“Now comrades,”—­Khokhriakov continued after a short confidential chat with the curly, blond, small-faced and long-eared Kaganitsky,—­“comes the next proposition.  I warn you, however; no matter how tempting this proposition is, do not make any harsh decision.  We know your zeal in Petrograd—­that’s why we all would want you to say your word, but ... if I see that someone is too zealous, I’d rather keep silent if I were he.  Can we try these bloodsuckers here?”

An impossible noise began after his words.

“Try?”—­“Why?  Kill them all, that’s all.”  “Kill the Czar,”—­“Kill the brat.”  “Let them go.”  “To hell with all of them.”  “Let’s try them, of course.”  “Give the women to the people.”  “Put their guts out,” etc., etc....

“Shut up you all,” shouted Khokhriakov, “let me count the votes.  I see you cannot decide, though you all don’t want the trial here! Is that so?  All right, as you wish, the will of people must prevail.  What?  Who said it is not so?  Come out you counter-revolutionary, you monarchist, you royal carrion,—­come out and say it to my face, don’t hide, you....”  Nobody came out.  This categorical imperative could surpass the Kant’s....  Kaganitzky’s face, smiling, and with moving flappy ears, was in accord with this understanding, and when Khokhriakov barked his—­“Carried,” he bowed his head.

The audience was then silenced.

“Now, comrades, comes the next proposition,—­to send the prisoners away,—­to the Ural city, probably Ekaterinburg.  Comrade Kaganitzky is here.  He says, they will be treated very well (Laughter) and they will not be in danger of the Czecks, and popes, and monarchists.  The comrades of the detachment and Comrade Kobylinsky—­agreed.  How do you like this?  Say, who is against it?  Come out!”

Free people in a free country—­consented.  After which consent a commission under the chairmanship of Kaganitzky was appointed to elaborate particulars.  The Detachment of Special Destination was thus dissolved and Comrade Kobylinsky was allowed to proceed to Petrograd.

With a headache from the noise and smoke I left the court-room and went out in the City Square to breathe a little fresh air.  Children were playing with sand and toys.  Children of the New Russia!  Russia of free speech, free thoughts, free ways!  God, what will grow out of you?...  I wanted to pet one of them, a little thing with gray eyes, but frightened to death of a “Red”—­the child yelled and ran; from a distance it shook at me a little trembling fist.  So—­it is not so bad.

While in the garden—­the court room probably was emptied, as few shots were fired behind me,—­on the hill, and shortly after, a gala-demonstration started—­with a rattling of stones on the roof of the Mansion, whistles, songs and a general delirium of the uncontrolled and wicked mob ...

Feeling the bridles of the High Commissaries, unable to do something to them, understanding the guidance under a sauce of self government, the mob was avenging itself on the inhabitants of the Mansion.