all march along as though there were no danger and the peace of the world had come.  There were women with us—­quite a number of them I think—­and, I believe, some children.  I remember that some of the way I carried a child, fast asleep in my arms.  How ludicrous it would be now if I, of all men in the world, carried a baby down the Nevski!  But it was quite natural that night.  The town seemed to me blazing with light.  Of course that it cannot have been; there can have only been the stars and some bonfires.  And perhaps we stopped at the police-courts which were crackling away.  I don’t remember that, but I know that somewhere there were clouds of golden sparks opening into the sky and mingling with the stars—­a wonderful sight, flocks of golden birds and behind them a roar of sound like a torrent of water...  I know that, most of the night, I had one man especially for my companion.  I can see him quite clearly now, although, whether it is all my imagination or not I can’t say.  Certainly I’ve never seen him since and never will again.  He was a peasant, a bigly made man, very neatly and decently dressed in a workman’s blouse and black trousers.  He had a long black beard and was grave and serious, speaking very little but watching everything.  Kindly, our best type of peasant—­perhaps the type that will one day give Russia her real freedom... one day... a thousand years from now....

“I don’t know why it is that I can still see him so clearly, because I can remember no one else of that night, and even this fellow may have been my imagination.  But I think that, as we walked along, I talked to him about Russia and how the whole land now from Archangel to Vladivostock might be free and be one great country of peace and plenty, first in all the world.

“It seemed to me that every one was singing, men and women and children....

“We must, at last, have parted from most of the company.  I had come with my friend into the quieter streets of the city.  Then it was that I suddenly smelt the sea.  You must have noticed how Petrograd is mixed up with the sea, how suddenly, where you never would expect it, you see the masts of ships all clustered together against the sky.  I smelt the sea, the wind blew fresh and strong and there we were on the banks of the Neva.  Everywhere there was perfect silence.  The Neva lay, tranquil, bound under its ice.  The black hulks of the ships lay against the white shadows like sleeping animals.  The curve of the sky, with its multitude of stars, was infinite.

“My friend embraced me and left me and I stayed alone, so happy, so sure of the peace of the world that I did what I had not done for years, sent up a prayer of gratitude to God.  Then with my head on my hands, looking down at the masts of the ships, feeling Petrograd behind me with its lights as though it were the City of God, I burst into tears—­tears of happiness and joy and humble gratitude....  I have no memory of anything further.”