sacks mingled in the places where these ceremonies were performed.
The nearer we came to the Imperial Park, the more deserted were the streets. A frightened priest pointed out the headquarters of the Soviet, and hurried on. It was in the wing of one of the Grand Ducal palaces, fronting the Park. The windows were dark, the door locked. A soldier, lounging about with his hands in the top of his trousers, looked us up and down with gloomy suspicion. “The Soviet went away two days ago,” said he. “Where?” A shrug. “Nie znayu. I don’t know.”
A little further along was a large building, brightly illuminated. From within came a sound of hammering. While we were hesitating, a soldier and a sailor came down the street, hand in hand. I showed them my pass from Smolny. “Are you for the Soviets?” I asked. They did not answer, but looked at each other in a frightened way.
“What is going on in there?” asked the sailor, pointing to the building.
“I don’t know.”
Timidly the soldier put out his hand and opened the door a crack. Inside a great hall hung with bunting and evergreens, rows of chairs, a stage being built.
A stout woman with a hammer in her hand and her mouth full of tacks came out. “What do you want?” she asked.
“Is there a performance to-night?” said the sailor, nervously.
“There will be private theatricals Sunday night,” she answered severely. “Go away.”
We tried to engage the soldier and sailor in conversation, but they seemed frightened and unhappy, and drew off into the darkness.
We strolled toward the Imperial Palaces, along the edge of the vast, dark gardens, their fantastic pavilions and orna-
