They
were arranged in perfect order, about eight in a row, arm in arm. Every
group carried its banner, and far away into the distance one could see
the words "Freedom," "Brotherhood," "The Land for All," "Peace of the
World," floating on the breeze. Nevertheless, in spite of these fine
words, it was not a very cheering sight. The day was wretched--no actual
rain, but a cold damp wind blowing and the dirty snow, half ice and half
water; the people themselves were not inspiring. They were all, it
seemed, peasants. I saw very few workmen, although I believe that
multitudes were actually in the procession. Those strange, pale, Eastern
faces, passive, apathetic, ignorant, childish, unreasoning, stretched in
a great cloud under the grey overhanging canopy of the sky. They raised
if once and again a melancholy little tune that was more wail than
anything else. They had stood there, I was told, in pools of frozen
water for hours, and were perfectly ready to stand thus for many hours
more if they were ordered to do so. As I regarded their ignorance and
apathy I realised for the first time something of what the Revolution
had already done.
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