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 MAYFAIR 10 MOSCOW - 
 
 CLARE SHERIDAN'S DIARY
 
 CLARE SHERIDAN
 
 MAYFAIR 
 
 TO MOSCOW- 
 CLARE SHERIDAN'S DIARY 
 
 BONT AND LIVERTGHT 
 PUnUSHERS NEW YORK
 
 Copyright, 1921, 
 By Boni & LivEKiGHT Inc. 
 
 All rights reserved 
 
 Printed in the United States of America
 
 LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS 
 
 Clare Sheridan Frontispiece 
 
 facing 
 Paffc 
 
 Bust of Krassin 26 
 
 View of Guest House 80 
 
 Bust of Zinoviev 93 
 
 Bust of Dsirjinsky 98 
 
 Bust of Lenin . . 114 
 
 Bust of Trotzky 152 
 
 Group on Aquitania 230 
 
 The illustrations of the busts have bocn made from 
 the originals done by Clare Sheridan.
 
 MAYFAIR TO MOSCOW- 
 CLARE SHERIDAN'S DIARY
 
 MAYFAIR TO MOSCOW 
 
 The publication of a diary not meant for pub- 
 lication seems to demand some introduction and 
 explanation. I have always kept a diary, even In 
 comparatively monotonous as in eventful days, 
 but I am not a writer. It is almost with a feeling 
 of apology that I venture to swell the ranks of 
 those who publish their little books after their 
 little visits to Russia. In doing so I do not pre- 
 tend to present a picture of Russia. I was only 
 in Moscow where portrait work, not politics, was 
 my concern. 
 
 What I learnt about Bolshevism and the point 
 of view of its leaders can come from illustrative 
 remarks, often quite casually made, as for in- 
 stance when I was solemnly asked one day what 
 position Bernard Shaw would hold in the new 
 Labor Cabinet, and they were surprised when I 
 giggled. 
 
 There are people in England who are indig- 
 nant at my sculpting Lenin and Trotsky. I licrc 
 
 II
 
 12 MAYFAIR TO MOSCOW 
 
 were people in Moscow who were horrified be- 
 cause I had done Winston Churchill and ex- 
 pressed a desire to do D'Annunzio, but as I am 
 before all else a portraitist, it is the psychology 
 of people that interests me, not their politics. I 
 love humanity, with its force and its weakness, its 
 ambitions and fears, its honesty and its lack of 
 scruples, its perfection and deformities. 
 
 If I found any of the Bolshevik leaders human, 
 agreeable and even kindly, it is probably because 
 they reacted as all human nature does, to the 
 attitude of mind with which It is met. 
 
 If I have any political views In my own coun- 
 try they are certainly not in harmony with the 
 policy of Mr. Lloyd George. Nevertheless I 
 have found myself next to him at dinner and en- 
 joyed our discussions on abstract subjects, never 
 touching politics. It may even be that the Prime 
 Minister equally enjoyed these discussions which 
 gave his mind a rest from the work he was in- 
 tent upon. It seemed that certain of the Soviet 
 rulers with whom I talked were just as happy 
 (and more so), than Mr. Lloyd George, to find 
 some one with whom it was not necessary to pur- 
 sue the political problem. Especially was this 
 the case with Trotsky whom I found very cul- 
 tured and companionable, and with whom I 
 hardly at all talked about Revolutions! 
 
 Before I started for Russia my cousin Winston
 
 CLARE SHERIDAN'S DIARY 13 
 
 Churchill came to lunch at my studio, and so also 
 Mr. Ambrose McEvoy (the English portrait 
 painter). A short while ago, just after I had 
 landed In New York, I met McEvoy and he* 
 talked to me about that luncheon, and commented 
 on my discretion In not disclosing my acquaint- 
 ance with the Bolshevik emissaries In London, 
 and nev^er breathing a suggestion of my prospec- 
 tive visit to Russia ! On the same occasion we 
 discussed Bolshevism pretty openly. I remember 
 that Winston said Bolshevism was a crocodile, 
 that either you must shoot It, or else make a 
 detour round It so as not to rouse It! But I 
 gathered that Immediate attack was the policy he 
 favored. But whatever his views were, I ha\'c 
 always loved him as I would a brother, and I 
 have admired him for his undoubted courage and 
 purposefulness; and though I do not always agree 
 with him, we find other subjects of deep Interest 
 to us both, to talk about — and always he Is In- 
 teresting. 
 
 At the time when I was doing his portrait bust, 
 he said to me thoughtfully one day: "Clare! You 
 have the most enviable position in the world — 
 you are a woman, you are an artist, you are free 
 and you have children." Lie has often said to 
 me: "Do you realize Jiozu lucky you are?" I 
 wonder if he is right, that as a woman my talents 
 are the more valuable to me. Certain It is that
 
 14 MAYFAIR TO MOSCOW 
 
 everything good and interesting and all the things 
 worth while that have come to me have come 
 through my work. 
 
 I did not always work, and that is why parts of 
 my diary need explanation, parts in which, owing 
 to a mood or an incident, I have burst out im- 
 patiently with criticism of my bringing-up. 
 
 One does not readily tell of oneself, especially 
 if one is not self-absorbed. But I have been 
 asked to explain why I became a worker. 
 
 Some day, when I am no longer physically 
 strong enough to continue the life of a sculptor, 
 I shall, in the evening of my days, write a book, 
 and it will tell of things from the beginning, and 
 be written with pure sincerity. It will relate and 
 explain many things, and some people will not 
 care to read it because it will not be all happiness 
 and there are many who v/ill not face reality. 
 
 In the meantime I exert myself to make up for 
 many years spent and wasted — wasted In that 
 they were unproductive. Like many of my gen- 
 eration I was brought up with the idea that for a 
 girl It was only necessary to know French, take 
 care of one's hands and do one's hair carefully 
 in order to get married and live happily ever 
 after. I did not marry Immediately. Contrari- 
 ness In childhood becomes rebelliousness In girl- 
 hood, and the more I realized that marriage was 
 expected of me the more resolutely I prepared
 
 CLARE SHERIDAN'S DIARY 15 
 
 my mind for spinsterhood. I remember one sum- 
 mer evening walking home across a square; in a 
 house in which all the curtains were drawn back 
 and the window^s opened wide, a ball was going 
 on. One could not hear the music, and the 
 figures revolving silently looked absurd. I seemed 
 to see ourselves as the man in the street sees us. 
 The impression was indelible. I was bored, too, 
 by my absence of purpose and the unproductive- 
 ness of my time. 
 
 After that summer evening I spent a good 
 many of my days in Italy. Sometimes in a re- 
 mote fishing village where I grew to love the 
 people, or in the wilds of Anacapri, beyond the 
 tourist track, and also in Rome and in Florence 
 where the beauty of things enveloped me, — when 
 it was not the little naked bathing figures it was 
 the sculpture I loved; and when the guardian of 
 the museum had turned his back, I would run my 
 lingers over a marble torso, so that my finger 
 tips tingled with emotion and my heart beat faster 
 quite unexplainably. 
 
 Sometimes, in contrast to my Italian days, I 
 would spend a winter in Stockholm with the 
 Crown Princess Margaret and the Crown Prince 
 of Sweden. Princess Margaret, who was Eng- 
 lish (a daughter of the Duke of Connaught), 
 was extremely artistic and painted so well that 
 the leading artists in Sweden declared that if she
 
 i6 MAYFAIR TO MOSCOW 
 
 had not been born a Royalty she would have been 
 a great painter. As it was her duties were too 
 varied to permit of any serious study, -but we 
 used to spend whole weeks on painting expedi- 
 tions and get very absorbed and enthusiastic. 
 Some of the most interesting artists in Sweden 
 who were her friends used to come and help us 
 and criticize and advise. We worked very hard 
 and made great progress. There was something 
 in the snow scenes that suggested shapes and 
 forms, and my joy in painting them was almost 
 more the joy of form than of color. Form was 
 a subconscious god in my heart. 
 
 Then one day the inevitable happened; it was 
 in England, and it was on the longest day of the 
 year, a day which seemed that day all too short. 
 I got engaged to be married. For four years 
 after that I lived in the country, and during those 
 years I forgot everything except the creation of 
 forms that I was Intent upon. The two children 
 which are the result — are my best bits of creative 
 work, and work that will live. We had a Tudor 
 farmhouse near Guildford In Surrey, and at a 
 place near by called Compton, Mrs. Watts, the 
 widow of G. F. Watts* had a village pottery. It 
 was quite an ambitious industry; they turned out 
 lovely terra cotta garden pots of Italian design 
 and there were local artists engaged on small alle- 
 
 * The famous painter.
 
 CLARE SHERIDAN'S DIARY 17 
 
 gorical figures. Such an industry in Italy would 
 have been productive of great talent, even of 
 genius, and even in Surrey the efifort was not un- 
 fruitful. 
 
 I used to carry home loads of clay with me, 
 and work out little things of my own. These used 
 to be criticized and approved by Mrs, Watts, and 
 so I began in a humble dilettante way. 
 
 When the little flickering flame within me began 
 to develop into a burning fire of ambition; when 
 it dawned on me that dead clay could be brought 
 to life, — a husband who was rather clairvoyant, 
 and doubtless had visions of a neglected home, 
 said "no" — and the flame was suppressed into a 
 rather sullen domesticity. 
 
 What next? — The war, unexpected and over- 
 whelming! 
 
 The abandoned home, the pursuit of arms, the 
 collapse of a business firm, a shattered outlook. 
 Then the birth of a son, and six days later widow- 
 hood. I rose from my childbed and viewed the 
 same scene, but knew it was another world. It 
 has been another world ever since. The smolder- 
 ing flame rekindled, was fed and heaped with 
 fuel. — A great friend of mine, John Tweed, a 
 former pupil of Rodin, asked me to go to work 
 in his studio. There I met Professor Lanteri, who 
 offered to teach me in his own private studio at 
 the South Kensington College of Art. Princess
 
 1 8 MAYFAIR TO MOSCOW 
 
 Patricia, who was a friendof my girlhood, offered, 
 for fun, to sit for me. Professor Lanterl helped 
 me to achieve of her a statuette which I exhibited 
 creditably. Shortly afterwards the Professor 
 died. He was one of the saints of this world, — 
 he even had the face of a saint. I missed him 
 terribly; he had been a wonderful friend. His 
 death forced m^e to stand on my own feet and in 
 a new world. But that world began to give me 
 orders for portraits, so I ran before I could walk; 
 I learnt to w^alk (and to crawl too) afterwards 1 
 For five years I studied as I earned, and I cram- 
 med all the work that my pent up forces made 
 me do. I had luck, and I had love of the work 
 and great health. Belief, Imagination and 
 capacity for work will carry one a long way on 
 the roughest of roads. Mine, I know, is still a 
 long road to travel, and I like, too, to feel that 
 the end of it is still very far away. I have tried 
 to describe the road that I have traveled up to 
 the present point, and perhaps it will ex- 
 plain ? 
 
 Meanwhile, the diary opens on the day when 
 I met Kamenev In London. It seems an abrupt 
 beginning, but whatever went before had very 
 little connection. It is often through little ac- 
 cidents that one's life is altered. I had been en- 
 gaged to go yachting with some friends In August. 
 I had worked very hard for a year and was badly
 
 CLARE SHERIDAN'S DIARY 19 
 
 in need of a holiday. The yacht at the last 
 moment ran ashore and had to go into dock. The 
 day I should have gone yachting was the day my 
 friend asked me if I would like to meet Kamenev 
 and Krassin. 
 
 I jumped at it, having a great curiosity to meet 
 a Bolshevik, for I felt mystified and completely 
 ignorant about them. I had often thought that if 
 I could choose out of the whole world a head to 
 portray, I would select Lenin as the most in- 
 teresting, illusive and unattainable I I never 
 dreamt that the chance would come. 
 
 I have been asked why I, a woman alone, ven- 
 tured into the Bolshevik midst? I claim that the 
 mere fact of being a woman alone arouses the 
 chivalry of those one meets. Every one's pro- 
 tection is better than some one's. I felt in AIos- 
 cow what I have felt since I landed in New York, 
 the instmctive chivalry of man tovv^ards a stranger 
 in his midst. 
 
 But here I must end, for my book has already 
 gone to print, and a messenger is standing at the 
 door waiting to snatch this foreword. He re- 
 minds me of how G. F. Watts pursued his colos- 
 sal figure of "Physical Energy" and continued to 
 work on it as it was being carried away to the 
 bronze foundry. Watts was not a sculptor but 
 his "Physical Energy" expressed what was in
 
 20 MAYFAIR TO MOSCOW 
 
 Watts. I am not a writer and spiritually I pursue 
 this on its way to print, ev^en as Watts; and as 
 desperately, and too late see the things that want 
 
 putting right. 
 
