A message has arrived at third hand from Kalinin, offering to sit to me.
He promised to a long time ago before he went to the front. He got back
from the front on October 30th, with Kameneff, and had he given me the
chance then there would have been plenty of time. Now everything is
settled for me to go to-morrow with Professor Lomonosoff in his special
train. I am very disappointed, Kalinin has a head that interests me. I
have wanted to do a Russian peasant type, and he is one. But if I do not
get away in Lomonosoff’s train I may delay a long time. England seems so
very far away, and the children will think I have forgotten them.
Perhaps if I could work without my fingers getting frozen I would stop
and do him, and do Litvinoff too. But I have made a failure of my
soldier, and it is not encouraging. An appointment was made for me with
Kalinin at 1 o’clock to see him in his office. Litvinoff kindly took me
there. It was in some building facing the Kremlin. We went in and after
some searching and inquiry, found the outer rooms of his office. There
seemed to be two or three of these, and they were full of people sitting
on benches round the wall. Some looked miserable, and were curled up in
a heap with shawls over their heads, others were sleeping in corners, or
huddled up by the stove. They spat on the floor, smoked and were
perfectly silent. These were all people who came with a grievance to lay
before their President. Litvinoff, when he went in, asked whether it was
Kalinin’s office--a nod and a grunt assented that it was. Litvinoff, who
is impatient, went from room to room, but we could find no trace of
Kalinin.
[Illustration: LITVINOFF AT MOSCOW.]
Finally he opened a door that proved to be the private office, and a
short haired girl secretary looked up and said Kalinin might return in
half an hour. So he might, but with an experience of Russian official
appointments, it seemed likely that he might not appear for a couple of
hours. We left messages and retreated. On our way out someone, rousing
himself from a corner, asked whether Kalinin was really in his room or
not. Perhaps they thought we were privileged people, while they were
kept waiting; I was rather glad that we could say he was not there. I
came away with a melancholy impression of the place, but Kalinin, with
his kindly face, must be the best sort of man to whom the people can
tell their troubles.
We then drove to the statue of Dostoievsky, which is a beautiful bit of
work in granite and which I wanted to photograph. In the same square
there is another granite statue by the same artist, which is usually
known as “The Thinker.” It is, if anything, better than the Dostoievsky.
From there I went to the Kremlin to see how the packing of my heads was
progressing. I was surprised to find that the wooden cases had been
delivered, owing, no doubt, to the combined efforts of Kameneff,
Litvinoff, Andrev, and my kind Comrade Ynachidse, from whom all
blessings flow. Moreover the heads were packed, so that there was
nothing for me to do. I said good-bye very sadly to my nice moulder,
whom I like so much. He is intelligent, well-mannered, and efficient. He
bent down and kissed my hand with the simplicity and dignity of a
prince. I gave him a woollen jersey, as he feels the cold, and with all
his thousands of roubles that he earns he cannot buy such a thing. I
gave one last look round the grim room to which I have become attached,
and, with a lump in my throat, departed down the long stone passage,
through which my footsteps re-echoed for the last time.
Then I crossed the courtyard and went to lunch at the Kremlin table
d’hôte. This table d’hôte, which is the Communist restaurant reserved
for all the Commissars and workers in the Kremlin, was unusually full
to-day. I was lucky to get my place. Lunarcharsky sat opposite me. He
has just returned to Moscow and I regretted there was no one present who
could introduce us.
My neighbours observed me reading an English guide-book to the Kremlin,
and attempted odd bits of conversation, but their English completely
broke down. It is a great loss not being able to understand a word of
Russian, as the general conversation at the long table was very animated
and must have been interesting.
[Illustration: STATUE OF DOSTOIEVSKY.
_p. 181._]
[Illustration: STATUE “THE THINKER.”
_p. 181._]
The interest for me was in the faces of the men themselves, who were of
the most varied type it would be possible to collect. One could not say
they were typically Russian or typical of any race or of any particular
character, and yet there was some invisible link that bound all these
men together in one common thought.
After lunch Andrev fetched me, and an official showed us all over the
Tsar’s palace. There were exquisite small rooms with vaulted ceilings
and frescoed walls, from which it was evident that the stage scenery in
the Russian operas had been copied. There were still traces of red
bunting and appeals to the workers of the world to unite in the colossal
room, over-decorated with gold, which was the Throne Room of the
Romanoffs, and in which the Third International had its last meeting.
The modern apartments in the new wing are bad architecture and in bad
taste, but everything is left undisturbed. Even the photographs of the
Tsar’s Coronation are still hanging in their frames in some of the
rooms. The Royal Family scarcely came to Moscow, so that the place must
have always had an uninhabited feeling. One did not feel the ghosts of
former times as in some of the older parts of the building.
My last evening was spent with Andrev, Litvinoff and Kameneff, who came
and sat in my room. Kameneff brought me a sheepskin hat, such as I had
seen at the Sukharefski market and wanted so much, also the £100 I had
entrusted to his care when we started, which I have never had occasion
to spend. He then told me that my departure was most ill-timed.
To-morrow is the eve of the Anniversary of the Revolution. There are
going to be great celebrations. A big meeting will be held at the Opera
House, at which Lenin and Trotsky are going to speak. It is only on very
rare occasions that Lenin appears in public, and it would be interesting
to hear him. The meeting is called for 4 o’clock, but it will be three
or four hours late, and my train leaves at 8. If only Lomonosoff would
delay his train I could attend. The next day, on the 7th, there will be
a ball, and on the 8th a banquet at our house for the Foreign Office.
Moreover, the Entente papers promise a _coup d’état_ for the 7th and
Litvinoff suggested that I should wait and “see the show.” But I know by
experience that I should only wait in vain. When I was alone with
Kameneff he said to me: “Well, did I keep my promises?” I told him that
everything had been fulfilled, and had exceeded even my expectations. I
told him I was overwhelmed by the kindness I had received “considering I
am an
[Illustration: THE SUKHAREFSKI MARKET.
_p. 184._]
enemy Englishwoman.” He would not listen to any words of appreciation,
he smiled in his genial, kindly way: “Of course we were glad to receive
you, and to have you among us, _une femme artiste_, what did it matter
to us, your nationality, or your relations. There is only one thing,
_que nous ne pouvons pas supporter_,” and for the first time in all the
months I have known him, a hard look passed over his face, and he set
his teeth: “The only thing we cannot stand _c’est l’espionage_,” and the
way he said it gave me a shiver down my spine. It was only a passing
shadow, and the next moment he was telling me that he really regarded me
as a woman of courage for coming just on his word, adding that when he
saw me on the departure platform “with two small handbags, I knew in
that moment that you were not any ordinary woman!” We looked back on our
London days and laughingly discussed the first sitting when he invited
me to come to Moscow. I told him “I did not believe that you were
serious when you asked me,” and he said, “neither did I believe you were
serious when you accepted.” He then proceeded to outline for me exactly
what the effect of my Moscow visit would have on my friends, on my
family, in the Press, and on my career. His accuracy remains to be
seen.