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Authors: James Palmer
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more than 400 versts [around 270 miles] to Blagoveshchensk, where the Amur camp was located, only on horseback, eating what could be found along the way.â 21 This kind of long solitary ride was a common form of macho display among soldiers and travellers in the region. Ungernâs was relatively short, but an excellent chance to show off his riding skills and toughness, and to make an impression upon his new comrades in the Amur Regiment. It also deepened his familiarity with the region. It is unclear how long Ungern took to make the journey, but he won his bet. Some writers suggested that he veered into Mongolia, and even served with the Russian Consulate Guard there, but he would not have had the time to do so before taking up his new posting.
Ungern found the Amur posting even more tedious than his life in Dauria, despite the fact that during his time there he was posted to the machine-gun division, served as head of the intelligence division and led patrols along the Manchurian border. His record mentions various âincidentsâ, for which read quarrels, fights and duels. He took a six-month leave in 1911, returning home to see his family. Once back at Blagoveshchensk he continued quarrelsome as ever, and soon found himself in another duel. This was probably the source of his famous forehead scar, inflicted by a sabre-wielding opponent. Partly because of this incident, partly because of his own dissatisfaction, he sent a letter to Petersburg on 4 July, 1913 requesting a discharge from active service and a transfer to the reserve.
This was the second time he had left a regiment because of a duel, and the fourth time he had been effectively expelled from an institution following a breach of discipline. In some ways Ungernâs antics harked back to the traditions of the archetypal eighteenth-century officer, Russian or Prussian: an exaggerated sense of honour, a disdain for inferiors and, above all, a propensity to use force to make oneâs point. At that time throwing a merchant out of a window for having the effrontery to present a bill, or slapping a peasant down the street
with the flat of a sword had been fairly regular occurrences. For a Russian officer in the twentieth century, the occasional beating, or even drunken duel, might remain acceptable, but getting roaring drunk and firing at random at the patrons of cafes and taverns to prove your marksmanship, as Ungern is alleged to have done, was now considered excessive.
The Russian army had a long tradition of institutionalised violence, too, especially towards recruits, and had abolished flogging only with the reforms of 1864, decades after other European armies. The documented evidence of Ungernâs attacks probably excludes numerous assaults against servants, enlisted men, peasants and other such lowly specimens. By the standards of both the Baltic aristocracy and the Russian army, these were effectively non-people, and violence against them left no mark on the record. It is reasonable to assume that the reports of assaults on fellow cadets at school and outbursts against officers represent only a small fraction of Ungernâs thuggery.
Many who knew him later were forever seeking the root cause of Ungernâs wild rages. One theory was that his wounded forehead, injured either in his duel of 1913 or while fighting in the Caucasus in the Great War, sometimes flared up painfully and prompted Ungernâs wrath. Such a simple and organic explanation seems unlikely. Perhaps it was genetic, for his great-great-grandfather, his father, and Ungern himself were all prone to outbursts of rage. Privilege certainly had something to do with it; despite all his expulsions, there had always been a way back in for Ungern. Now, however, even the army was unwilling to offer a welcoming home. The combination of bureaucracy, tedium and alcohol finally became too much for him. His spirit was better suited to a land of magic and
Ungern found the Amur posting even more tedious than his life in Dauria, despite the fact that during his time there he was posted to the machine-gun division, served as head of the intelligence division and led patrols along the Manchurian border. His record mentions various âincidentsâ, for which read quarrels, fights and duels. He took a six-month leave in 1911, returning home to see his family. Once back at Blagoveshchensk he continued quarrelsome as ever, and soon found himself in another duel. This was probably the source of his famous forehead scar, inflicted by a sabre-wielding opponent. Partly because of this incident, partly because of his own dissatisfaction, he sent a letter to Petersburg on 4 July, 1913 requesting a discharge from active service and a transfer to the reserve.
This was the second time he had left a regiment because of a duel, and the fourth time he had been effectively expelled from an institution following a breach of discipline. In some ways Ungernâs antics harked back to the traditions of the archetypal eighteenth-century officer, Russian or Prussian: an exaggerated sense of honour, a disdain for inferiors and, above all, a propensity to use force to make oneâs point. At that time throwing a merchant out of a window for having the effrontery to present a bill, or slapping a peasant down the street
with the flat of a sword had been fairly regular occurrences. For a Russian officer in the twentieth century, the occasional beating, or even drunken duel, might remain acceptable, but getting roaring drunk and firing at random at the patrons of cafes and taverns to prove your marksmanship, as Ungern is alleged to have done, was now considered excessive.
The Russian army had a long tradition of institutionalised violence, too, especially towards recruits, and had abolished flogging only with the reforms of 1864, decades after other European armies. The documented evidence of Ungernâs attacks probably excludes numerous assaults against servants, enlisted men, peasants and other such lowly specimens. By the standards of both the Baltic aristocracy and the Russian army, these were effectively non-people, and violence against them left no mark on the record. It is reasonable to assume that the reports of assaults on fellow cadets at school and outbursts against officers represent only a small fraction of Ungernâs thuggery.
Many who knew him later were forever seeking the root cause of Ungernâs wild rages. One theory was that his wounded forehead, injured either in his duel of 1913 or while fighting in the Caucasus in the Great War, sometimes flared up painfully and prompted Ungernâs wrath. Such a simple and organic explanation seems unlikely. Perhaps it was genetic, for his great-great-grandfather, his father, and Ungern himself were all prone to outbursts of rage. Privilege certainly had something to do with it; despite all his expulsions, there had always been a way back in for Ungern. Now, however, even the army was unwilling to offer a welcoming home. The combination of bureaucracy, tedium and alcohol finally became too much for him. His spirit was better suited to a land of magic and
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