 Clare Sheridan. 
 
 New York, Feb. 12, 192 1.
 
 II 
 
 August 14TII, 1920. Saturday. 
 
 According to Mr. Fisher's instructions, I called 
 lon Mr. M at his office at 10:30 and Intro- 
 duced myself. 
 
 He took me in a taxi to Bond Street to the 
 office of Messrs. Kamenev^ and Krassin. We 
 waited for about twenty minutes in an ante- 
 chambre, and I felt a certain melodramatic thrill. 
 Here was I, at all events in the outer den of these 
 wild beasts who have been represented as ready 
 to spring upon us and devour usl This move- 
 ment that has caused consternation to the world, 
 and these people, so utterly removed from my 
 environment, these myths of what seemed almost 
 a great legend, I was now quite close to. Mean- 
 while, the clerks in the office occupied my atten- 
 tion. They interested me as types, and I won- 
 dered about them, about exactly WHAT In their 
 lives had made them into Bolsheviks, and what 
 sort of mentality was theirs and whether the 
 schemes they upheld were developing Into a work- 
 able concern. 
 
 While we waited Mr. M put me straight 
 
 on a few points and pointed out many of the 
 
 ai
 
 22 MAYFAIR TO MOSCOW 
 
 inaccuracies about Bolshevism that people like 
 myself have gleaned, so I was in part prepared 
 and protected against appearing too ignorant and 
 foolish. 
 
 At last the word came and we were ushered 
 into the office of Mr. Kamenev who received me 
 amiably and smilingly. We started off almost 
 immediately, in French, and discussed the subject 
 of his being willing to sit to me. I then asked 
 him if a Soviet Government had obliterated Art 
 in Russia. He looked at me for a moment in 
 astonishment, and then said: "Mais nonf Artists 
 are the most privileged class." 
 
 I asked if they were able to earn a living wage. 
 He replied that they were paid higher than the 
 Government Ministers. He gave me fully to 
 understand that Russia is most appreciative of 
 Art and Talent and is anxious to surround itself 
 with culture. He thought the bust had better be 
 started soon, as one never knew what might hap- 
 pen from one moment to the next, "what caprice 
 of Monsieur Lloyd George" might elect to send 
 him out of the country at a moment's notice. So 
 we decided on Tuesday next, at lo A. M. Mr. 
 Kamenev then took us downstairs to Krassin's 
 office. Mr. Krassin seemed very busy and pre- 
 occupied, had some one in the room and didn't 
 quite know what T had come about, but he agreed 
 to sit to me Wednesday next at lo A. M.
 
 CLARE SHERIDAN'S DIARY 23 
 
 August 17TH, 1920. Tuesday. 
 
 Kamenev arrived nearly punctually at 10 A. m. 
 for an hour, but he stayed till i o'clock, and we 
 talked the whole three hours, almost without 
 stopping. I don't know how I managed to work 
 and talk so much. My mind was really more 
 focused on the discussion, and the work was done 
 subconsciously. At all events when the three 
 hours were ended, I had produced a likeness. 
 
 There is very little modeling in his face; it is 
 a perfect oval, and his nose is straight with the 
 line of his forehead, but slightly turns up at the 
 end, which is a pity. It is difficult to make him 
 look serious, as he smiles all the time. Even 
 when his mouth is severe his eyes laugh. 
 
 My "Victory" was unveiled when he arrived, 
 and he noticed it at once. I told him it repre- 
 sented the Victory of the Allies, and he ex- 
 claimed: "But, no I It is the Victory of all the 
 ages. . . . What painl What suffering I What 
 exhaustion! . . ." He then added that it was 
 the best bit of peace propaganda he'd seen. 
 
 We had a wonderful conversation. He told me 
 all kinds of details of the Soviet legislation, their 
 ideals and aims. Their first care, he told me, is 
 for the children; they are the future citizens and 
 require every protection. If parents are too poor 
 to bring up their children, the State will clothe, 
 feed, harbor and educate them until fourteen
 
 24 MAYFAIR TO MOSCOW 
 
 years old, legitimate and illegitimate alike, and 
 they do not need to be lost to their parents, who 
 can see them whenever they wish. This system, he 
 said, had doubled the percentage of marriages 
 (civil of course) ; it had also allayed a good deal 
 of crime — for what crimes are not committed to 
 destroy illegitimate children? 
 
 He described the enforced education of all 
 classes — he told of the concerts they organize for 
 their workmen, and of their appreciation of 
 Bach and Wagner. 
 
 They hav^e had to abandon (already!) the idea 
 that all should be paid alike. Admitting that 
 some are physically able to work longer and bet- 
 ter than others, he granted therefore that there 
 have to be grades of payment, and that when great 
 talent shows itself, "cela merite d'etre recom- 
 pense." 
 
 Chaliapin, who used to have the title of "Artist 
 to the Court," is now called "The Artist of the 
 People." Chahapin , I gathered, was a very 
 popular figure. 
 
 After awhile Kamenev let drop a suggestion 
 which did not fall on barren ground — he threw it 
 out apparently casually, but I believe to see how 
 I reacted to it. I had just been telling him that 
 I had all my life a love of Russian literature, 
 Russian music, Russian dancing, Russian art, and 
 he said, "You should come to Russia."
 
 CLARE SHERIDAN'S DIARY 25 
 
 I said I had always dreamed it — and that per- 
 haps — who knows — some day. . . . 
 
 He said: "You can come with me and I will 
 get you sittings from Lenin and Trotsky." 
 
 I thought he was joking, and hesitated a mo- 
 ment, then I said: "Let me know when you arc 
 going to start and I will be ready in half an hour." 
 
 He offered to telegraph immediately to Mos- 
 cow for permission 11 
 
 August i8th, 1920. Wednesday. 
 
 Krassin arrived at 10 A. M. and found me read- 
 ing the papers, sitting on the seat outside the 
 door. Like Kamenev he stayed until i o'clock. 
 He has a beautiful head and he sat almost sphinx- 
 like, severe and expressionless most of the time. 
 We talked, of course, but his French is less good 
 than Kamenev's, and we broke into occasional 
 German — it was a bad mix-up, but we said all we 
 wanted to say I 
 
 Kamenev had talked to him about me and told 
 him of the project of my going to Moscow. I said 
 nothing about it till he first broached it I 
 
 What impresses me about these two men is 
 their impassive imperturbability, their calm, and 
 their patience. I suppose it is the race, or else they 
 learnt calm when they were prisoners in Siberia. 
 They are such a contrast to almost all other sit- 
 ters, who are restless, hurried and fidgety. Kras-
 
 26 MAYFAIR TO MOSCOW 
 
 sin is sphinx-like. He sits erect, his head up, and 
 his pointed, bearded chin sticking defiantly out at 
 an angle, and his mouth tightly shut. He has no 
 smile like Kamenev and his piercing eyes just 
 looked at me impassively while I worked. It's 
 rather uncanny, 
 
 Krassin is a Siberian. He explained to me that 
 his father was a Government local official and that 
 his mother was a peasant and one of twenty-two 
 children. He himself was the eldest of seven and 
 was brought up in Siberia, 
 
 At I o'clock I thanked him profusely for sitting 
 so long and so well, and he seemed quite surprised 
 at my stopping, and said: "You have done with 
 me?" 
 
 I explained that I had to catch a train, so, 
 having swallowed a fish and some plums, I 
 rushed down the alley to my taxi, pursued by 
 Rigamonte, who abandoned his marble chisel and 
 carried my suitcase and hurled in some last things 
 to me. 
 
 I just caught the 1 150 at Waterloo, to Godalm- 
 ing, to stay two days with the Middletons.* 
 
 August 2ist, 1920. Saturday. 
 I got back to the studio about midday to find 
 a huge bunch of roses and the following note from 
 Kamenev : 
 
 *Earl Middleton. Peper Harrow. Godalming, Surrey. 
 (The Hon. St. John Broderick, Minister for War, during the 
 Boer VV^ar.)
 
 CL.\RE SHERIDAN'S DIARY 27 
 
 London, 21st Aout. 
 
 Chere Madame, 
 
 Je vous prie la permission de mettre ces 
 roses rouges atix pieds de votre belle statue 
 
 de la Victoire. «• 
 
 Bien a vous, 
 
 L. K 
 
 I did so, and when he came at 4 o'clock to sit, 
 I thanked him, but said they weren't red and that 
 it was a pity. He looked as if he didn't under- 
 stand, and said: "Yes, they are red — red for the 
 blood of Victory." The sentiment was right, but 
 he is color blind, the roses are pinkl I didn't 
 argue. 
 
 At about 5 o'clock S L walked in 
 
 unexpectedly, and was awfully surprised and in- 
 terested at finding Kamenev, who was no less 
 
 interested at hearing from S L that 
 
 Archbishop Mannix is his guest, and I got a good 
 inning at my work while these two talked some 
 pretty plain stuff. 
 
 Kamenev and I dined later at the Cafe Royal, 
 and then went on to a Revue which was very bad, 
 but the audience laughed a good deal, and 
 Kamenev wondered at their childish appreciation 
 of rubbish.
 
 28 MAYFAIR TO MOSCOW 
 
 August 22ND, 1920. Sunday. 
 
 Twelve hours with KamenevM ! I 
 
 He arrived at 1 1 A. M. with a huge album of 
 photographs of the Revolution — very interesting. 
 After looking at it he sat to me for an hour. We 
 lunched at Claridge's. After lunch we went for 
 a taxi drive along the embankment, and passing 
 the Tate Gallery, went in. It is being rearranged, 
 but we found the Burne-Jones that Kamenev was 
 looking for. He stood for a long time before 
 "The King and the Beggar Maid." I suppose in 
 the new system all the beggar maids are queens, 
 and the real kings sit at their feet. 
 
 At 4 o'clock we went to Trafalgar Square to 
 see what was going on. The Council of Action 
 were having a meeting. Kamenev assured me 
 he must not go near the platform, or be recog- 
 nized by his friends, as he was under promise to 
 the Government to take no part in demonstra- 
 tions, nor to do any propaganda work. However, 
 I dragged him by the hand to the outskirts of 
 the crowd, and for no reason that I can explain,* 
 the shout went up: "Gangway for speakers," and 
 a channel opened up before us and we were rushed 
 along it. 
 
 Happily for Kamenev, there was a hitch as we 
 approached the platform. The crowd thought a 
 policeman was favoritizing us, and getting us to 
 the platform, and a youngish man said, "Stop
 
 CLARE SHERIDAN'S DIARY 29 
 
 that, policeman, this is a democratic meeting 1" 
 and tried to prevent us going any farther. For a 
 while I felt the hostility of the people around me. 
 
 One of the speakers, referring to the spirit of 
 1914, said we had given our husbands and sons 
 then, but we didn't mean ever to give them again, 
 and I, thinking of my boy, Dick, joined in the 
 shouts of "Never, never!" with some feeling, and 
 I felt the atmosphere kindlier around me after 
 that. When Lansbury tried to speak he was ac- 
 claimed with cheers and had to wait patiently 
 while they sang: "For he's a jolly good fellow," 
 and cheered him again. 
 
 He seemed to me to talk less of "Class" and 
 more of "Cause." Just for a second he paused, 
 saying, "What we have to do, is to stop. . . ." 
 I filled in the gap with "Mesopotamia." W^here- 
 upon the crowd shouted: "Hear! hear!" and 
 "God bless you!" After that I was one of them. 
 Then some one recognized Kamenev and the 
 whisper went round and spread like wildfire. The 
 men on either side of him asked if they might 
 announce he was there, to which he answered a 
 most emphatic "No." 
 
 When Lansbury had finished speaking there 
 was an appeal for money for the "Cause." It 
 was interesting to watch the steady rain of coins, 
 and very touching to see how the poor gave their
 
 30 MAYFAIR TO MOSCOW 
 
 pennies. Lansbury buried his face in his hat to 
 shield himself from the metallic rain. 
 
 After that we went away, and a gangAvay was 
 made for us, and all along the whisper went of 
 "Kamenev," and the faces that looked at us were 
 radiant as though they beheld a saviour. 
 
 We took a taxi and drove to Hampton Court, 
 and there went outside the garden and into the 
 park to get away from the Sunday crowd. We 
 sat on his coat on the grass in the middle of an 
 open space, and the air was hca\7 and the sun 
 fitful, as though a storm impended. The distant 
 elms were heavy green. There was a great still- 
 ness and calm. 
 
