I wired to Tchicherin about the arrival of the second group and the certainty that no American deportees are en route. At the same time I informed him that I would use Sanitary Train 81, the only one remaining on the border, to take the men to Petrograd.
By long distance telephone and by telegram came Tchicherin's order to "wait till the Foreign Office learns the date of arrival of the American emigrants." We had already spent over a week on the border, and our provisions were running low, Petrograd having supplied us with only three clays' rations. What was to be done with over a hundred men, some of them ill? Feeling certain that Tchicherin was misinformed about the "American emigrants," I decided to ignore directions from "the center" and return to Petrograd.
But the local officials resented such defiance of au- thority and refused to act, and we were compelled to remain. Two more days passed, the famished war prisoners grew threatening, and at last the authorities consented to permit our train to depart.
Returning with Karus and Ethel that evening from the village to make final preparations for leaving, we were surprised not to find our train at the station. For hours we searched in every direction till a passing soldier informed us that heavy firing had been heard on the border, and as a precaution our white-painted train was moved out of range.
The night was pitch black. Leaving Ethel on the station platform I walked along the railroad track till I stumbled against a wall of cars. Someone hailed me and I recognized the voice of Karus. He lit his ii2 THE BOLSHEVIK MYTH portable lamp and we tried to enter a car, but the doors were locked and sealed. Suddenly we felt the air hissing, and bullets began to pelt about us. "They are shooting at my light," Karus cried, throwing his lamp down. We slowly followed the tracks till we in the heated air, assailing us with suffocating force. We felt our way in the darkness along the aisle between double rows of booted feet when a gruff voice shouted: "Dezhurney (sentinel), who's there?"
From one of the benches a soldier rose, fully clad and with gun in hand.
"Who goes there?" he challenged sleepily.
"How dare you let anyone into this car, you scoundrel, you!" another shouted.
"They just came in, tovarishtch" "You're a liar, you've been sleeping on duty." A string of curses poured forth upon the soldier, in- volving his mother and her alleged lovers in the pic- turesque vocabulary of the Russian oath.
The cursing voice sounded near. I saw a huge red star, five-pointed, with hammer and sickle in the cen- ter, pinned on the man's breast.
"Get out of here, you devils," the man shouted, "or I'll fill you full of lead."
"Easy, tovarishtch," Karus warned him, "and be a bit more polite."
"Get out!" the Commissar roared. "You don't know to whom you're talking. We're the boyevaia (fighting) Tcheka."
"There may be others such," Karus replied sig- nificantly. "We can't find our car and we'd like to pass the night here."
"But you can't remain here," the man remonstrated in a quieter tone, "we may be called for action any moment."
ON THE LATVIAN BORDER 113 "My tovarishtch is from the Petro-Soviet," Karus declared, indicating me; "we can't remain in the open."
"Well, stay then." The Commissar yawned and stretched himself on the bench.
I called Ethel into the car. She looked cold and tired, and hardly able to stand. In the dark I felt for a vacant place, but everywhere my hands touched human bodies. The men snored to various tunes, some cursing in their sleep.
I heard Karus climb up to the second tier and a woman's angry voice, "Quit your pushing, devil." "Make room, you heifer," came from Karus, "fine fighting men these, with a car full of whores."
In a corner we found a bench piled with rifles, dishes, and old clothes. No sooner did we sit down than we became conscious of vermin crawling upon us. "I hope we don't catch typhus," Ethel whispered fearfully. In the distance guns were being fired; now and then shots sounded nearby. Outside on the tracks two men were quarreling.
"You leave my woman be," a drunken voice threatened.
"Your woman!" the other sneered. "Why not mine r "I'll show you, you bastard son of your mother's lovers 1" There came a dull thud, and all was quiet again.
Ethel shuddered. "If it were only daylight," she murmured. Her head fell heavily on my shoulder and she slept.
March 27. — Arrived in Petrograd today. To my consternation I found the returned war prisoners still at the railroad station. No steps had been taken to quarter and feed them because they "were not ex- pected" and no "orders" had yet come from Moscow.
CHAPTER XV BACK IN PETROGRAD April 2, 1920. — I found Zinoviev very ill; his con- dition — it is rumored — is due to mistreatment at the hands of workers. The story goes that several fac- tories had passed resolutions criticizing the admin- istration for corruption and inefficiency, and that subsequently some of the men were arrested. When Zinoviev later visited the mill, he was assaulted.
