Evening Republican, Volume 21, Number 234, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 5 October 1918 — THE KREMLIN OF TODAY [ARTICLE+ILLUSTRATION]

THE KREMLIN OF TODAY

Si TOP off and have afternoon tea with the czarina,” said the magazine editor, as he bade me good-by. “Why, yes," I said a little vaguely. “I’d like to, but isn’t Siberia rather large?” I set forth gayly, Madeline Z. Doty writes in New York Tribune. But after twelve days on the Pacific ocean and twenty days and nights of train travel through Japan, Korea, China, Siberia and Russia the czarina looked like a needle in a haystack. Besides, the bolshevik revolution had descended upon me. Each moment as we journeyed across Siberia we feared the train would be attacked. It was made .up of first-class carriages and was therefore capitalistic. The one hope was to be as plebeian as possible.

To associate with the czarina in Russia would be like talking to a member of the L W. W. on Rockefeller’s front lawn. It would have meant off with my head. I decided to let the magazine editor have tea Wlth the czarina. But if I could not hobnob with royalty I could at least see their dwelling places. The winter palace in Petrograd was a disappointment Outwardly it was impressive, but inside constant use had robbed it of its glory. There were the marks of muddy feet silk hangings had been torn down to wrap about freezing soldiers, royal bedrooms had been turned into offices; one had the impression that the czar was long since dead and buried. Travel Is Slow. I decided to go to Moscow. The Kremlin, it was said, had remained untouched. It contained perhaps the most gorgeous palace in the world. But to travel in Russia is not easy. The trip from Petrograd to Moscow took twenty hours. On each train is an “international wagonlit.” But berths in these cars are sold weeks ahead for a fortune. At the last moment I secured a place for myself and my Interpreter in the international car.

I reached Moscow safely, but the trip back was not so easy. It was impossible to get accommodation on the international car. We had first-class tickets, but that meant nothing. All classes are the same these days. The Kremlin formerly was as much a holy of holies as the palace of the Chinese emperor in Pekin. It lias courtyards and buildings within buildings. The great main gateway was shattered to bits by machine gun fire during the revolution, and the walls are battered with bullets. But inside little damage is visible. The commandant was a scrubby workingman, in a dilapidated suit. He hesitated some time before giving me a pass. The rooms, he said, had been sealed. But finally he scribbled something on a scrap of paper. Prince Acts as Guide. The untidy, unshaven little man had ordered Prince Odoviesky to show me the palace. We made our way to the prince’s apartments. We found him a courtly gentleman. I started to shake hands, but he blushed and ignored the outstretched hand. I don’t know whether it was because he was a prince, or because since the days of the bolshevik! he has been an outcast and no one has condescended to shake hands. I almost think it was the latter, for when we left he held out his hand quite cordially. The prince instructed one of the old court servants to take us through the buildings. First we saw the resplendent little chapel where the czarina used to pray. Then we went through the gorgeous guest rooms used for foreign ambassadors. They were as they had been, marble baths and all. Nothing had been changed. But now the rooms were icy cold and empty, and there was a bullet hole through one of the windows. That bullet hole was a mystery. The bullet had never been discovered. Next we visited the throne room and ballroom. The splendor was staggering. Untold wealth must have been wrung from the pegsanft to pay tor it

On the wall behind the throne was fl gigantic gold sun whose golden rays extended in every direction. The throne seemed to spring from the sun’s center. It made a fitting background for a czar. The personal suite of the recent czar was not visible. Most of his furniture had been sent to him at Tobolsk. But we saw the czarevitch’s apartments. This was a palace in itself. There was something uncanny about the.place. The rooms were still warm. An elderdown puff lay ready on the royal bed, the clock on the mantel still ticked. Everything seemed ready for the young master’s return. One felt each moment there would be a blare of trumpets and the royal party would enter. We asked the old servant if he liked the royal family. “Yes,” he said, “they were good to me. They were kind employers. I,have nothing against them.”

Before we left we passed the main entrance to the palace. A great marble staircase led from the front dooi to the main upper hall. Directly at the head of the stairs, facing all who entered, was a huge oil painting of the czar’s grandfather, addressing the peasants. In proud and arrogant splendor he stood there, while before him, bowing low, cringed the peasants, hats in hand, and underneath the picture were written the words of this former czar, “I am glad” to see you. I thank you for your courtesy. When you return home thank-my people for me, but tell them not to believe any stupid rumors about the distribution of land and the giving of it to the peasants. These rumors are lies, spread by our enemies. Property is sacred.” What a change had come! By a mighty swing of life’s pendulum the land had been wrested from the nobility. Never again would it be called sacred. The poor Nicholas II must have bad some bitter moments before he was led out to execution. Perhaps it flashed through his mind, “If only father and grandfather had been different this would never have happened.”

Throne Room of the Kremlin.