 We talked about the meeting, and of the 
 magnetism of a crowd. He noticed my sup- 
 pressed excitement, for I had blood to the head. 
 If we had been rushed to the platform I could 
 have spoken to the people, I'm sure I could. He 
 said he had been terribly moved to speak, and it 
 had been a great effort to hold back. 
 
 We talked and talked, and then some rain- 
 drops forced us to get up and return to the Mitre 
 Hotel for dinner. After dinner the weather 
 cleared and we had a lovely hour and a half in a 
 boat on the river. There was a three-quarter 
 moon, and the water reflected the pink lights from 
 the Chinese lanterns of the houseboats. From 
 the garden of Hampton Court rose up what
 
 CLARE SHERIDAN'S DIARY 31 
 
 seemed to be a giant cypress tree silhouetted 
 against the dusk, and the reflection of it doubled 
 its height. It was like something in Italy. I 
 rowed the boat, which I loved doing, and 
 Kamenev hummed Volga boatman songs. Or else 
 we broke back into discussions, and then he for- 
 got he was steering and we had several slight 
 collisions and narrow escapes from more serious 
 onesl 
 
 It was a very successful evening, and we came 
 back by the last train to Waterloo, still talking, 
 chiefly about that impending and all absorbing 
 visit to Moscow, and we parted on my doorstep 
 at a quarter to midnight. 
 
 August 24TH, 1920. Tuesday. 
 
 I felt ill, but got up early, expecting Krassin 
 at 10, but at 10 I got a telephone message to the 
 effect that neither Mr. Krassin nor Mr. Kamenev 
 could see me to-day as the political crisis had 
 caused a deluge of work. 
 
 Lloyd George at Lucerne had taken exception 
 to the clause in the Russian Peace Terms, de- 
 manding that the Polish Civic Militia should be 
 drawn from the working classes. This they say 
 is an infringement of the liberty of Poland. Truth 
 to tell, it's the Polish success over the Red Army
 
 32 MAYFAIR TO MOSCOW 
 
 that has caused this diplomatic volte face. How- 
 ever, this is too big a subject to go into here. 
 
 At dinner time Kamenev telephoned me it was 
 his first breathing space, and could he come and 
 see me. I asked him to take pot-luck for dinner, 
 and he arrived, a battered and worn fighting man. 
 Full of indignation, but still full of fight and hope 
 and belief. 
 
 He stayed till ii, and said he felt better. It 
 was very still here, and the peace did him good. 
 There may be a "state of war" in a few days, 
 and as things now stand they all depart on Fri- 
 day. Great excitement, as I shall go with them. 
 
 August 25TH, 1920. Wednesday. 
 Krassin gave me my second sitting at 5 P. M. 
 and stayed till 7 :30. I heard all the latest news. 
 He's a delightful man, and I've never done a head 
 I admired more. He seems to be strong morally, 
 to a degree of adamant. He is calm, sincere, dig- 
 nified, proud, with self-consciousness and without 
 vanity. Scientific in his analysis of things and 
 people. Eyes that are unflinching and bewllder- 
 Ingly direct, nostrils that dilate with sensitiveness, 
 a mouth that looks hard until It smiles, and a chin 
 full of determination.
 
 CLARE SHERIDAN'S DIARY 33 
 
 August 26th, 1920. Thursday. 
 
 Krassin offered me a third sitting and came 
 again at 5 and stayed till after 7. War is 
 averted, and he assures me that Kamenev under 
 no excuse can possibly leave for Russia before a 
 fortnight. I did not sleep much, waking up with 
 the exclamation, "Partonsf Partonsf", for if we 
 don't get away before a fortnight I shall have to 
 keep my engagement to go on September loth to 
 Oxford to the Birkenheads to do F. E. and then I 
 shall not get to Russia before my exhibition. 
 
 I worked hard, and Krassin's head is finished. 
 I think it's good. Sidney came to see me after 
 dinner, and we talked fantastically about Russia, 
 and what it might or might not lead to I He is 
 terribly interested. 
 
 August 27TH, 1920. Friday. 
 
 Kamenev came at eleven to give me a last sit- 
 ting. He was in a much happier frame of mind, 
 chuckling over Tchitcherin's reply to Lloyd 
 George, which is an impudent bit of propaganda 
 work, and ALL the papers have to publish it be- 
 cause it is official ! 
 
 I waked up this morning with an excited and 
 tired feeling, my hands trembling, which I've never 
 known before. Kamenev arrived in much the 
 same condition. He talked politics, and got ex-
 
 34 MAYFAIR TO MOSCOW 
 
 cited and worked up and produced the quizzical 
 frown that I wanted. I worked well, and abso- 
 lutely changed the whole personahty of his bust, 
 which I think he liked. 
 
 He promised incidentally not to wait here two 
 weeks, but says he will start not later than 
 next Friday. I wonder if he keeps his promises. 
 
 *Peter turned up with a girl, which disturbed 
 the sitting and I felt more and more hectic, what 
 with the difficulties and the battle of it, and know- 
 ing that it was the last sitting, and feeling dead 
 beat, and having finally to stop for lunch. 
 
 Kamenev and I lunched with Sidney Cooke at 
 Claridge's. I introduced them to each other, and 
 we are going to stay with Sidney at his house in 
 the Isle of Wight, for the week-end. Like all 
 good foreigners Kamenev expressed a desire, 
 some days ago, to see the Isle of Wight. So it is 
 arranged. I had meant to go to my beloved 
 Dick,** but I sent him a crocodile by Peter, to 
 compensate. 
 
 Dined with Aunt Jennie;*** she has laryngitis, 
 and looked very ill. We dined in the drawing- 
 room. She asked me what new work I was en- 
 gaged on, but I took good care not to mention 
 Russians nor Russia. 
 
 * Oswald Frewen, my brother. 
 
 ** My son, Richard Brinsley Sheridan. Born September 20th, 
 1915. 
 «**Lady Randolph Churchill.
 
 CLARE SHERIDAN'S DIARY 35 
 
 In the course of conversation she told me I was 
 being criticized as having too much freedom. I 
 chuckled ov^er this as I visualized to myself the 
 great band of people who grudge me that freedom, 
 because they have not got it, and because they 
 know that freedom counts above everything, 
 
 I said to Aunt Jennie, "And how is that grave 
 condition of things, that dangerous 'Liberty' going 
 to be rectified? I am a widow and earning my 
 living, how is it to be otherwise ordered?" 
 
 She had no suggestion. It would have been 
 obviously out of place to suggest re-marriage, 
 which in fact is the only way of ending everything, 
 liberty, work, my happiness, which is dependent 
 on my work. 
 
 August 28th, 1920. Saturday. 
 
 I left the studio in a state of chaos, Smith being 
 in the midst of casting Kamenev and Krassin. I 
 felt a wonderful sensation of relief, at these being 
 finished, and the Victory also. Everything for 
 the moment is finished, until I begin something 
 new. And who will that be I wonder? 
 
 Kamenev picked me up at 12:15 "^^^ we caught 
 a 12.50 from Waterloo to Portsmouth. Sidney* 
 met us at the Harbor, and escorted us to his 
 house on the Isle of Wight, near Newport. A 
 
 ♦Sidney Russel Cooke. (Former Secretary to Hon. H. H. 
 Asquith.)
 
 36 MAYFAIR TO MOSCOW 
 
 very attractive journey across, as it was warm and 
 calm weather. A motor met us at Ryde and took 
 us to his house, seven miles. On arrival we flung 
 ourselves down in the sun on the grass of the 
 tennis-court. And after tea, as we lay full length 
 on rugs, our heads leaning on the grassy bank, 
 behind us, and the sun gradually sinking lower and 
 lower, Kamenev for over an hour told us the 
 history of the Russian Revolution. 
 
 He told it to us haltingly, stumbling along in 
 his bad French, wrestling with words and phrases, 
 but always conveying his meaning and, above all, 
 conjuring up the most graphic pictures, — making 
 us see with his eyes, live over the days with him, 
 and know all the people concerned. He is amaz- 
 ingly forceful and eloquent. 
 
 We sat silent and spell-bound. He began as 
 far back as twenty years ago, with the first efforts 
 of himself and Lenin, Trotsky and Krassin. He 
 described thelir secret organizations, their dis- 
 coveries, their arrests, his months and years of 
 prison, first in cells, then in Siberia — but long be- 
 fore he had finished, our dinner was proclaimed, 
 and we went in just as we were to eat. The spell 
 for the moment was broken, and though he did 
 not again that evening resume the tale of the 
 Revolution, he did most of the evening's talking. 
 
 He described to us shortly but vividly the in- 
 dividuality and psychology of Lenin. There were
 
 CLARE SHERIDAN'S DIARY 37 
 
 others also, the president of the extraordinary 
 Commission, a man turned to stone through years 
 of "traveaux force," an ascetic and a fanatic, 
 whom the Soviet selected as organizer and head 
 of "La Terreur." 
 
 This is the man of whom Maxim Gorky wrote 
 "that one could see martyrdom crystallized in his 
 eyes." He performs his arduous task, suffering 
 over it, but with the conviction that he is helping 
 towards an ultimate reign of peace and calm, to- 
 wards which end every means is justified. This 
 man sleeps in a narrow bed behind a curtain in his 
 "bureau" and has few friends, and cares for no 
 women, but he is kind to children, and considerate 
 towards his fellow-workers when they are over- 
 worked or ill. 
 
 It is useless to try to tell any of Kamenev's 
 stories, they require his individuality, and would 
 lose in repeating. I only felt that it was a great 
 waste that his audience consisted only of us two, 
 when so many might have been enthralled. 
 
 August 29TH, 1920. Sunday. 
 
 When I came down from breakfast I found the 
 
 two men sitting over a fire. I accused them of 
 
 "frousting," and carried them out to the garden, 
 
 and Kamenev restarted his unconcluded tale of
 
 38 MAYFATR TO MOSCOW 
 
 the Revolution, until we could bear the cold no 
 more, so he finished indoors in front of the fire. 
 It is a marvelous narrative, pray God, I may never 
 forget it. 
 
 At 2 :30, the afternoon having mended, we 
 started off in an open car for the south of the 
 Island. On a hill overlooking the sea, with a 
 lonely beach, we stopped, and made a long ardu- 
 ous descent. It was heavenly on the undulating 
 beach of tiny rounded pebbles, by the sea edge. 
 Sidney and I paddled and Kamenev, who watched 
 us, became thoroughly laughing and happy. When 
 Sidney and I sat down on the beach and buried 
 our feet in the pebbles, Kamenev began to write 
 verses to me on the back of a five pound note. 
 
 I don't know what happened to the bank note, 
 but Kamenev wrote four lines, and Sidney the 
 other four, in French. Kamenev likened me to 
 Venus, but Sidney was flippant, and said that the 
 part of me he liked best was my feet! 
 
 The scenery and climb recalled Capri, but a 
 faded Capri without color. Nevertheless, one re- 
 membered the feeling of joy one had at Capri, and 
 Kamenev was much impressed by the beauty and 
 the peace of it, and said how distant politics 
 seemed, and how non-existent Mr. Lloyd 
 George ! ! ! 
 
 After awhile, we regretfully went on, stopping
 
 CLARE SHERIDAN'S DIARY 39 
 
 only for a tea-picnic on a common off a lonely 
 road. 
 
 September 2nd, 1920. Thursday. 
 
 Brede Place. 
 
 I have been here since Monday. Papa is away 
 in Ireland fishing, Mamma is here and believes I 
 am still going yachting and that a telegram will 
 call me away at any minute. As no wire has 
 come, and I cannot bear the suspense, I've decided 
 to go up to London, for the day, and shall go 
 straight to Kamenev's office from the station. So 
 I'll know soon whether we start for Russia on 
 Saturday or not. If we do I shall not come back 
 here. 
 
 I wonder what it will be. To-night, when I 
 said good-night to Dick he clung to me more than 
 usual, and we talked together for a long time. 
 He held mc tight. I was kneeling on the ground 
 next his bed, with my arms round him. He said 
 he could not bear to let me go. He said he would 
 tie mc up to a wall and cover me with kisses, and 
 not let me go to-morrow. He was terribly sweet, 
 and I felt a great reluctance at leaving him. 
 
 Should anything happen to me if I go on this 
 expedition I want Peter (Oswald, my brother), 
 to take great care of Dick. I don't know what 
 money there would be to help him, but some of
 
 40 MAYFAIR TO MOSCOW 
 
 my widow's pension would be paid to the chil- 
 dren from the Government. 
 
 I would like Aunt Leonie,* whom I love dearly, 
 and whose judgment I value, to lend Peter a hand, 
 for Mamma is not strong enough to take it on. 
 Also, darling though she is, we are so opposite 
 in our views of life and the future. 
 
