Before I had time to realize it I was already in a photographer’s studio, and there had my portrait taken. The following day this picture appeared at the head of big posters pasted all over the city, announcing my appearance at the Mariynski Theatre for the purpose of organizing a Women’s Battalion of Death. I did not close an eye during the entire night preceding the evening fixed for the meeting. It all seemed a fantastic dream. How could I take my place between two such great men as Rodzianko and Kerensky? How could I ever face an assembly of educated people, I, an illiterate peasant woman? And what could I say? My tongue had never been trained to elegant speech. My eyes had never beheld a place like the Mariynski Theatre, formerly frequented by the Tsar and the Imperial family. I tossed in bed in a state of fever. “Holy Father,” I prayed, my eyes streaming with tears, “show Thy humble servant the path to truth. I am afraid; instil courage into my heart. I can feel my knees give way; steady them with Thy strength. My mind is groping in the dark; illumine it with Thy light. My speech is but the common talk of an ignorant _baba_; make it flow with Thy wisdom and penetrate the hearts of my hearers. Do all this, not for the sake of Thy humble Maria, but for the sake of Mother Russia, my unhappy country.” My eyes were red with inflammation when I arose in the morning. I was nervous all day. Captain Dementiev suggested that I should commit my speech to memory. I refused his suggestion with the remark: “I have placed my trust in God and rely on Him to put the right words into my mouth.” It was the evening of May 21, 1917. I was driven to the Mariynski Theatre and escorted by Captain Dementiev and his wife into the former Imperial box. The house was packed, the receipts of the ticket office amounting to thirty thousand roubles. Everybody seemed to be pointing at me, and it was with great difficulty that I controlled my nerves. Kerensky appeared and was given a tremendous reception. He spoke only about ten minutes. Next on the programme was Madame Kerensky, and I was to follow her. Madame Kerensky, however, broke down as soon as she found herself confronted by the audience. That did not add to my courage. I was led forward as if in a trance. “Men and women citizens!” I heard my voice say. “Our mother is perishing. Our mother is Russia. I want to help to save her. I want women whose hearts are loyal, whose souls are pure, whose aims are high. With such women setting an example of self-sacrifice, you men will realize your duty in this grave hour!” Then I stopped and could not proceed. Sobs choked the words in me, tremors shook me, my legs grew weak. I was caught under the arm and led away amid a thunderous outburst of applause.