Kameneff came at midday to say good-bye to me; he is off to the front
to-morrow for an indefinite time. He brought with him a young man with
close-cropped hair and clear-cut features, calling himself Alexandre.
Kameneff thinks Alexandre may be able to take care of me during his
absence. I certainly need someone, as Michael Borodin goes to Madrid on
Tuesday, and then I do not know what will become of me. Kameneff
discussed with me about the Government buying the Russian copyright of
my heads. He then asked me to make a list of things I wanted, and that
he could do for me before he goes. I had several wants: for one thing, I
am extremely cold. The coat I arrived in is only cloth--now there is
snow on the ground, and the river begins to freeze. I have to wrap my
rug round my shoulders when I go out. The peasants are far better off,
they have all appeared in sheepskin coats, the fur they wear inside, and
the leather, which is usually stained deep orange or rust colour, is a
very decorative exterior. The bourgeois women have brought out their
former remains of splendour, and although they may have only felt or
canvas shoes on their feet, and a shawl over their heads, some of them
wear coats that one would turn round to look at in Bond Street. I headed
my list of requirements with the request for a coat--as well as caviare,
Trotsky, and a soldier of the Red Army whom I want to model. Trotsky is
expected back from the front in a few days. It is a bore that Kameneff
is going away, but Alexandre promised to arrange sittings for me.