 I want Dick to be very modern, very Liberal. 
 I want him to have a chance of being fully what- 
 ever he thinks is right, even if it does not agree 
 with those who surround him. So long as he is 
 sincere, and convinced he is right, then he is 
 right. 
 
 St. John and Madeleine Middleton will, I know, 
 ask him to Peper Harrow. The Sheridan family 
 are not likely to start interesting themselves in 
 Dick, as they have not done so up to the present. 
 The Wavertrees, however, have begun to love 
 Margaret, and are looking after her and she is 
 happy. I suppose if anything happens to me she 
 will be permanently with them. I am grateful 
 to Sophie and thankful. I think all is well with 
 Margaret, and her problem is far more easily set- 
 tled than Dick's. 
 
 But I do wish she could be brought up to be 
 purposeful, not luxurious, and to feel that she will 
 
 * Lady Leslie. Wife of St. John Leslie, formerly Miss 
 Leonie Jerome and sister of Lady Randolph Churchill and Mrs, 
 Morton Frewen, Mrs. Sheridan's mother.
 
 CLARE SHERIDAN'S DIARY 41 
 
 have a career. Work alone brings happiness, and 
 the desire to achieve or to attain is the only satis- 
 faction. 
 
 However, if I am no more, they may be brought 
 up very differently from my plans, but they will 
 undoubtedly develop into something because they 
 have individuality. But it is all in the hands of 
 the gods. 
 
 To Peter I leave the remains of my seven years' 
 lease of the studio. My jewels to Margaret, ex- 
 cept a ruby and diamond ring which is already 
 Peter's. My books to Dick, also my diaries and 
 letters. 
 
 I have not much to leave, my philosophy of life 
 is to travel light and not accumulate, but to 
 throw off. 
 
 I think the money I have in the bank and the 
 money I am owed should pay my debts. 
 
 I don't care what happens to my work. I've 
 worked hard and done my best. I hoped to make 
 a name for myself. I am ambitious to do good 
 work. It's a very, very long road to climb, and 
 I'd like to get further along it — but this is a 
 great adventure and worth doing — and I'm rather 
 tired of the great uncertainty of the future, and 
 so, if it all ends so soon it ends well. I've had 
 four years of glorious happy work, and I leave 
 two beautiful children to be my immortality. 
 
 To these I say: "Work, Work, always Work."
 
 42 MAYFAIR TO MOSCOW 
 
 Don't turn your backs on the World's new doc- 
 trines, not even if you have something to lose. If 
 you have something to lose, lose it in the cause. 
 Fight for the cause, if you believe it to be right. 
 Remember the millions whose lives are not worth 
 living and who 7nust be helped. 
 
 Children, I love you — God bless you. 
 
 May this stand as a sort of will in case any- 
 thing happens to me. 
 
 Written at Brede Place, August 23rd, 1920. 
 
 September 3RD, 1920. Friday. 
 I went up to London and drove straight to the 
 Bolshevik office in Bond Street, and left my lug- 
 gage waiting outside in the taxi. Unlike the pre- 
 vious occasion, I was not shown straight in to 
 Kamenev. I sat down and waited in the outer 
 room which was full of men, six or seven of them, 
 and they began discussing me in Italian, French, 
 German, and Russian! I tried to look dignified 
 and aloof, and I'm sure I was a great failure as a 
 Bolshevik. All my English conventional breeding 
 took hold of me! Later Peter came to fetch 
 me, thinking I had finished my interview, and 
 then I felt better, having him to talk to. Later 
 an eighth man appeared with a lot of papers and 
 the garrulous crowd became of a sudden serious, 
 and sat round a table, and there seemed to be 
 a sort of council going on.
 
 CLARE SHERIDAN'S DIARY 43 
 
 At this moment Klyschko passed by the open 
 door, and espying me called me and Peter into 
 him room to wait. I asked him why there were 
 so many people in the other room, and he 
 shrugged his shoulders. 
 
 At last I was told both Mr. Kamenev and Mr. 
 Krassin wanted to see me, and I was shown into 
 Krassin's office. I learnt in a moment what I had 
 feared, that our journey is not for to-morrow. 
 Moscow has answered his application too late. 
 There was just a faint chance left, for a telegram 
 from Moscow was being deciphered at that mo- 
 ment, but it was almost too slight to count upon. 
 
 Krassin asked if he might bring his wife and 
 daughters to the studio at 4 o'clock, and then 
 Kamenev took me up to his office. He held out 
 real hopes of starting next week. There is just a 
 good chance. 
 
 As soon as Krassin and his very attractive fam- 
 ily, but slightly alarming wife, had left I went to 
 
 see , whom I thought was In a position to 
 
 get the vise I want, for Reval. My passport is 
 all in order to Stockholm but Klyschko has failed 
 to get the Esthonian vise because it is necessary to 
 get the Foreign Office approval to do so. 
 
 After three-quarters of an hour's talk with 
 
 , T realized that it was hopeless. He 
 
 merely shared the general prejudice. It confirms 
 me in my decision not to take any one else into
 
 44 MAYFAIR TO MOSCOW 
 
 my confidence, besides Sidney and S 
 
 They are the only two who have got the spirit 
 to understand. 
 
 But how I want that Esthonian vise — it is 
 worth an effort to get it, instead of starting with 
 an uncertainty. 
 
 explained to me at length, and kindly, 
 
 why he did not want me to go. He said that he 
 believed a complete change of Government policy 
 was impending, which would make my position in 
 Russia untenable. Moreover, that I would be in 
 great danger of being shot as a spy. He told me 
 what he thought of Lenin and Trotsky (it seemed 
 very much what other people think). He said 
 that Kamenev was no better than the rest, and 
 that a Russian was capable of turning even upon 
 a friend. Finally he asked me why I wanted to 
 go. I claimed an artist's zeal in wishing to do 
 Lenin and bring his head back in my arms! 
 
 He then wanted to know why "they" wanted 
 to take me, to which I could give no clear answer, 
 having wondered somewhat myself. He then 
 tried to draw me on the subject of Bolshevism 
 and asked me: "What do you gather is the final 
 and ultimate object of the Bolsheviks?" 
 
 It was a difl'icult question. I thought for a 
 moment and then I said: "They are very great 
 idealists, it may be an unpractical and unworkable 
 Idealism, but that does not alter it."
 
 CLARE SHERIDAN'S DIARY 45 
 
 He was unsurprised at this, and said in a low 
 voice, almost more to himself than to me: "Are 
 they as clever as that — " by which I suppose he 
 meant, had they really been so clever as to take 
 me in! ! ! 
 
 At the end of it all I said to him: "You see 
 in the papers that H. G. Wells is going to 
 Russia?" 
 
 He said that Wells could look after himself. 
 I claimed to be equally fit to do so, to which he 
 replied: "So you still want to go?" 
 
 I explained that I was prepared for anything. 
 He seemed surprised but practically consented to 
 try and get my passport put in order for me, and 
 asked me to go and see him again next week. 
 
 I got back in time to dine with Kamenev at 
 "Canuto's." After dinner, it being a lovely warm 
 evening, we took an open taxi and I suggested 
 driving to Hampstead Heath. Arrived there, we 
 left the taxi on the main road, while we went on 
 foot off a side road on to a rough sandy track, 
 quite away from people and lights. 
 
 On a bank I spread my white fur coat and we 
 sat there for an hour or more. It was very beau- 
 tiful. The tall pine stems stood out against the 
 glowing sky of distant, flaring London. The 
 place was full of depth and distance and night 
 mystery. I talked to Kamenev about my con- 
 versation with a friend, who was a serious intelli-
 
 46 MAYFAIR TO MOSCOW 
 
 gent man, and told him of his opinion that I 
 should be in danger of my life. I added I was 
 prepared to take the risk, but that I should regret 
 my children being orphans. Kamenev answered 
 me half amused, half irritated. 
 
 He said it was such nonsense that he feli a 
 great desire to start immediately so as to show 
 me the truth, and so that I might come back and 
 prove to all and sundry how ignorant they are of 
 real conditions. 
 
 He considered that no matter what line the 
 Government adopted here (and he was prepared 
 that Lloyd George might do anything at any mo- 
 ment) , it would not be vented upon me. I should 
 be regarded purely as an artist and international 
 non-political. 
 
 Then laughing, he said he would have me put 
 against a wall, arms crossed on breast (not blind- 
 folded, that was a convention of the aristocrats!), 
 and a firing party should take aim, and he would 
 save me at the last moment. Just so that I might 
 live through every thrill, and my friends be dis- 
 appointed! 
 
 He told me incidentally that Wrangel is de- 
 feated and discredited (• • . having just told me 
 that Wrangel had won the peasants over to him, 
 and that he had a scheme of moderate Govern- 
 ment, and was likely to rouse a counter-revolution 
 and depose the present lot).
 
 CLARE SHERIDAN'S DIARY 47 
 
 So I said to Kamenev: "Where is truth?" 
 And he answered: "There is no truth in the 
 world, the only truth Is in one's heart." 
 
 September 9TH, 1920. Thursday. 
 
 My birthday, and the most hectic of my life! 
 
 In the morning I worked more or less calmly. 
 The "Victory" was just being finished, Smith was 
 chipping away the last remains of mold. Riga- 
 monte, under my direction, was punching the 
 blocks of Princess Pat, so that marble chips flew 
 like shrapnel in all directions. Meanwhile Hart 
 came to get my last orders about marble pedestals 
 for unfinished bronzes, and on top of all Fiorinl 
 turned up. 
 
 He was terribly hurt because I have given the 
 heads of Kamenev and Krassin to ParlantI to cast. 
 He had dreamed of doing them — he had a Bol- 
 shevik workman In his foundry, who asked every 
 day when those heads were coming. He would 
 have cast them, he said, for nothing, just for the 
 honor and glory of doing them. ... I felt ter- 
 ribly badly about It. The little Italian man is 
 such an enthusiast, and he met Kamenev here, 
 who shook hands with him, and Fiorlnl felt about 
 it as most people about their King. On that oc- 
 casion he hid behind a pedestal, and remained so 
 quiet for a quarter of an hour, watching me and 
 my sitter, that I forgot he was there.
 
 48 MAYFAIR TO MOSCOW 
 
 But because I understood from Fiorini that he 
 had as much work as he could get through for me 
 in time for my exhibition, I had given the heads 
 to Parlanti, who promised them in time. 
 
 I hope I comforted him by promising to give 
 him the duplicates to cast, as presents to Kamenev 
 and Krassin, the which I had had no intention of 
 doing, and can ill afford, but to cheer up Fiorini I 
 will do it. 
 
 Then the telephone went and Klyschko an- 
 nounced to me that it was all decided — Kamenev 
 is starting on Saturday morning, has reserved 
 places and I have nothing to do but get my ticket. 
 I said I was having difficulties over my passport, 
 and he explained to me that all I need get is the 
 vise via Christiania to Stockholm, and that at 
 Stockholm the Esthonian Legation would see me 
 through. 
 
 I dined with Sophie Wavertree and F. M. B. 
 Fisher. He walked me home. He it is who orig- 
 inally brought me In touch with this wonderful 
 new world. 
 
 September ioth, 1920. Friday. 
 
 Kamenev telephoned at breakfast. He is 
 really starting to-morrow. 
 
 At 10:15 a wire from Sidney, to say he's ar- 
 riving from Scotland at 5 :oo. 
 
 II :30 to Barclay's Bank, cashed £100.
 
 CLARE SHERIDAN'S DLVRY 49 
 
 II 140 to Cook's, bought my ticket. 
 
 12:00 Bond Street Office, saw Kamenev. He 
 says it doesn't matter about a passport, that he 
 can push me through from Stockholm. 
 
 1 o'clock, bought a hat in South Molton Street. 
 
 2 o'clock, back at studio. Wrote letters all 
 afternoon. 
 
 4:30 hair washed and cut. 
 
 7 :oo back to studio, packed and dined. 
 
 10:30 Sidney came, and while we were talking 
 Kamenev rang up to say he had had a few short 
 hours ago an interview with Lloyd George, and 
 that he gathered from the interview that he, Kam- 
 enev, leaves to-morrow, not to return — this was 
 pour me prevenlr — but he said, come all the same. 
 
 I rang up S L , who could hardly be- 
 lieve that I am really starting. He came round to 
 see me and we three talked far into the night. 
 
 September iith, 1920. Saturday. 
 
