(See Cover]
The chimes of the Spassky clock have just struck the noon hour over Moscow. Some 1,300 members of the Supreme Soviet of the Union of Socialist Soviet Republics are on their way to the Kremlin, walking down the Mokhovaya or the Volkhonka through the snow, or arriving by taxi. At the Borovitsky Gate, while fur-capped guards inspect their passes, they queue up—solid-looking citizens in fur hats and fur-collared overcoats, some in the uniforms of high-ranking army and navy officers, others in the picturesque costumes of their distant countries. Most of them display medals awarded for services to party, state and industry, for all are Communists.
Passing through the guard lines, they make their way to their desks in the Great Hall of the Great Kremlin Palace, a lofty room with canary-colored draperies hanging over tall windows in the south wall. In a gallery behind and above the Deputies, a few selected visitors, including foreign newsmen, are taking their places, while in a series of semicircular boxes on the north wall sit the foreign diplomats. At the far end of the hall, on a raised platform, is a set of pewlike enclosures. Men and women are also taking their places in these pews: they are the functionaries of the Supreme Soviet, its Presidium, ministers and secretaries.
At 1 o'clock the room is suddenly quiet. A group of short, chunky men file into a rear pew: the Presidium of the Central Committee of the Communist Party, the all-high bosses of Communism, has arrived. There is a short, brief explosion of applause, which ends exactly on the instant, for this is the best drilled and most obedient body of public executives in the world—yet one not entirely incapable of shock.
"My Guilt." So last week began the second meeting of this session of the Supreme Soviet. The budget had been received and debated; custom called for a report on foreign affairs, made at the last session by Premier Georgy Malenkov. Instead, putty-nosed Alexander Volkov, Chairman of the Council of the Union, stepped forward to the rostrum. He had, he said, a communication from Comrade Malenkov. Volkov began reading from a paper in hand:
"I ask [he said on behalf of Malenkov] to bring to the notice of the Supreme Soviet of the U.S.S.R. my request to be relieved from the post of chairman of the Council of Ministers . . ."
There was a muffled gasp, an audible murmur from the well-drilled Deputies. Eyes were focused on the dark-browed, porcine face of the Premier of the Soviet Union, sitting in the middle of the party pew.
"My request is due to practical considerations on the necessity of strengthening the leadership of the Council of Ministers and the need to have at the post . . . another comrade with greater experience in state work. I clearly see that the carrying out of the complicated and responsible duties of Chairman of the Council of Ministers is being negatively affected by my insufficient experience in local work, and the fact that I did not have occasion, in a ministry or some economic organ, to effect direct guidance of individual branches of the national economy . . ."