All
the entrances to the Palace Square were closed by sentries, and a
cordon of troops stretched clear across the western end, besieged by
an uneasy throng of citizens. Except for far-away soldiers who
seemed to be carrying wood out of the Palace courtyard and piling it
in front of the main gateway, everything was quiet.
We couldn't make out whether the sentries were pro-Government or
pro-Soviet. Our papers from Smolny had no effect, however, so we
approached another part of the line with an important air and showed
our American passports, saying "Official business!" and shouldered
through. At the door of the Palace the same old _shveitzari,_ in
their brass-buttoned blue uniforms with the red-and-gold collars,
politely took our coats and hats, and we went up-stairs. In the
dark, gloomy corridor, stripped of its tapestries, a few old
attendants were lounging about, and in front of Kerensky's door a
young officer paced up and down, gnawing his moustache. We asked if
we could interview the Minister-president. He bowed and clicked his
heels.
"No, I am sorry," he replied in French. "Alexander Feodorvitch is
extremely occupied just now...." He looked at us for a moment. "In
fact, he is not here...."
"Where is he?"
"He has gone to the Front. (See App. IV, Sect. 2) And do you know,
there wasn't enough gasoline for his automobile. We had to send to
the English Hospital and borrow some.
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