 Mr. Krassin, and most of the 128 New Bond 
 Street staff were at St. Pancras to see us start. 
 Krassin presented me with a big box of chocolates 
 tied up with red ribbons. We were rather a con- 
 spicuous group on the platform. I feared every 
 second to meet some one I knew traveling, possibly 
 to York, on the same train. 
 
 S L was there to wish me God-speed,
 
 50 MAYFAIR TO MOSCOW 
 
 and Sidney, who is staying with friends near New- 
 castle and came down yesterday to spend my last 
 evening with me, traveled back to Newcastle with 
 us. Rigamonte turned up unexpectedly, which 
 touched me very much. 
 
 Sidney, fulfilling his reputation as an organizer, 
 discovered there were two trains going to New- 
 castle, and that the next one starting a little later 
 had a restaurant car, so we transferred our lug- 
 gage from the one to the other, and in the process 
 I lost my handbag which had my hundred pounds 
 in it in bank notes, all I possessed in the world! 
 It caused me some agitation, but Kamenev was 
 quite calm and seemed to think that money was 
 not very important, and that I should not have 
 much need of it in Russia. 
 
 To my intense relief, however, Sidney found 
 the case at Newcastle in the lost property office. 
 It traveled ahead of us on the other train. 
 
 Sidney came to the ship with us. I don't think 
 he believed in the reality of my journey until he 
 saw me safely past the passport officials ! 
 
 I certainly felt no sense of security until the 
 steamer left the quay-side. There was something 
 indescribably exciting and clandestine about slip- 
 ping away without any one knowing. 
 
 For some time Kamenev and I stood on deck to 
 see the last of England, with her Turner sky. 
 The sunset was golden haze, and Kamenev said:
 
 CLARE SHERIDAN'S DIARY 51 
 
 "It looks mysterious, that land, doesn't it?" But 
 to me it was just the old world wrapt in a shroud. 
 Mystery lay ahead of us in the new world that is 
 our destination. 
 
 Now for the first time I have leisure and calm 
 in which to think over what I am doing. There 
 persist in my mind faint echoes of warnings, but 
 I must have no misgivings. It seems to me un- 
 likely that Kamenev would invite me to go to his 
 country if I were likely to be either unhappy or in 
 danger there. There are moments in life when it 
 is necessary to have blind faith. 
 
 September i2TH, Sunday. In my cabin on 
 
 board S. S. Jupiter. 
 
 It is 9 :45 p. M. We have just this moment come 
 alongside the quay-side at Bergen. We are not to 
 land till to-morrow morning. The crossing has 
 been wonderful, as calm as a lake the whole way. 
 
 I have a cabin for three all to myself; there are 
 very few people on board. It is comfortable as a 
 yacht. The only fellow traveler we have spoken 
 with is an American calling himself Comrad Cos- 
 tello. He reports for the Federated Press (new 
 service for the Socialist Press). A perfectly keen 
 journalist, typically American, and not letting the 
 grass grow under his feet. 
 
 For an hour this afternoon I did interpreter
 
 52 MAYFAIR TO MOSCOW 
 
 between him and Kamenev. I had to ask about 
 strange people and strange things that I knew 
 nothing about. I had not even heard of Debs 
 before. 
 
 I expect I shall have a pretty good knowledge 
 of all the Revolutionary Leaders in all countries 
 before long. 
 
 Kamenev had a cigarette in my cabin this eve- 
 ning, and we discussed Philosophy, Religion, and 
 Revolution. It surprised me very much that he 
 does not believe in God. He says that the idea 
 of God is a domination and that he resents it, as 
 he resents all other dominations. He talked nev- 
 ertheless with great admiration of the teachings 
 of Christ, who demanded poverty and equality 
 among men, and who said that the rich man had 
 no more chance of the Kingdom of Heaven than a 
 camel of getting through a needle's eye. 
 
 September 13TH, Grand Hotel, Christiania. 
 
 Monday. 
 
 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
 
 CLARE SHERIDAN'S DIARY si> 
 
 then dwarf trees and then shrub, until finally there 
 was only the little low creeper juniper. 
 
 There were rocks and boulders, falling torrents 
 and cold still lakes, and in the shadow of the moun- 
 tains great patches of snow that nev^er 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 strike was exactly 
 the same, and the Lord Mayor of Cork not dead 
 yet. 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. Kamenev — ^yes?" and 
 showed him a photograph of Kamenev In the 
 morning's paper, and the information that he had 
 left England and was on his way to Russia. That 
 settled it. Kamenev was recognized 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 Kamenev 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. Kam- 
 enev told him that Russia was a good deal changed 
 since then and that he ought to go and see it.
 
 54 MAYFAIR TO MOSCOW 
 
 The attendant with a deferential smile said he 
 would be afraid to ! 
 
 At Finse, the highest point, where we were on a 
 level with the mountain summits, and snow lay 
 around us and below us, the train stopped ten 
 minutes. We got out and walked about, 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, en- 
 graved upon It were the names of Captain Scott 
 and all his party, with the date, and the announce- 
 ment that they had started from Norway for the 
 South Pole. It was rather emotional finding it 
 so unexpectedly and remote. 
 
 At lo p. M. we steamed into Christiania, 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 Eng- 
 lish : "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 characterizes the Grand Hotels and 
 Ritz-Carltons of Europe, and suggests all that
 
 CLARE SHERIDAN'S DIARY 55 
 
 side of life that we on this trip are not quite in 
 harmony with. 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 Lon- 
 don? I felt rather at a disadvantage, having to 
 explain that I was merely an artist who had done 
 portraits of Kamenev and Krassin (whom, by the 
 way, they spoke of as Comrad) , and that I hoped 
 to get through to Russia, with Kamenev, 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 and I suggested bed, apolo- 
 gizing at the same time for making use of their 
 room and necessitating their discomfort. 
 
 It being now i 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 Kamenev and Litvinoff 
 are still talking in the next room on my other 
 side.
 
 S6 MAYFAIR TO MOSCOW 
 
 September hth, 1920, Christiania, Tuesday. 
 
 Slept very well wrapped in my rug. Woke up 
 at 9 and had breakfast in bed. Had terribly 
 looked forward to a bath but the sour-faced hotel 
 maid says there are too many gentlemen who want 
 it, and so I cannot. This does not seem an ade- 
 quate reason for denying it to me and I rather 
 suspect it is part of a general boycott of Bolshe- 
 viks. 
 
 While I was breakfasting Kamenev looked in 
 with the morning papers which have come out 
 with headlines and photographs of him. One 
 described him as having arrived "with a lady, tall 
 and elegant, who carried in one hand a 'kodaka- 
 parat' and in the other a box of sweets — she does 
 not look Russian, and was heard to speak French." 
 
 At luncheon I met Mrs. Litvinoff and was sur- 
 prised to find that she is English, a friend of the 
 Meynells and of H. G. Wells. She has short 
 black hair and is unconventional. She did not 
 seem to be very political or revolutionary. The 
 third baby is imminent. 
 
 After luncheon we made an expedition outside 
 Christiania to the wireless station which is on the 
 top of a wooded hill from which there is a mag- 
 nificent view. Misha, the eldest child, a boy of 
 four accompanied us. He is unruly, wild-eyed, and 
 most attractive, — the embodiment of Donatello's 
 "laughing boy." He says : "What for is my father
 
 CLARE SHERIDAN'S DIARY 57 
 
 a Bolshevist?" and tells his mother to ring the 
 bell for the maid and not to do any work herself. 
 
 Litvinoff adores him and throws him about and 
 makes him stand on his head. Coming home, Lit- 
 vinoff and I, hatless, ran races down the hill. To 
 my great humiliation he outran me. He is a 
 heavy man and I run well, but he was not even 
 out of breath ! 
 
 On the way back in the open car, they all sang 
 Russian folk songs in a chorus. Bolsheviki are 
 a very cheerful species! 
 
 We reached the hotel just in time to pick up our 
 luggage and catch the train for Stockholm. 
 
 There were real cordial good-bys all round. 
 Litvinoff said that if I did not get through from 
 Stockholm I must come back to Christiania and he 
 would send some one with me to take me through 
 Murmansk. But Mrs. Litvinoff said I would get 
 through all right. "Those sorts of people always 
 get what they want," she said, but gave no further 
 comment, and I am wondering what sort of per- 
 son I am. 
 
 The two secretaries gave me messages for 
 friends in Moscow and seemed very envious of 
 any one going back. One of them (with most 
 beautiful chestnut hair) held forth to me on the 
 great difference the Revolution had brought into 
 the position of women. She is an ardent Com- 
 munist and works ten hours a day with a willing
 
 58 MAYFAIR TO MOSCOW 
 
 heart and little pay. She added as a last appeal: 
 "Go — and see for yourself, and then say nice 
 things about us when you get back to England." 
 
 September 15TH, 1920, Stockholm. 
 
 Wednesday. 
 
 We arrived at 8 130 A. m. and were met at the 
 station by Frederick Strom, head of the left wing. 
 Socialist party of Sweden. It was an interesting 
 contrast to my arrival in former years when the 
 Crown Prince himself used to meet me and take 
 me in a royal car to the Palace. I felt a great sad- 
 ness as I passed that old Palace, and the windows 
 of Princess Margaret's rooms I knew so well. 
 The days when I used to stay there seemed very 
 long ago and of another world. 
 
 We drove to the Grand Hotel which however 
 proved to be full but we were not at a loss: we 
 drove off to a perfectly charming apartment be- 
 longing to the Krassins but which in their absence 
 is inhabited by a Comrad Juon. 
 
 We were most courteously received and given 
 a splendid breakfast. 
 
 Juon is about six feet and a half high, broad in 
 proportion, with a black beard and a kindly ex- 
 pression. His eyes have exceptionally big pupils 
 that give a curious gleam and keenness to his ex- 
 pression. His brother in Russia is a well known 
 painter.
 
 CLARE SHERIDAN'S DIARY 59 
 
 Conversation between the two was mostly in 
 Russian. I am beginning to cultivate a detached 
 feeling, and I do not expect to understand much 
 during the next few weeks except through my eyes. 
 
 While we were breakfasting the Grand Hotel 
 telephoned to place a suite of rooms at our dis- 
 posal. So we returned there, and the Hotel au- 
 thorities were most civil. 
 
 P>om that moment there ensued hectic uncalm. 
 Series of newspaper reporters arrived and had to 
 be given interviews. 
 
 Comrads came, and stayed — there seemed to be 
 people revolving perpetually. Some of them un- 
 derstood only German, others struggled in bad 
 English, yet others in French, the whole thing 
 mixed up with Swedish and Russian so that one's 
 head reeled. 
 
 Among all these people, one figure stands out 
 more clearly than the rest. This is Rjasonoff, a 
 man about seventy with a Greek profile, a beard 
 that stands out defiantly, and hawk's eyes. He 
 has a dominating personality. 
 
 This man has done five years of solitary con- 
 finement in a cell for the cause. He was charm- 
 ing to me, and his expression lost some of its 
 battle, and became kindly even when he looked 
 at me. 
 
 Another man who stands out in my mind is a
 
 6o MAYFAIR TO MOSCOW 
 
 Communist poet called Torre Norman, who has 
 translated Rupert Brooke. 
 
 Mr. Strom accompanied me to the Esthonian 
 Consulate to get my Reval vise. There were, as 
 I expected, endless difficulties, and nothing settled, 
 and to-morrow the boat leaves at 4 so there 
 is not much time. I feel pretty confident that all 
 will end well! It is not possible that there can 
 be a-ny other ending. 
 
 We were a big party lunching in the restaurant 
 and attracted a good deal of attention. After 
 lunch we all went to Skansen and had tea there. 
 
 In the evening Kamenev had to go out and 
 keep an appointment, and while he was out I 
 wrestled on the telephone with reporters, trying 
 to ward off interviews until the morrow. At 10 
 p. M. Kamenev came back and we dined in the sit- 
 ting room. He was pretty dead beat. Even then 
 a reporter came to the door and asked for an in- 
 terview, but I insisted he must be put off till the 
 next day, and Kamenev, rather willingly, I think, 
 gave in. 
 
 September i6th, 1920, Stockholm. 
 
 Thursday. 
 
 This morning I telephoned to the Palace, and 
 
 asked for the Crown Prince. Kamenev asked me 
 
 if I were right to risk it. He said that I might 
 
 be very ill received in view of the company I was
 
 CLARE SHERIDAN'S DIARY 6i 
 
 in, but I explained that he was one of the most 
 Democratic Princes in Europe. 
 
 Prince Gustav's surprise was indeed pretty 
 great. He was enormously interested and amused 
 and asked me to lunch, and to come at midday so 
 as to get a good talk first. 
 
