and qualities of his stories. They are unequal, but contain moments of poignant interest and vividness. I do not think, however, that his gifts are pre-eminently suited for the stage. CHAPTER IV MOSCOW AFTER THE MANIFESTO _Wednesday, October 1st._ At dinner at the Métropole Restaurant a strange scene occurred. At the end of dinner the band played the Marseillaise, and after it the National Anthem. Everybody stood up except one mild-looking man with spectacles, who went on calmly eating his dinner, upon which a man who was sitting at the other end of the room, and was rather drunk, rushed up to him and began to pull him about and drag him to his feet. He made a display of passive resistance, which proved effectual, and when he had finished his dinner he went away. _Thursday, November 2nd._ The outward aspect of the town during these days is strange. Moscow seems like a city which has been undergoing a siege. Many of the shops have got great wooden shutters. Some of the doors have a large red cross on them. The distress, I am told, during the strike was terrible. There was no light, no gas, no water, all the shops were shut; provisions and wood were scarce. This afternoon I went to see Bauman’s funeral procession, which I witnessed from many parts of the town. It was one of the most impressive sights I have ever seen. A hundred thousand men took part in it. The whole of the “Intelligenzia” (the professional and middle class) was in the streets or at the windows. The windows and balconies were crowded with people. The order was perfect. There was not a hitch nor a scuffle. The men walking in the procession consisted of students, doctors, workmen, people in various kinds of uniform. There were ambulances, with doctors dressed in white in them, in case there should be casualties. The men bore great red banners and the coffin was covered with a scarlet pall. As they marched they sang in a low chant the “Marseillaise,” “Viechni Pamiat,” and the “Funeral March”[1] of the fighters for freedom. This last tune is the most impressive. From a musician’s point of view it is a shockingly bad tune; but then, as Du Maurier said, one should never listen to musicians on the subject of music any more than one should listen to wine merchants on the subject of wine. But it is the tune which to my mind is exactly fitting for the Russian revolution, with its dogged melancholy and invincible passion, as fitting as the “Marseillaise” (which, by the way, the Russian sings in parts and slowly) is totally unfitting. The “Funeral March” has nothing defiant in it; but it is one of those tunes which, when sung by a multitude, make one’s flesh creep; it is commonplace if you will; and it expresses—as it were by accident—the commonplaceness of all that is determined and unflinching, mingled with an accent of weary pathos. As