Then followed a curious act called "The Soviet Postman." A letter-carrier, placed upon a raised platform, was supposed to read us the letters he found in his mail. The reading, however, was really a series of recitations by players, of appropriate types, who appeared at an opening in the platform. The good worker, the slacker, the aristocrat, the Red Army officer, the peasant, the Communist, the speculator, the counter-revolutionist, the expropriated capitalist—all the elements of modern Russian society were there, each voicing his criticisms, praises, or aspirations for the new society. Many were the laughs that were had, especially at the plaints of representatives of the old regime. And in the midst of the laughs were inserted more than one lesson that the Communists wanted the masses to learn.
After "The Soviet Postman" there was some excellent singing, first a charming folk song, and then a special rendering of "The Marseillaise" in honor of the Paris Commune. The whole was done in the artistic fashion characteristic of the Russians.
The next act was a real gem. It depicted an awkward squad being drilled by a martinet of the old-time Czar's army. The scene was a barracks drill hall, upon one wall of which hung a forlorn portrait of Nicholas II, The soldiers were attired in Czarist uniforms, and the officer was a true type of the old Russian petty military tyrant. He brutalized the men through the drill, savagely kicking one, a student, who dared to protest at his harsh treatment. There was no positive propaganda, It was just a picture taken from the old regime, which the workers were left to compare with conditions in the Red Army. But the effect was more powerful than endless moralizing would have been.
The last act on the program we Americans voted the best; for it was a pantomime. It was a sort of historical dance, entitled "The Scales," portraying the struggles of revolutionary Russia against her many foes. No words were spoken except the names of the characters as they appeared upon the stage.
The playlet opened up with a prologue in which a dark figure, typifying the old regime and very active later on as Counter Revolution, was driven away by Time. Then the curtain went up upon the main scene. An enormous scales occupied a large part of the stage. On one side of it was a man, Kerensky, and on the
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