Nothing of such matters is to be found in the Pravda or Krasnaya Gazetta, the official dailies. They con- tain little news of any kind, being almost exclusively devoted to agitation and to appeals to the people to stand by the Government and the Communist Party in saving the country from counter-revolution and eco- nomic ruin.
Bill Shatov is expected back from Siberia. His wife Nunya is in the hospital, at the point of death, it is feared, and Bill has been wired for. With surprise I have learned that Shatov failed to reply to our radios or to meet the Buford group at the border because he was forbidden to do so by "higher authorities.'* It also explains why Zorin pretended that Shatov had gone East when as a matter of fact he was still in Petrograd.
It appears that Bill, in spite of his great services to the Revolution, had fallen into disfavor; grave charges were made against him, and he was even in danger of his life. Lenin saved Shatov because he was a good organizer and "could still be useful." Bill was virtually exiled to Siberia, and it is believed that he will not be permitted to return to Petrograd to see his dying wife.
"4 n6 THE BOLSHEVIK MYTH country with the highest industrial development. It was the greatest crime of the Bolsheviki that they forcibly suspended the Constituent Assembly. They usurped governmental power, but the whole country is against them. What can you expect under such cir- cumstances? They have to resort to terror to force the people to do their bidding, and of course every- thing goes to ruin."
"That's a good Marxist talking," a Left Socialist Revolutionist rejoined, good humoredly; "but you for- get that Russia is an agrarian, not an industrial country, and will always remain such. You Social Democrats don't understand the peasant; the Bolsheviki distrust him and discriminate against him. Their proletarian dictatorship is an insult and an injury to the peasantry. Dictatorship must be that of Toil, to be exercised by the peasants and the workers together. Without the cooperation of the peasantry the country is doomed."
"As long as you'll have dictatorship, you'll have present conditions," the Anarchist host replied. "The centralized State, that is the great evil. It does not permit the creative impulses of the people to express themselves. Give the people a chance, let them ex- ercise their initiative and constructive energies — only that will save the Revolution."
"You fellows don't realize the great role the Bolshe- viki have played," a slender, nervous man spoke up. "They have made mistakes, of course, but they were not those of timidity or cowardice. They dispersed the Constituent Assembly? The more power to them! They did no more than Cromwell did to the Long Parliament: they sent the idle talkers away. And, incidentally, it was an Anarchist, Anton Zhelezniakov, on duty that night with his sailors at the palace, who ordered the Assembly to go home. You talk of violence and terror — do you imagine a Revolution is a drawing- room affair? The Revolution must be sustained at all BACK IN PETROGRAD 117 costs; the more drastic the measures, the more hu- manitarian in the long run. The Bolsheviki are Statists, extreme governmentalists, and their ruthless centralization holds danger. But a revolutionary period, such as we are going through, is not possible without dictatorship. It is a necessary evil that will be outlived only with the full victory of the Revolu- tion. If the left political opponents would join hands with the Bolsheviki and help in the great work, the evils of the present regime would be mitigated and constructive effort hastened."
"You're a Sovietski Anarchist," the others teased him.
Almost every otvetstvenny (responsible) Commun- ist is gone to Moscow to attend the Ninth Congress of the Party. Grave questions are at issue, and Lenin and Trotsky have sounded the keynote — militarization of labor. The papers are filled with the discussion of the proposed introduction of yedinolitchiye (one-man industrial management) to take the place of the present collegiate form. "We must learn from the bourgeoisie," Lenin says, "and use them for our purposes."
Among the labor elements there is strong opposition to the new plan, but Trotsky contends that the unions have failed in the management of industry: the pro- posed system is to organize production more efficiently. The labor men, on the contrary, say that the workers had not been given the opportunity, extreme State centralization having taken over the functions of the unions. Yedinolitchiye, they claim, means complete charge of factory and shop by one man, the so-called spets (specialists), to the exclusion of the workers from management.
"Step by step we are losing everything weVe gained by the Revolution," a shop committee-man said to me.
u8 THE BOLSHEVIK MYTH "The new plan means the return of the former master. The spets is the old bourzhooi, and now he is coming back to whip us to work again. But last year Lenin himself denounced the plan as counter-revolutionary, when the Mensheviki advocated it. They are still in prison for it."
Others are less outspoken. This morning I met N, of the Buford group, a man of intellectual attainment and much political acumen. "What do you think of it?" I asked, anxious to know his view of the proposed changes.
