To-day might have been many days, and we might have been crossing the
world.
The train left Bergen at 8.15 a.m. We had a compartment to ourselves
with big windows.
Slowly from Voss the train climbed higher and higher. The higher we went
the less vegetation there was. Big trees became smaller trees, and then
dwarf trees, and then shrubs, until finally there was only the little
low creeping juniper.
There were rocks and boulders, falling torrents and cold, still lakes,
and in the shadow of the mountain great patches of eternal snow that
never melt.
This morning in the breakfast car we eagerly asked for news, being
unable to read Norwegian. The man who was reading the paper informed us,
in broken English, that the coal situation was exactly the same, and the
Lord Mayor of Cork not dead yet, and with that summary we had to rest
content.
Later in the morning, the dining-car attendant sought us out, and armed
with a newspaper said: “Have you heard the news?” he then made a bow and
asked: “Mr. Kameneff--yes?” and showed him a photograph of K. in the
morning’s paper, and the information that he had left England, and was
on his way to Russia. That settled it, Kameneff was recognised, and the
car attendant spread the information. After that, whenever we walked the
platform of a station we were the cynosure of all eyes.
At luncheon Kameneff asked the car attendant, who spoke Russian so well,
where he had learnt it. The answer was that fifteen years ago he had
spent two years as a waiter in Petrograd. Kameneff told him that Russia
had changed considerably since then, and that he ought to go and see it.
The attendant with a deferential smile said that he would be afraid to.
At Finse, the highest point, where we were on a level with the mountain
summits, and where snow lay round us and below us, the train stopped for
ten minutes. We got out and walked about, and I took my kodak. Beyond
the platform on the sloping bank a granite monolith stood up grimly
against the snow-patched distance and, to my surprise, engraved upon it
were the names of Captain Scott and all his party, with the date, and
the announcement that they had started from Norway for the South Pole.
It was rather _émotionant_ finding it so unexpectedly, and so remote.
At 10 p.m., we steamed into Kristiania, where we were met by Litvinoff.
I had visualized a small, sharp-faced, alert man. Instead I found a big,
square, amiable, smiling man. He informed us that there was not a room
to be had at the Grand Hotel, and turning to me, added in English: “If
you want rooms in the Grand Hotel you will have to secure them through
the British Legation.” We all laughed, and I said: “We are not making
much use of the British Legation on this trip.”
As we entered the Grand Hotel and stepped into the lift, I caught the
sound of string-band music, which characterises the Grand Hotels and
Ritz-Carltons of Europe, and suggests all that side of life with which
we on this trip are not quite in harmony. Litvinoff accommodated me in
the room of one of his secretaries. I felt rather strange, lonely, and
lost, especially when questioned by one of them as to my work and plans.
Had I been working in the Soviet office in London? I felt rather at a
disadvantage, having to explain that I was merely an artist who had done
portraits of Kameneff and Krassin (who, by the way, they spoke of as
Comrade), and that I hoped to get through to Russia with Kameneff to do
some portraits there.
I felt, as they looked at me, that I did not look much like a sculptor.
They proceeded to tell me that no British passports were being issued,
and that any amount of people were being held up here. Very cheerful! By
this time I had drunk three cups of excellent tea out of a tumbler, and
it was nearly midnight, so I suggested bed, apologising at the same time
for making use of their room and necessitating their discomfort.
It being now 1 o’clock, I propose to sleep, though I am only wrapped in
my rug, for the bed is not made up for me, and I do not like sleeping in
other people’s sheets! The noise in the street is perfectly infernal and
Kameneff and Litvinoff are still talking in the next room on my other
side.