 Kamenev listened to our conversation with some 
 amusement. He told me afterwards that he liked 
 "the tone." I wonder whether he had expected 
 me to be different. 
 
 I asked the Prince, as a favor, that Princess 
 Margaret's maid. Amy, might come out shopping 
 with me, and she came and fetched me, and was 
 a tremendous help, as she knew where to take me, 
 and did all the talking in Swedish. 
 
 I left her to collect my parcels, as it was nearly 
 midday, got a taxi and told him to drive to "The 
 Palace." He looked vague, and did not under- 
 stand. I said: "Palace! Kronprinzen." He 
 nodded assent and drove off in a direction that I 
 knew was not the Palace. We fetched up in a 
 street in front of the Kronprinzen Hotel. It was 
 hopeless to argue — I plunged into the hotel and 
 asked for some one who spoke English, and ex- 
 plained my dilemma, to the intense amusement of 
 the hotel officials, and of the taxi driver when it 
 was explained to him. 
 
 Prince Gustav looked very lonely in those big 
 rooms and they were extraordinarily vibrant and
 
 62 MAYFAIR TO MOSCOW 
 
 reminiscent of her.* He made me sit down and 
 tell him all about my plans and my adventure, and 
 fell thoroughly into the spirit of the thing. Said 
 I was quite right, if my exhibition at Agnew's for 
 October was all organized, not to sacrifice the 
 chance of this experience, on that account. He 
 thought the expedition a dangerous one, but sen- 
 sibly admitted that that was my concern, and no 
 one else's. 
 
 He asked me, of course, a lot of questions as to 
 what sort of men Kamenev and Litvinoff were. I 
 couldn't help being perfectly frank, and telling him 
 my sincere impressions. 
 
 While I was there Kamenev telephoned to say 
 that the Consulate of Esthonia had given me my 
 vise. 
 
 At luncheon, the lady-in-waiting and the 
 A.D.C.'s seemed rather bewildered. It certainly 
 must have appeared fantastic to them, accus- 
 tomed to the dull routine of Court life, to be en- 
 tertaining some one who was on the way to Rus- 
 sia with Kamenev to sculp the heads of Lenin and 
 Trotsky. 
 
 The Prince was overwhelming in his desire to 
 help my material comforts. He telephoned for 
 biscuits, and two large tins arrived, also cigarettes. 
 He also wrote out his prospective trip to Athens 
 
 * The Crown Princess died in Stockholm in May, 1920.
 
 CLARE SHERIDAN'S DIARY 63 
 
 and Italy, in hopes that possibly we may meet if 
 I come back that way. 
 
 He escorted me to the taxi that awaited me in 
 the courtyard, and wished me luck, and God-speed. 
 
 I returned to the Grand Hotel and found an 
 alarming crowd of Comrads lunching with Kam- 
 enev in his sitting-room and we had to leave al 
 most immediately to catch our boat for Reval. 
 
 September 17TI1, 1920, Friday. 
 
 It is evening, we have just put in at Hongo, a 
 Finnish port. No one is allowed off the ship, by 
 order of the Port authorities. Finland is not yet 
 at peace with Russia, and Kamenev would prob- 
 ably be arrested if he put a foot on shore. The 
 last time he walked into a Finnish territory in 
 1 9 17, not knowing the whites were in possession 
 of the town, he was put in prison for three months, 
 and by a miracle was not shot. So far we have 
 had a pretty good journey, and the little boat has 
 hugged the coast of the Oland Islands. We have 
 had to put into Hongo for the night, because we 
 can only steam by day on account of the floating 
 mines between here and Reval that have not yet 
 been cleared. 
 
 I have spent half the day in my cabin sleeping, 
 the other half on deck talking. I have lost all
 
 64 MAYFAIR TO MOSCOW 
 
 track of days and dates, we seem to have been 
 journeying forever. 
 
 There are no pleasure trippers or idle curious 
 on board. Practically every one is bound for Rus- 
 sia, and we look at one another curiously, wonder- 
 ing what each other's mission is. There are Com- 
 rads returning, and there are journalists, traders 
 and bankers. People who hope to get through 
 from Reval, and people who probably will, others 
 who certainly won't get through. 
 
 Kamenev is watched by every one, and we have 
 made innumerable acquaintances. Already there 
 is a little group of friends around us, whom one 
 has the feeling of having known a long time. To- 
 morrow we go on to Reval. It seems to me too 
 wonderful and unbelievable that I am really on 
 this boat of fears and dreams : fears of not getting 
 on board, and dreams of the world it would sail 
 me to. 
 
 September i8th, 1920, Saturday. 
 At dawn we left Hongo, but there was such a 
 wind blowing that the ship anchored just at the 
 entrance of the harbor, and for a few hours we 
 swung around. No one complained of delay, no 
 one seemed to be in a hurry. There was no at- 
 tempt to keep a scheduled time. A calm atmos- 
 phere of fatalism, which is probably Russian, 
 seemed to hang over us.
 
 CLARE SHERIDAN'S DIARY 65 
 
 The sun was shining brilliantly when we finally 
 set out to sea, and I was having a most interesting 
 conversation with Mr. Aschberg, a Swedish 
 banker, who did me the compliment of talking 
 political economy to me, of which I understood 
 nothing. He told me interesting things about 
 Bolshevik business transactions with Germany, in 
 which it seemed that the Bolsheviks were alien- 
 ating the German workers by negotiating with the 
 German capitalists. 
 
 In my own mind I did not see how they could 
 do otherwise but my ignorance on these things is 
 so great that I try to learn all I can without giv- 
 ing myself away by asking too many questions. 
 It is a slow process, but I have hopes. The mere 
 fact of being under the wing of a man like Kame- 
 nev, and bound for Russia, seems to make people 
 talk to me as if I were a man. It is a great com- 
 fort no longer to meet people on a social or super- 
 ficial ground. There were people even who talked 
 to me on most obscure subjects, and asked for 
 my intercession for them with Kamenev! 
 
 At sunset we steamed into Reval, where the 
 pointed towers and the sound of old bells, as in 
 Italy, awakened one to a new atmosphere that was 
 no longer Scandinavian. A motor met us at the 
 quay, the only motor there, and a man who had 
 crossed with us, and whom I suspected of being 
 a British agent, said to me ironically as he drove
 
 66 MAYFAIR TO MOSCOW 
 
 away in a droshki : "How very smart and distin- 
 guished of you to have a motor " 
 
 Kamenev's boy of 12 met us, and there were 
 two small children as well, belonging to Gukofski, 
 the Soviet representative at Reval. They took up 
 most of the room that was needed for luggage. 
 Alexandre Kamenev had to stand on the step out- 
 side, and a soldier of the Red Army on the other. 
 Thus our curious car-load made its way, hooting 
 loudly through medieval tortuous streets. 
 
 What followed is rather nebulous in my mind. 
 I was very tired and the town very dark, there 
 were stars overhead, but no street lamps. We 
 drove to some bleak building calling itself the 
 Hotel Petersbourg, which seemed to be the Bol- 
 shevik G.H.Q. It was dirty and grim, and full 
 of strange looking people who talked nothing that 
 I understood. They looked at me strangely, a 
 great many hands shook mine. Kamenev was too 
 busy to explain to me what our plans were, or what 
 was going to happen next, or maybe he forgot that 
 I could not understand. He was too surrounded 
 for me to be able to ask him any questions, so I 
 just looked vague, waited about and followed, 
 relying on my eyes to convey the explanations that 
 my ears were denied! Kamenev was the center 
 of perpetual discussions in which every one spoke 
 at the same moment, very quickly and very loud. 
 At first I suspected a most agitating State Coun-
 
 CLARE SHERIDAN'S DIARY 67 
 
 cil, but it turned out to be merely a discussion as 
 to where we should have supper. Finally it was 
 decided that we should go to the apartment in a 
 hotel where the wife of a Comrad would look 
 after us. Off we went on foot over cobblestones. 
 The streets were full of people who moved like 
 shadows, and one could only see faces when they 
 passed the glare of a lighted doorway. We fol- 
 lowed along in couples. At my side was Alexandre 
 Kamenev, a nice boy and friendly, but he could 
 talk only Russian. 
 
 We got to the hotel (such a hotel! more like a 
 wayside inn). We were taken to the Comrad's 
 apartment, where his wife received us with great 
 cordiality and talked to me in good French. 
 
 There was a samovar, and we had excellent 
 tea with lemon in it, and some cold smoked salmon 
 on thick pieces of buttered bread. Kamenev and 
 two Comrads were too absorbed in their discus- 
 sion to eat anything. One Comrad was telling 
 something; Kamenev took notes, and our host, a 
 small nervous man, rolled bread pellets. 
 
 Madame in an even tenor plied me with ques- 
 tions: 
 
 "When did you leave London?" 
 
 "How long did you take from Stockholm to 
 Rcval? Oh dear — a day and a half late! We 
 have no news here, tell me some."
 
 68 MAYFAIR TO MOSCOW 
 
 "Is Comrad Kamenev really chasse from Eng- 
 land?" 
 
 "Is it true Krassin will soon follow?" 
 "What pretty hair you have, Mademoiselle, is 
 it naturally that color? Does it curl naturally 
 
 «^ '3" 
 
 SO r 
 
 "Is there a famine in England? I hear there is 
 no longer sugar or butter. But there will be a 
 famine when your strike begins." 
 
 "Whatl you have not a mackintosh with 
 
 you ?" 
 
 "Nor an umbrella?" 
 
 "Nor thicker shoes than that?" 
 
 "But do you not know there is nothing to be had 
 in Russia?" 
 
 "You have goloshes? That is good." 
 
 "And soap? Yes, they will do your washing if 
 you give them soap to do it with " 
 
 Kamenev left us to attend a meeting elsewhere. 
 It was now pretty late, and I was very tired, the 
 room was small, full of smoke and food. When 
 I had finished my tea Alexandre Kamenev and 
 the soldier who had not left us since our arrival 
 took me back to the headquarters. I did not know 
 what was to become of me and no one under- 
 stood me. The dimly lit corridors were crowded 
 with strange loungers. I was shown into a grim 
 room where Lenin and Trotsky adorned the walls, 
 and there I sat silently among people I could not
 
 CLARE SHERIDAN'S DIARY 69 
 
 talk with. After awhile to my intense relief Karrn 
 enev appeared. 
 
 In this strange milieu in which I was so utterly 
 lost Kamenev seemed to me the oldest and the 
 only friend I had in the world, and I metaphori- 
 cally clung to him as a drowning man to a straw. 
 Somebody in the crowd, taking pity on my help- 
 lessness, or else wondering what I was asking for 
 in three unknown languages, had sent him to me. 
 He asked what on earth I was doing there, as if I 
 knewl I followed him to another room, bigger 
 and fuller of people, who all looked very serious 
 and sat in a circle. The meeting went on, and I 
 sat obscurely in a corner wondering whether if I 
 understood Russian, I would be allowed to be 
 there. At last, bored by watching them and 
 learning nothing from it, I got out a pencil and 
 paper from the hand case I had with me and 
 wrote a letter to Dick. It was the last place from 
 which I could post a letter and the last time I could 
 write letters uncensored. I wrote to Dick from 
 my heart, thinking of him at that moment in bed, 
 so very far away, looking so round and pink, and 
 with one arm outside the bedclothes. Dick and 
 Margaret both know that when I am away from 
 them I come in spirit in the night. They often 
 find a rose petal, or a bud, or maybe a tiny feather, 
 something very light that I leave on the pillow to 
 prove that I have been. Never had I been more
 
 70 MAYFAIR TO MOSCOW 
 
 with them in spirit than this night, when I felt s^^- 
 lonely and bewildered. Later on I wrote an apol- 
 ogy to F. E. explaining why I had not turned up at 
 Charlton to do his bust. It was one of the things 
 that I felt rather badly about, for as I had left 
 England the very day I was due at the Birken- 
 heads' I could not at that time explain, and they 
 must hav^e thought me so very rude. It is funny 
 that none of these people, not even Kamenev, have 
 heard of F. E. either as Smith, Lord Birkenhead, 
 or Lord Chancellor. Chancellor of the Excheq- 
 uer they understand, but no other Exchequer. 
 
 When at last the meeting was over I was in- 
 troduced to Gukofski, and gathered it was his 
 room we were in. He is a little bent man, who 
 broke his back sometime past in a motor accident. 
 He has red hair and beard, and small narrow eyes 
 that look at one scrutinizingly and give one a shiv- 
 ery feeling. He asked me what my mission was, 
 and when I told him he said, "Do you think 
 
 you are going to get Lenin to sit to you ?" 1 
 
 did think so. His eyes twinkled with merriment. 
 "Well you won't!" he said and chuckled. 
 
