I wasted a lot of time this morning trying to fix things up without the
help of Kameneff. As things have turned out I might have saved myself
the trouble. John Reed told me that I never would begin work unless I
arranged everything for myself, and depended on no one here. On the
other hand Mr. Vanderlip told me to keep calm, as his experience was
that everything came in time. Thoroughly impatient however, I got hold
of Mr. Rosenfeld who arrived simultaneously with Alexandre Kameneff and
a motor. Rosenfeld took me studio hunting. The Art Schools seemed to be
very far away from the parts of Moscow that are familiar to me, and
although everyone was willing to help, there seemed to be little
accommodation available. In the Academia, which I believe is only just
re-opening, they offered me a place to work in--a gallery which
obviously was not suitable. We went on to the Strogonoff School, where
Mr. Konenkoff, one of their most distinguished sculptors, offered me of
his best. It was like an empty kitchen looking into a bleak courtyard.
The two students who followed us round were not very sympathetic. No
doubt they thought it presumptuous of me to come to Russia and expect to
model Lenin! They certainly did not seem to think he would sit to me.
Kameneff had warned me that most of the artists I should meet would not
be Bolsheviks, so that probably the students I met were not, but thought
that I was. One of them, a girl and more friendly than the rest, said to
me in French: “If you are a friend of those in power I suppose you will
get some food; we are expected to work here all day from 9 in the
morning till 6 at night without any.” I asked why she did not bring her
food with her, and received some jumbled explanation about rations and
distribution and State Control and no shops, which was so bewildering
that I avoided further discussion. It was obvious that I did not
understand the
[Illustration: BRONZE EAGLE AT THE MUSÉE ALEXANDRE III.
_p. 68._]
condition of things, and that I looked rather stupid in consequence.
Another one said to me: “Madame, we are waiting for deliverance. For two
years we have waited. We do not know how it is to come, but we just hope
that some morning we may wake up to find the nightmare over.” I said
feebly that there had been six years of war, and a blockade, but I felt
it was no business of mine to put up a defence for their system. I came
home thoroughly depressed and disheartened, having accomplished nothing.
At 10 p.m. I was sitting in the gilded drawing-room with Mr. Vanderlip
when the telephone rang: it was Kameneff. He announced that he had a
room for me at the Kremlin and that I must work there because all the
people I had to model were there, and that it was the only way to get
them as they were very busy. He promised to send someone for me in the
morning to take me there. He asked if I were lonely, resentful, or
bored, and pleaded his inability to get to me owing to stress of work.
He begged me to be patient and good, and promised that all would come
right. I went to bed feeling really better.