"I can't afford the luxury of expressing an opinion," he replied with a sad smile. "I have been promised a place on a commission to be sent to Europe. It's my only chance of joining my wife and children."
April 4. — A. beautiful, bright Sunday. In the morn- ing I attended the burial of Semyon Voskov, a prom- inent Communist agitator killed on the front by typhus. I had met him in the States, and he impressed me as a fine type of revolutionist and enthusiastic devotee of the Bolsheviki. Now his body lay in state in the Uritsky Palace, and high tribute was paid the dead as an heroic victim of the Revolution.
Along the Nevsky the funeral procession wended its way to the Field of Mars, marching to the strains of music and the singing of a choir from Archangel. Thousands of workers followed the hearse, line after line of men and women from shop and factory, tired toilers, in a spiritless, mechanical way. Military salutes were fired at the grave, and eulogies pro- nounced by several speakers — rather official, I thought; all too partisan, lacking the warm personal note.
The huge demonstration, arranged by the Petrograd Soviet of labor unions within twenty-four hours, as I was informed, seemed a striking proof of organiza- BACK IN PETROGRAD 119 tion. I congratulated the chief Committee man on the quick and efficient work.
"Done without my leaving the office," he said proudly. "The Soviet decision was wired to every mill and factory, ordering each to send a certain con- tingent of its employees to the demonstration. And the thing was ready."
"It was not left to the choice of the men?" I asked in surprise.
"Well," he smiled, "we leave nothing to chance."
Returning from the Voskov funeral I met another procession. Two men and a woman walked behind a pushcart on which stood a rough, unpainted pine coffin, holding the dead body of their brother. A young girl, leading a little child by the hand, was wearily following the remains to its last resting place. Three men on the sidewalk stopped to watch the tragic sight. The mourners passed in silence, the picture of misery and friendlessness — black cameos sharply etched on the bright day. In the distance crashed the martial music of the Bolshevik funeral and long lines of soldiers in parade dress, their bayo- neted guns glistening in the sun, marched to the Field of Mars to pay honor to Voskov, Communist martyr.
Easter Week. — No newspapers have appeared for several days. There have been rumors of possible ex- cesses by the religious element, but the city is quiet.
At midnight (April 10) I attended mass at St. Isaac's Cathedral. The huge edifice was cold and vault-like; the deep bass of the priest sounded like a requiem of his faith. The flock, mostly men and women of the former middle class, looked depressed, as if by thoughts of a glory past forever.
After services the worshipers formed in procession on the street, thrice circling the Cathedral. They i2o THE BOLSHEVIK MYTH walked slowly, in silence, no joy in the traditional greeting, "Christ is risen I" "Indeed he is risen," came spiritlessly in reply. Scattered shots were heard in the distance. Two women embraced on the steps of the church and sobbed aloud.
In the Kazan Cathedral the attendance was pre- dominately proletarian. I felt the same suppressed at- mosphere, as if some vague fear possessed the people. The procession in the dark streets was mournful, funereal. The little wax candles resembled will-o'-the- wisps blown about by the breeze, their unsteady flicker faintly suggesting the ikons and banners fluttering above the heads of the worshipers. Faith is still alive, but the power of the Church is broken.
Bieland arrived from America bringing the first direct news I have had from the States. Reaction is rampant, he relates; 100% Americanism is celebrating its bloody victory. The war-time laws passed as meas- ures of temporary necessity remain in operation and are applied with greater severity than before. The prisons are filled with politicals; most of the active I.W.W. are in jail, and draft evaders and conscien- tious objectors are still being arrested. Radicalism is outlawed; independent opinion a crime. The militar- istic humanttarianism of Wilson has become a war against progress. The heritage of "war against war" is more deadly than the slaughter itself.
Bill Haywood, released on bail, has again been arrested. Rose Pastor Stokes was extradited to Illi- nois for a speech that displeased some officials; Larkin is about to be put on trial, and Gitlow was condemned to fifteen years.
A similar spirit of reaction is manifest all through Europe. White Terror is in the saddle. Jack Reed has been arrested in Finland en route to America.
"Only here we can breathe freely," Bieland remarked BACK IN PETROGRAD 121 fervently. I did not gainsay it. Notwithstanding all the faults and shortcomings of the Bolsheviki, I feel that Russia is still the hearth of the Revolution. It is the torch whose light is visible throughout the world, and proletarian hearts in every land are warmed by its glow.
