I feel very discouraged. Everyone I meet asks me what I have come to
Moscow for. They assure me that there is no chance of modelling Lenin,
and still less of doing Dzhirjinsky, who is a
[Illustration: ROTHSTEIN, SHOWING THE KREMLIN IN THE BACKGROUND.
_p. 71._]
recluse. Nevertheless, I have spent the day getting everything in order.
Sackfuls of bone-dry clay have been delivered at my door. Five men and
one girl stood inert and watched me break it up with a crow-bar. Finally
I was able to send them all away except one, a really intelligent
carpenter, who, instead of trying to talk to me, watched me and
understood what I wanted. He was splendid, made three armatures for me,
and then beat and stirred the clay for three hours until it was in
condition. When Kameneff looked in, bringing Zinoviev, I was up to my
elbows in clay, my clothes were covered, and my hair was standing on
end. Zinoviev laughed, and said it was obvious that I should not be
ready for him to sit to me for days, but I assured him all would be in
order to-morrow, and added that a man of the carpenter’s intelligence
was worthy to be a Government minister. Kameneff repeated this to the
carpenter, and then said to me: “Here everything is possible.” Before
leaving he gave me a pass into the Kremlin that will last until
December, so I am independent at last, and can go in and out alone when
I please. I did not come home until I had built up two heads ready to
work on. I am very tired but full of hope, remembering that I have heard
that things come slowly in Russia, but they come eventually.