beseeching. In a mood born of despair and disillusion they are acting now—reckless, violent, iconoclastic, but—acting.
In the cities revolting employees are driving millowners out of their offices. Managers try to stop it, and are thrown into wheel-barrows and ridden out of the plant. Machinery is put out of gear, materials spoiled, industry brought to a standstill.
In the army soldiers are throwing down their guns and deserting the front in hundreds of thousands. Emissaries try to stop them with frantic appeals. They may as well appeal to a landslide. "If no decisive steps for peace are taken by November first," the soldiers say, "all the trenches will be emptied. The entire army will rush to the rear." In the fleet is open insubordination.
In the country, peasants are overrunning the estates. I ask Baron Nolde, "What is it that the peasants want on your estate?"
"My estate," he answers.
"How are they going to get it?"
"They've got it."
In some places these seizures are accompanied by wanton spoliation. The skies around Tambov are reddened with flames from the burning hay-ricks and manor-houses. Landlords flee for their lives. The infuriated peasants laugh at the orators trying to quiet them. Troops sent down to suppress the outbursts go over to the side of the peasants.
Russia is plunging headlong towards the abyss.