April 12. — A gloomy day; cloudy, with slight rain — very oppressive after the spring-like weather we have been having. It remains light now till 10 P. M. — the clocks had been turned back two hours and recently again another hour.
Liza Zorin was taken to the hospital today, suffer- ing much pain: her child is expected in a few days. Liza refused a private room, even objecting to being treated by a doctor instead of a midwife, like any other proletarian mother. Of delicate physique and suffering from a weak heart, she is strong in spirit: a true Com- munist who refuses to accept special privileges. She has nothing for her baby, but "other mothers have no more, and why should I?" she says.
Moscow has refused Bill Shatov permission to leave Siberia to visit his sick wife. Though Commissar of Railroads in the Far Eastern Republic, Bill is virtually in exile.
• •••••• Disclosures in the Pravda about the Petrograd re- formatories for children have stirred the city. A Com- mittee of the Communist Youth had been investigating the institutions, and now its report has uncovered a most deplorable state of affairs. The "reformatories" are charged with being veritable prisons in which the young inmates are regarded as criminals. Defective children are subject to severe punishment, and boyish pranks are treated as serious offenses. The general management has been found permeated with bureau- cracy and corruption. A favorite mode of punishment 122 THE BOLSHEVIK MYTH is to deprive the children of their meals, and the food thus saved is appropriated by the managers of the institution. By corrupt methods the Commissars pro- cure supplies on padded lists for purposes of specula- tion. Nepotism prevails, the number of employees often equaling that of the children.
I had been considering for some time taking up educational work, and I used the opportunity to discuss the matter with Zorin. He was greatly displeased at the revelations and inclined to consider the school situa- tion exaggerated by the youthful investigators. He insisted that existing evils are due chiefly to the lack of Bolshevik teachers. Only Communists can be trusted in responsible positions, he asserted. Where non-par- tisans hold high office, it has become necessary to put a politkom (political commissar) at the head of the institution to guard against sabotage. This system, though uneconomical, is imperative in view of the scarcity of Communist organizers and workers. Evils and abuses in Soviet institutions are almost wholly due to this situation, Zorin claims. The average man is a Philistine, whose sole thought is to exploit every op- portunity to secure greater advantages for himself, his family, and friends. It is bourgeois human nature, nitcheve ne podelayesh. It is true, of course, that most Soviet employees steal and speculate. But the Govern- ment is fighting these evils with merciless hand. Such men are often shot as guilty of crime against the Revolution. But the hunger is so great that even Communists, those not sufficiently grounded in the ideas and discipline of the Party, often fall victims to temp- tation. Such receive even less shrift than others. To them the Government is ruthless and justly so: Communists are the advance guard of the Revolution — they should show an example of devotion, honesty, and self- sacrifice.
We discussed means of eradicating the evils in the BACK IN PETROGRAD 123 children's institutions, and Zorin welcomed my prac- tical suggestions based on educational experience in America. I offered to devote myself to the work, but I felt compelled to make the condition that I be relieved of politkoms and be given opportunity to carry out my ideas in the treatment of backward and so-called mor- ally defective children. Zorin referred me to Lilina, Zinoviev's wife, who is at the head of the educational institutions of Petrograd, and playfully warned me not to repeat the faux pas I had made when I first met the lady.
On that occasion, when I called at Zinoviev's rooms in the Astoria, a comely young woman answered the bell. "Are you Mme. Zinoviev?" I Enquired, uncon- scious of the fact that I was committing an un- pardonable breach of Bolshevik etiquette; in fact, a double breach in employing the bourgeois expression "Madame" and in failing to address her by her own name, which I could not remember at the moment.
"I'll call tovarishtch Lilina," she said censoriously, and the next instant I faced an irate, middle-aged woman with the face of a disgruntled spinster. She had evidently heard my question, and her reception was ungracious.
"Tovarishtch Zinoviev does not receive here. Go to the Smolny," she said, without permitting me to enter.
"I should like to use the direct wire to the Foreign Office, on business with Tchicherin," I explained.
"You can't do it, and I don't know who you are,'* she replied curtly, closing the door.
On the present occasion Lilina was more gracious. We spoke of the conditions in the reformatories and she admitted that certain evils existed there, but pro- tested that the published report was grossly exag- gerated. We discussed modern methods of education and I explained the system followed by the Ferrer School in New York. She was inclined to agree in THE BOLSHEVIK MYTH theory, "but we must fit our youth," she remarked, "to continue the work of our Revolution." "Surely," I assented, "but is that to be done by the conventional methods which stultify and cripple the young mind by imposing upon it predigested views and dogmas?" I emphasized that the true aim of education is to aid the harmonious development of the child's physical and mental qualities, to encourage independence of thought and inspire creative effort.