 Kamenev went off to converse on the telephon.' 
 with Tchitcherin at Moscow, and did not com . 
 back. I waited and waited; Gukofski began pack- 
 ing a trunk; he was evidently coming with us. 1 
 watched him — a man's packing is always a rather
 
 CLARE SHERIDAN'S DIARY 71 
 
 interesting and pathetic sit^ht — but even that 
 ceased to interest me after awhile, and I became 
 conscious of a feeling bordering on tears and sleep. 
 Where on earth was Kamencv, and why didn't 
 he come back, or else explain to me how long this 
 waiting was to go on. After awhile I discovered 
 that Gukofski's secretary', a young man called Gai, 
 could speak perfectly good English. From him I 
 learnt that our train w^as leaving "about mid- 
 night" for Moscow, and that I could go to it any 
 time I liked and find my sleeper. I ought to have 
 known this long before, it was already nearly mid- 
 night. I made Alexandre Kamenev and the sol- 
 dier take me to the station immediately. Of 
 course when I got there the train was nowhere to 
 be found, it was in a siding. I sat down on a 
 stone step and waited, thankful at least for the 
 fresh air and the absence of glaring lights. When 
 our "wagon-de-luxe" finally appeared it was the 
 best I've ever seen, had been the Special of the 
 Minister for Railways, and was very spacious 
 and comfortable. As soon as Kamenev, Gukofski 
 and his little girl joined us, the train started and 
 we had a midnight supper of tea and caviare. 
 
 September 19111, 1920. Sunday. 
 All night we have journeyed and all day. It is 
 now evening. Our special train has stopped at a
 
 72 MAYFAIR TO MOSCOW 
 
 wayside station for three hours to await the Petro- 
 grad train, to which we will link on for Moscow. 
 Then we will travel again all night and arrive at 
 our destination to-morrow morning. 
 
 It has been a beautiful day of sunshine. I 
 crossed the frontier riding on the engine, the front 
 of our car has a veranda from which one can get 
 a beautiful view. We crossed two wide rivers on 
 temporary bridges, as the original ones lay in 
 debris below us, having been blown up by Yude- 
 nitch in his retreat last year after his attack on 
 Petrograd. The woods on either side of the 
 river were full of trenches, dugouts, and barbed 
 wire. I had tea and bread and caviare at 9 
 A. M. and the same thing at 3 P. M. and again at 
 7. There Is no restaurant car, we have 
 brought our food with us in a hamper. There are 
 other things to eat besides caviare only I cannot 
 eat them. There Is cheese, and some ham which 
 isn't ham I have ever known, and there is a sort 
 of schnitzel sausage and some apples. 
 
 The soldier who was with us yesterday and Is 
 still with us, and whose name is Marinasky, Is a 
 chauffeur. I thought he was an officer. He eats 
 with us, smokes with us, joins In the discussions 
 and kindly lays the table for food and clears away 
 for us. It sounds odd, but it seemed quite natural 
 until I heard he was a chauffeur. My bourgeois 
 bringing up is constantly having surprises!
 
 CLARE SHERIDAN'S DIARY 73 
 
 Marinasky has a nice clear-cut face, and square 
 jaw like the Americans one saw during the war. 
 
 This afternoon we got out of the train and 
 walked up the line as there were three hours to 
 dispose of. I led the way because there was a 
 wood I wanted to go to. It was extremely pretty, 
 and the moss sank beneath one's feet. The chil- 
 dren collected berries and scarlet mushrooms, 
 which they brought to me as offerings. 
 
 On the way back Kamenev and his boy and I 
 found a dry place on pine needles, where we lay 
 down, and to the sound of father and son talking 
 softly in Russian I went fast asleep. The sun 
 was setting when they woke me up. In the heart 
 of Russia, in the company of Bolshevists, I had 
 spent an Arcadian hour. 
 
 September 20TH, 1920. Monday. 
 Moscow, the Kremlin. 
 Yesterday evening after we had started, Kame- 
 nev left us to go and talk to Zinoviev, who was on 
 the Petrograd train, traveling also to Moscow. 
 Zinoviev is President of the Petrograd Soviet 
 (and also of the Third International). I did not 
 see Kamenev again that evening, but at 2 A. M. he 
 knocked at my door and waked me up with many 
 apologies to tell me news he thought I would like 
 to hear. Zinoviev had just told him that the tele-
 
 74 MAYFAIR TO MOSCOW 
 
 gram announcing his arrival with me came in the 
 middle of a Soviet Conference. It caused a good 
 deal of amusement, but Lenin said that whatever 
 one felt about it there was nothing to do but to 
 giv^e me some sittings as I had come so far for the 
 purpose. "So Lenin has consented and I thought 
 it was worth while to wake you up to tell you 
 
 that " Kamenev w^as in great spirits. Zinoviev 
 
 had evidently told him things he was glad to hear 
 — especially, I gathered, no blame or censure was 
 going to be put upon him for having failed In his 
 mission to England. 
 
 We reached Moscow at 10:30 A. M. and I 
 waited In the train so that Kamenev and his wife 
 could get their tender greetings ov^er without my 
 presence. I watched them through the window: 
 the greeting on one side, however, was not ap- 
 parent In Its tenderness. I waited, as they walked 
 up the platform talking animatedly. Finally Mrs. 
 Kamenev came into the compartment and shook 
 hands with me. Mrs. Philip Snowden in her book 
 
 has described her as "an amiable little lady " 
 
 She has small brown eyes and thin lips. She 
 looked at the remains of our breakfast on the 
 saloon table and said querulously, "We don't live 
 
 'chic' like that in Moscow " Goodness! I 
 
 thought, not even like that There was more 
 
 discussion in Russian between the two. My ex-
 
 CLARE SHERIDAN'S DIARY 75 
 
 pressionless face watched them. I have become 
 reconciled to not understanding. 
 
 As we left the train she said to me: "Leo Kame- 
 nev has quite forgotten about Russia — the people 
 here will say he is a Bourgeois." Leo Kamenev 
 spat upon the platform in the most plebeian way, I 
 suppose to disprove this. It was extremely unlike 
 him! 
 
 We piled into a beautiful open Rolls-Royce car 
 and were driven full speed with a great deal of 
 hooting through streets that were shuttered as 
 after an air-raid. Mrs. Kamenev said to me: "It 
 is dirty, our Moscow, isn't it?" Well, yes, one 
 couldn't \ery well say it wasn't. 
 
 We came to the Kremlin; the car had a pass to 
 get in. It is high up and dominates Moscow and 
 consists of the main palace, some palaces, con- 
 vents, monasteries, and churches encircled by a 
 wall and towers. The sun was shining when we 
 arrived and all the gold domes were glittering in 
 the light. Ev^erywhere one looked there were 
 domes and towers. 
 
 We drove up to a side entrance under an arch- 
 way, and then made our way, a solemn procession 
 carrying luggage up endless stone stairs, and along 
 stone corridors to the Kamenev apartments. A 
 little peasant maid with a yellow handkerchief tied 
 over her head ran out to greet us, and kissed
 
 76 MAYFAIR TO MOSCOW 
 
 Kamenev on the mouth. Then ensued the awk- 
 ward moment of not being shown to any room. 
 After eleven days traveling one felt a longing for 
 peace, and to be able to unpack, instead of which 
 the Russian discussion was resumed, and I sat 
 stupidly still with nothing to say. 
 
 For breakfast I was given coffee and an over- 
 helping of dry tepid rice. When for a moment I 
 found myself alone with Kamenev I asked him 
 what was to become of me and begged him to 
 send me to an hotel. There are no hotels, every- 
 thing belongs to the Government. There are, 
 however, guest houses, but he was averse to this as 
 he said I would be lonely and strange. He told me 
 to leave the matter entirely to him and he would 
 decide in two hours. 
 
 Meanwhile I went for a walk In the Kremlin 
 grounds with Alexandre and took a lot of photo- 
 graphs. The beauty of it all was a wonderment, 
 and I was quite happy not to go outside the walls, 
 which I could not do as I had no pass. Then I 
 came back and waited and waited for Kamenev 
 to come and tell me where I was to go. As the 
 day passed by I felt more and more lonely. For 
 lack of another book I read de Maupassant's 
 "Yvette," but hated it and thanked God that 
 Bolshevism had at least wiped out that vile world 
 of Idle men. At sunset I sat on the ledge of the
 
 CLARE SHERIDAN'S DIARY 77 
 
 open window and listened to the bells that were 
 ringing from all the domes in Moscow. Below 
 me was an avenue of trees that reached up to me 
 with autumn colors. I thought of Dick and that 
 to-day is his birthday. I knew he must be ask- 
 ing, "Where is Meitia, why doesn't she come? 
 How long will she be?" 
 
 When it was dark I was still looking out and 
 Anna Andrevna, the little maid, came in softly in 
 her string-soled shoes and put her arms round 
 me. She told me in broken German that I must 
 not "traurig sein." 
 
 Kamenev came in at half-past ten. He was very 
 tired and he precluded all further discussion by 
 saying that it was too late to go anywhere else, and 
 that I must stay the night. Mrs. Kamenev came 
 in from her work a little later. She sank into a 
 chair and drew her hand across her brow in the 
 most approved way to betoken physical exhaus- 
 tion. I was given Alexandre's room through 
 which they have to pass to get to theirs, and I 
 have to pass through theirs to get to the wash 
 room, there being no washstand in my bedroom. 
 I suppose Alexandre slept on a sofa. Kamenev 
 went back to his Soviet meeting at eleven, and I 
 heard him pass through my room when he came 
 home at 4 A. M.
 
 78 MAYFAIR TO MOSCOW 
 
 September 2ist, 1920. Kremlin, Moscow. 
 
 I waked up feeling tons better, the sunshine too 
 wonderful. Both the Kamenevs went off to their 
 respective works, she at 10 and he at 11. I went 
 out into the Kremlin grounds with Alexandre, and 
 while he played football with Serge Trotsky I sat 
 among the columns of the Alexander Memorial 
 and indulged in a kaleidoscope of thought. Serge 
 is the twelve-year-old son of Trotsky and is a fine 
 little boy with a broad chest and a straight back. 
 He looks like the heir to a throne in the guise of 
 a peasant. 
 
 At I o'clock a cousin of Leo Kamenev's who 
 can speak French and English came to fetch me. 
 Outside the Kremlin gate an old man, who looked 
 like a peasant, stopped me and asked in English 
 if I was Sylvia Pankhurst. 
 
 Hearing I was not, he asked, "But you are Eng- 
 lish? and I hope a good Communist?" I did not 
 answer, I just pressed his hand. 
 
 We went to the Musee Alexandre III, the 
 garden of which is strewn with large bronze eagles 
 thrown down from the pediment. They are very 
 emblematic of the mighty who are fallen! 
 
 The Museum contains replicas of classics, the 
 originals of many of which are in the British 
 Museum. But the arrangements and the back- 
 grounds are so good, that it gives one more pleas-
 
 CLARE SHERIDAN'S DIARY 79 
 
 ure to look at the Greek and Assyrian replicas 
 here than to see the originals in London. 
 
 There was a school of boys and girls (extremely 
 well fed and well dressed) being shown round, and 
 there was also a magnificent old peasant with long 
 hair and aquiline nose, who told us that he wanted 
 before he died to see what a museum was like. 
 Both he and the schoolmaster asked us if we could 
 explain things to them as there were no guides. 
 Even had I been able to speak the language, I 
 should have been at a loss to explain the Greek 
 Temple with its Cariatides which we were facing 
 at that moment. The children probably — and the 
 peasant surely — had never heard of the Acropolis, 
 or of Greek mythology. Where would one 
 begin? One could have said, "Isn't it beautiful? 
 — don't you see how beautiful it is?" And hope 
 that they did sec it. Since I heard a guide ex- 
 plaining Rodin at South Kensington to Australian 
 soldiers I have felt sure that Art can be felt, and 
 not explained. 
 
 In the end we procured a guidebook and sent 
 the old peasant off with the children's school, and 
 left the master to do his best. When I got back 
 it was to find no one at home. I ate some food as 
 I was hungry, and concluded that I was still to be 
 a guest at the Kremlin. Late in the afternoon I 
 found my way through the maze of corri- 
 dors and staircases, out into the grounds alone.
 
