with the general fleeing into exile in Denmark.

[24] The Soviet authorities ordered the replacement of the Julian calendar with the Gregorian one on 24 January 1918.

[25] The decree of the separation of church from state and schools was issued by the People’s Soviet of Commissars on 12 January 1918.

[26] See our article on Bishop Platon: https://www.balticorthodoxy.com/platon-kulbusch

Source

We are indebted to the late Aleksandr Gavrilin for his transcription and publication of this irreplaceable source: please see A. Gavrilin, ‘“Letopis’ Lemzal’skoi Aleksandro-Nevskoi tserkvi, Rizhskoi eparkhii, Vol’marskogo uezda i blagochiniia, nakhodiasheisia v g. Lemzal’, s 1822 goda” (Pervaia mirovaia voina i sobytiia 1917-1919 gg. glazami pravoslavnogo sviashchennika)’, Pravoslavie v Latvii. Istoricheskie ocherki, no. 8 (2010), pp. 115-152.

Translator

James M. White