Lilina thought my views too Anarchistic.
CHAPTER XVI REST HOMES FOR WORKERS For months Zorin had been thinking of a project to afford the toilers of Petrograd an opportunity to recu- perate during the summer. The workers are systemat- ically undernourished and exhausted — a few weeks' rest and an improved pyock would give them new strength, and would at the same time be a demonstra- tion of the interest the Communist Party is taking in their welfare.
After protracted discussion Zorin's idea was ap- proved by the Executive Committee of the Petrograd Soviet, and he received authority to put his cherished dream in operation. The former villas of the Russian nobility in the environs of the city were to be turned into proletarian "rest homes" and rebuilt to hold 50,000 workers, who will spend two weeks there in groups of 5,000.
Zorin enlisted my cooperation, and I have enthusi- astically accepted. We have paid several visits to Kameny Island, where the most beautiful villas and palaces are situated, and I have worked out a detailed plan for transforming them into homes for small families of workers, providing also for dining-rooms, libraries, and recreation places. Zorin has appointed me general manager and requested that the work be rushed "in hurry-up American style," as he expressed himself, in order that everything be completed by the 1st of May, which is to be celebrated on a large scale as a revolutionary holiday.
The island has been neglected since the Revolution; most of the villas need thorough renovating and even 125 126 THE BOLSHEVIK MYTH the roads are badly out of repair. We mean to create an artistic summer resort, with modern improvements and comforts for the benefit of the proletarians. Surely no government has ever undertaken such work before.
Architects and civil engineers are on hand, but we find great difficulty in procuring building material and efficient labor. The Petrograd warehouses are stocked with the things needed, but it is almost impossible to learn just what is on hand and where it is to be found. When private property was nationalized, the stores and warehouses were sealed, and no one apparently knows what they contain. Our architects, engineers, and workers fly about the city, wasting their time in a vain effort to secure the required material. For days they crowd the various bureaus to procure "authorized orders" for a few spades or lengths of water pipe, and when these are finally secured, we are balked by the general ignorance as to where the object sought can be found. In this situation the only economic and efficient mode of procedure would be to have our own com- mittee overhaul the warehouses and take an inventory of the stock on hand. But my proposition to this effect has impugned upon the thick wall of the prevailing bureaucratic system. The Commissars of the various departments — all Communists — are inclined to take offense at such apparent ignoring of their authority: established modes of procedure have to be followed. Moreover, the stores and warehouses had been sealed by the Tcheka; without its permission in each particular case the locks cannot be touched. The Tcheka frowns upon my suggestion, coming from a non-member of the Party, at that. Nitcheve ne podelayesh, Zorin says.
I find the new Soviet bureaucracy, its inefficiency and indifference, the greatest handicap in the work. It involves a continuous struggle against official red tape, REST HOMES FOR WORKERS 127 precedence, and petty jealousy. Time is passing, and almost no progress is being made. The situation is disheartening.
I consider it vital that the men employed in the work of preparing a recreation place for the proletariat should themselves feel an interest in the matter, for only thus can effective cooperation be secured and results achieved. I have, therefore, suggested the formation of a committee to visit the shops and fac- tories, to explain our plan to the workers, and enlist their interest and voluntary aid. I pointed out also the moral value of such a proceeding, and offered to organize the committee from the Buford deportees, most of whom are still looking for employment. Zorin favors the idea, but objections have been raised in various quarters. I wonder whether it is official dis- trust of the Buford men or disinclination to permit such a committee to get in direct contact with the workers. At any rate, the carrying out of my sugges- tion has become involved in endless applications to various Commissars and has apparently been lost in the intricate network of the Soviet machinery.
Instead, soldiers and prisoners from the forced labor camps of the city have been commandeered for road repairing, cleaning neglected gardens and renovating the houses. But they have no interest in the work; their thoughts and time are entirely occupied with the question of the pyock. A most vital matter: for not being employed at their regular tasks, they risk losing the rations due them, and no adequate provision has been made to feed them on the island. A general mess hall has been opened, but such favoritism prevails there that the prisoners and soldiers without influence often remain without meals, preference being given to the numerous friends and appointees of the Commissars and Communists. The common laborers at work are growing dissatisfied. u The actual worker," a soldier i28 THE BOLSHEVIK MYTH said to me, "will not get into the summer resort. It will be only for Commissars and Communists."
