The left road, along which the remnants of the Cossacks had
retreated, led up a little hill to a hamlet, where there was a
glorious view of the immense plain, grey as a windless sea,
tumultuous clouds towering over, and the imperial city disgorging
its thousands along all the roads. Far over to the left lay the
little hill of Kranoye Selo, the parade-ground of the Imperial
Guards' summer camp, and the Imperial Dairy. In the middle distance
nothing broke the flat monotony but a few walled monasteries and
convents, some isolated factories, and several large buildings with
unkempt grounds that were asylums and orphanages....
"Here," said the driver, as we went on over a barren hill, "here was
where Vera Slutskaya died. Yes, the Bolshevik member of the Duma. It
happened early this morning. She was in an automobile, with Zalkind
and another man. There was a truce, and they started for the front
trenches. They were talking and laughing, when all of a sudden, from
the armoured train in which Kerensky himself was riding, somebody
saw the automobile and fired a cannon. The shell struck Vera
Slutskaya and killed her...."
And so we came into Tsarskoye, all bustling with the swaggering
heroes of the proletarian horde. Now the palace where the Soviet had
met was a busy place. Red Guards and sailors filled the court-yard,
sentries stood at the doors, and a stream of couriers and Commissars
pushed in and out.
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