Late in the afternoon of Thursday, November 16th, the Congress met in extraordinary session. There was a holiday feeling in the air; on every face was a smile…. The remainder of the business before the assembly was hurried through, and then old Nathanson, the white-bearded dean of the left wing of the Socialist Revolutionaries, his voice trembling and tears in his eyes, read the report of the “wedding” of the Peasants’ Soviets with the Workers’ and Soldiers’ Soviets. At every mention of the word “union” there was ecstatic applause…. At the end Ustinov announced the arrival rival of a delegation from Smolny, accompanied by representatives of the Red Army, greeted with a rising ovation. One after another a workman, a soldier and a sailor took the floor, hailing them.
Then Boris Reinstein, delegate of the American Socialist Labor Party: “The day of the union of the Congress of Peasants and the Soviets of Workers’ and Soldiers’ Deputies is one of the great days of the Revolution. The sound of it will ring with resounding echoes throughout the whole world—in Paris, in London, and across the ocean—in New York. This union will fill with happiness the hearts of all toilers.
“A great idea has triumphed. The West, and America, expected from Russia, from the Russian proletariat, something tremendous…. The proletariat of the world is waiting for the Russian Revolution, waiting for the great things that it is accomplishing….”
Sverdlov, president of the Tsay-ee-kah, greeted them. And with the shout, “Long live the end of civil war! Long live the United Democracy!” the peasants poured out of the building.
It was already dark, and on the ice—covered snow glittered the pale light of moon and star. Along the bank of the canal were drawn up in full marching order the soldiers of the Pavlovsky Regiment, with their band, which broke into the Marseillaise. Amid the crashing full-throated shouts of the soldiers, the peasants formed in line, unfurling the great red banner of the Executive Committee of the All-Russian Peasants’ Soviets, embroidered newly in gold, “Long live the union of the revolutionary and toiling masses!” Following were other banners; of the District Soviets—of Putilov Factory, which read, “We bow to this flag in order to create the brotherhood of all people!”
From somewhere torches appeared, blazing orange in the night, a thousand times reflected in the facets of the ice, streaming out smokily over the throng as it moved down the bank of the Fontanka singing, between crowds that stood in astonished silence.
“Long live the Revolutionary Army! Long live the Red Guard! Long live the Peasants!”
So the great procession wound through the city, growing and unfurling ever new red banners lettered in gold. Two old peasants, bowed with toil, were walking hand in hand, their faces illumined with child-like bliss.
“Well,” said one, “I’d like to see them take away our land again, now!”
Near Smolny the Red Guard was lined up on both sides of the street, wild with delight. The other old peasant spoke to his comrade, “I am not tired,” he said. “I walked on air all the way!”