Some buildings in the area of the planned rest homes are occupied as children's homes and schools; others, by the families of the intelligentsia. All of them have been ordered to vacate. But while arrangements have been made to secure quarters for the schools in the city, the private dwellers are considered bourzhooi and as such not worthy of any consideration: they are to be evicted. Yet hidden influences are at work: a number of the bourzhooi have received "protection," while those without friends in high places are vainly begging for mercy. Zorin has asked me to execute the order for eviction, but eager as I am to establish rest homes for the workers, I had to refuse to cooperate in what seems to me gross injustice and needless brutality. Zorin is displeased at my "sentimentality," and I am being eliminated from the work.
CHAPTER XVII THE FIRST OF MAY Awakened early in the morning by strains of music and song, I went out into the street. The city was in gala attire: flags and banners fluttered in the air; red carpets and curtains hung from windows and doors, the variety of shade and design producing a warm, Oriental effect.
On the Nevsky a large automobile passed me, stop- ping a few paces ahead. A curly, black head rose from the depths of the machine, and someone hailed me: "Hello, Berkman, come and join us." I recognized Zinoviev.
Detachments of military filed by, singing revolu- tionary songs, and groups of boys and girls marched to the strains of the International. "Subotniki," * Zino- viev remarked, "going to Marsove Pole to plant trees on the graves of our heroic dead." Our car moved slowly between phalanxes of revolutionary youths and Red Army men, and my mind reverted to a previous May Day demonstration. It was my first experience of the kind, in New York, in the latter part of the 8o's. Radicals of every camp had cooperated to make the event successful, and a huge demonstra- tion was expected on the historic Union Square. But the majority of the American workers of the city remained deaf to our proclamation, and only a few thousands attended, mostly of the foreign element.
The meeting had just begun when suddenly the blue- coated giants appeared, and the gathering was attacked ♦From the Russian subota, Saturday. Applied to volunteers offer- ing their labor Saturday after hours.
129 i 3 o THE BOLSHEVIK MYTH with riot clubs and dispersed into the side streets. Some of us had foreseen such a possibility, and a little group of the younger element had prepared to resist the police. But on the eve of the demonstration, in our last committee conference, H, the leader of the older members, had warned us against "being provoked into violence," and well I remember how passionately I resented the "arguments" of the pusillanimous Social Democrat. "We are the teachers of the people," he had said, "and we must lead them to greater class consciousness. But we are few and it were folly to sacrifice ourselves unnecessarily. We must save our- selves for more important work."
I scoffed at the cowardly warning and called it the spiritual acme of our Christian civilization which has turned the bold eagle, man, into a fox. But H 's speech paled the enthusiasm of our group, and there was no resistance to the police brutality. I went home discouraged by the ignominious failure of our ist of May demonstration.
The metallic thunder of the "International," struck up by several bands at once, recalled me to the present. Here, indeed, was the First of May of my youthful dreams. Here was the Revolution itself!
At the Uritsky Square we alighted. Affectionately I looked at the workers and soldiers that joined our group. Here were the builders of the Revolution who, in the face of insurmountable difficulties, are leading it to victory. I glanced at Zinoviev — he looked weary, overworked, heavy rings under his eyes — the "Com- munist look" I had become familiar with.
The procession formed. Zinoviev put his arm through mine, and someone pushed us into the front rank. Holding hands, the lines marched toward the Field of Mars, Zorin carrying the huge red banner. His slender figure staggered beneath its weight, and willing hands stretched out to relieve him. But Zorin would not be deprived of the precious burden.
The Field of Mars was dotted with bending figures busily at work — the subotniki decorating the graves of the revolutionary martyrs. They labored joyfully, snatches of their song reaching us between the pauses of the brass bands in our rear.
I stood with Zinoviev on the reviewing stand, inter- preting his answers to the American correspondent whom Tchicherin finally admitted into Russia. As far as the eye could reach, soldiers and workers filled the huge square and adjoining streets. Proletarians from the factories marched by, each group with its crimson banner inscribed with revolutionary mottoes. Red Army nurses, women employees of shops and Soviet institutions, regiments of the Communist Youth, the vsevobutch of the armed workers, and long lines of children, boys and girls, filed by with the flags of their organizations.