 8o MAYFAIR TO MOSCOW 
 
 I wandered about, still hynotlzed by the beauty of 
 the sun-reflecting domes, and by the dead stillness 
 which seemed a protest from the Royal stones. 
 Over the Tsar's palace crows pecked at the flag- 
 staff where once the Royal standard had flown. 
 There is a clock in a tower at the Kremlin Gate 
 and it has a complaining and depressing chime. 
 It complains once at the quarter, four times at 
 the hour. It seemed to say, "My people are gone I 
 and I am sad, and I am sad " It doubtless com- 
 plained when Napoleon took possession, at the 
 Tsariste days as well, and it will always complain. 
 There is no satisfying some people. 
 
 I have a sort of feeling that I am staying at 
 Versailles just after Louis XVI. My emotions 
 and impressions are too deep, too many, and too 
 bewildering to be measured in words. 
 
 In the evening Alexandre took me to a play at 
 the Theatre des Arts. A big theater and well 
 filled. The staging was very good. The play 
 which is adapted from an old Polish legend called 
 "Corrodine" was well acted so that without under- 
 standing a word I gathered some of the sense. In 
 front of us sat Madame Zinoviev with a Comrad 
 and I was glad when they talked to me in French. 
 It was not until afterwards that I learnt who she 
 was, much to my amusement, remembering that I 
 had told her my errand, and that Zinoviev was 
 among the heads promised to me. She asked me
 
 
 O 
 US 
 
 o 
 
 b 
 
 u 
 
 o 
 
 D 
 
 O
 
 CLARE SHERIDAN'S DIARY 8i 
 
 if I would not have to go to Petrograd to do him 
 but I said no, that he was in Moscow at the 
 moment, and that if I could only find a place to 
 work in, he would sit to me at once. I wondered 
 why she laughed. 
 
 September 22nd, 1920. Moscow. 
 
 Mrs. Kamenev went to her work as usual at 10 
 A. M. At breakfast half an hour later Leo Boris- 
 vitch, as he is called, promised not to do any work 
 or keep any engagement until he had taken me 
 to my new headquarters in a guest house. We 
 were delayed in starting by John Reed, the Ameri- 
 can Communist, who came to see him on some 
 business; a well-built, good-looking young man, 
 who has given up everything at home, to throw 
 his heart and life into work here. I understand 
 the Russian spirit, but what strange force impels 
 an apparently normal young man from the United 
 States? I am told by the Russians that his book, 
 "Ten Days that Shook the World," is the best 
 book on the Revolution, and that it has become a 
 National classic and is taught in the schools. 
 
 There also arrived to waylay us a painter called 
 Rosenfeld, who wore canvas shoes like a peasant, 
 and kissed Kamenev on his arrival. He offered to 
 show me museums and things, but our only medium 
 was German, and his was a good deal worse than
 
 82 MAYFATR TO MOSCOW 
 
 mine, which was a great drawback. At mid- 
 day, however, we broke free, and started off 
 with my luggage. I bade farewell to the Krem- 
 lin and we drove across the river to a guest house 
 on the opposite bank facing the Tsar's Palace. 
 The guest house is the requisitioned house of a 
 sugar king. It is inhabited by various Foreign 
 Office officials, also by Mr. Rothstein and an 
 American financier, Mr. W. B. Vanderlip. A 
 beautiful bedroom and dressing room are mine, 
 the walls are of green damask. It looks more 
 like a drawing room than a bedroom. The house 
 is more or less exactly as the sugar king left it, 
 full of a mixture of good and bad things. It is 
 partly modern Gothic and partly German Louis 
 XVI. The ceiling of one of the big rooms is 
 painted by Flameng, but the best pictures (there 
 were some Corots) have been taken to a museum. 
 One is extremely grateful for its comfort and hos- 
 pitality, even if its taste in decoration is not of 
 the best. 
 
 Moreover, one can enjoy it lightheartedly, for 
 the exiled sugar king, it is rumored, had other 
 palaces abroad, and never came to Moscow but 
 for a few weeks in the year. He also has money 
 invested abroad and is not in want, and can well 
 spare his Moscow Palazzo for so good a purpose. 
 His old manservant waits upon us, and takes the 
 tenderest care of the house, in the belief that the
 
 CLARE SHERIDAN'S DIARY 83 
 
 old regime will return, bringing the owners of the 
 house with it. He says openly that he is not a 
 Bolshevist, and takes much pride in changing our 
 plates a great many times, and making the most 
 of our humble fare. He insists that so far as it 
 depends upon him we shall behave like perfect 
 ladies and gentlemen and be treated as such. 
 
 I stayed at home all day unpacking at last, and 
 settling down into my temporary home. Kame- 
 nev promised to come back in the course of the 
 day, but he didn't. He telephoned, however, and 
 arranged that I should be taken to the Ballet with 
 the party from this house. We sat in the Foreign 
 Office box. The Ballet was "Cophelia," beauti- 
 fully produced, and the orchestra one of the finest 
 I ever heard. The theater is the size of Covent 
 Garden, and decorated with crimson and gold 
 boxes all round the first tier and the house was 
 packed throughout. 
 
 The audience consisted of working people, who 
 had admission free through the distribution of 
 tickets to certain unions. They were a motley 
 crowd, chiefly en blouse. In the Royal Box, re- 
 served for Commissars and their wives, there was 
 a man with a cloth cap. The women were eating 
 apples. In the box next to oufs there was an old 
 ivoman with a shawl over her head. 
 
 It was intensely moving to see the absorbed at- 
 tention of the audience. People leant their cl-
 
 84 MAYFAIR TO MOSCOW 
 
 bows on the ledges of the boxes and watched the 
 ballet with an almost devouring interest. There 
 was not a cough, not a whisper. Only when 
 Cophelia came to hfe as the mechanical doll, there 
 were delicious low ripples of controlled laughter 
 from the children. 
 
 At the ends of the acts people left the 
 stalls to rush, not for the exits of the foyer, but 
 to get to the front of the gangways nearest possi- 
 ble to the stage to see the dancers close to, and to 
 applaud them. The people were tired people, 
 who had worked all day and had earned a good 
 evening and were enjoying it to the full. 
 
 My only contretemps was with a little stenog- 
 rapher from the Foreign Office who was in our 
 box. She observed that I had on the red enam- 
 elled star of Communism, and that I wore white 
 gloves. One, she said, contradicted the other — 
 the white gloves were bourgeois. I argued that it 
 only mattered what was in my heart, and not what 
 was on my hands. But she would not be pacified, 
 so I removed the gloves. Considering my cos- 
 tume was a red tweed skirt with a red wool jersey 
 and a tight fitting cap, I had thought that gloves 
 would not make me over-dressed. 
 
 If my evening's pleasure was neutralized by the 
 concentrated aroma which arose from the great 
 unwashed, it is only fair to observe there is no soap 
 in the country, and most people have for two years
 
 CLARE SHERIDAN'S DIARY 85 
 
 or so only had the one suit of clothes In which 
 they stand up. No wonder — ! In the car coming 
 home I met Mr. Rothstein, who is living in the 
 same house. I wish I could recall the abusive 
 article I read about him in an English newspaper, 
 but all I remember is that he is not readmitted to 
 England. He seems to be an energetic, forceful 
 little man. I imagine he is pretty clever. We had 
 supper together after the theater, and conversa- 
 tion drifted onto that eternal comedy, the Nation- 
 alization of women. I happened to say that this 
 had done more to harm the Bolshevik cause than 
 almost anything and morever that quite serious 
 people still believed it. Mr. Rothstein interposed 
 rather sharply, "Well a little select circle who 
 
 reads the Morning Post perhaps believe it " 
 
 Is it possible, I wonder, that he is right, and 
 that the "little select circle" do not count as much 
 as I have all my life taken for granted they did? 
 
 September 23RD, 1920. Thursday. Moscow. 
 
 I wasted a lot of time this morning trying to 
 fix things up without the help of Kamenev. 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 my- 
 self, and depended on no one here. On the other 
 hand Mr. Vanderlip told me to keep calm, as his
 
 86 MAYFAIR TO MOSCOW 
 
 experience was that everything came in time. 
 Thoroughly impatient, howev'er, I got hold of Mr. 
 Rosenfeld who arrived simultaneously with Alex- 
 andre Kamenev 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 every one seemed 
 willing to help there seemed to be little to offer. 
 In the Academia, which I believe is only just re- 
 opening, they offered me a place to work in a gal- 
 lery 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, look- 
 ing 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 do Lenin ! They certainly 
 did not seem to think he would sit to me. Kame- 
 nev had warned me that most of the artists I 
 should meet would not be Bolsheviks ; probably the 
 students I met were not, and treated me as such I 
 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 re- 
 ceived some jumbled explanation about rations and
 
 CLARE SHERIDAN'S DIARY 87 
 
 distribution and State Control, and no shops, 
 which was so bewildering I avoided further dis- 
 cussion. It was obvious that I did not understand 
 the 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 is over!" 
 I said feebly that there had been 6 years of war, 
 and a blockade, but I felt it was no business of 
 mine to put up a defense 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. Van- 
 derlip when the telephone rang: it was Kamenev. 
 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 do were there, and it was the 
 only way to get them as they were very busy. He 
 would send some one for me in the morning to 
 take me there. Asked if I was lonely, resentful, 
 or bored, and pleaded his inability to get to me 
 owing to stress of work. Begged me to be patient 
 and good. Promised all would come right. I 
 went to bed feeling really better.
 
 88 MAYFAIR TO MOSCOW 
 
 September 24TH, 1920. Friday. Moscow. 
 
 Madame Kamenev's secretary fetched me at 10 
 A. M. and we found a Comrad waiting for us at 
 the Kremlin gateway. He was a painter, young 
 and bearded, who could speak only Russian. We 
 got our passes to get Into the big round building 
 which used to be the Courts of Justice, and where 
 the conferences are now held. It is the Chief 
 Building, and the Red flag flies above It. Once 
 inside we walked forever as it seemed, along stone 
 corridors full of busy people. We went to the 
 room of Comrad Unachidse, one of the most mag- 
 nificent men I've ever seen, a real Maestrovic 
 type, strong features and bushy red hair. Unfor- 
 tunately he also could only speak Russian. He 
 showed me the room which Is placed at my dis- 
 posal. It is big and nearly empty, semicircular in 
 shape, with bare whitewashed walls. In one 
 corner a formidable Iron door with round peep 
 holes in it leads into a small cell which contains a 
 safe. The safe Is sealed up with Soviet seals. The 
 cell I was told was a disused prison. This prob- 
 ably accounted for the atmosphere of depression 
 and grimness which persisted In spite of the sun- 
 light which In the afternoon flooded my three big 
 windows. Opposite, across the courtyard is the 
 arsenal, and all along the arsenal walls are ranged 
 the masses of cannon with their "N" surrounded
 
 CLARE SHERIDAN'S DIARY 89 
 
 by the laurel wreath, which leaves one in no doubt 
 as to their origin. 
 
 While I was looking round, Kamenev turned 
 up, he told me to make a list of my requirements, 
 then carried me off in a car and was able to stay 
 with me until 2 o'clock. These moments together 
 snatched in between work are so rare that one al- 
 most values them. He told me I was to go to a 
 meeting at the theater in the evening, and prom- 
 ised I should be in a box near the stage so that I 
 could see well. He was to address the meeting 
 on the subject of his visit to England. The party 
 from our house were late in starting. We got to 
 the theater after the meeting had begun, and 
 were put in the Tsar's box. This was already 
 crammed full to overflowing, and all the chairs 
 were occupied by Turks, Chinese, and Per- 
 sians. No one attempted to offer me a place. Mr. 
 Vanderlip and I stood for some time; people 
 moved in and out and Turks and Persians (I shall 
 never want to smell geranium again) pushed us 
 about in their impatient efforts to get past or over 
 us. All my British blood was boiling, and I real- 
 ized that for the time being, at all events, I could 
 not regard the Turks and Persians and Chinese 
 as my brothers. 
 
 After a while Mr. Vanderlip and I were moved 
 to the stage box. This too, was full, but not of 
 the same kind of people. Anyway, it was nearer.
 
 90 MAYFAIR TO MOSCOW 
 
 and one got a better view. Clara Setkin, the Ger- 
 man Socialist, was speaking, spitting forth venom 
 as it sounded. The German language is not beauti- 
 ful and the ferocious old soul, mopping her plain 
 face with a large handkerchief, was not inspiring. 
 It sounded very hysterical and I only understood 
 an outline of what she was saying. Then Trotsky 
 got up, and translated her speech into Russian. 
 He interested me very much. He is a man with 
 a slim, good figure, splendid fighting countenance, 
 and his whole personality is full of force. I looked 
 forward immensely to doing his head. There is 
 something that ought to lend itself to a fine piece 
 of work. The overcrowded house was as still as 
 if it were empty. They were attentive and con- 
 centrated. 
 
 After Trotsky Mme. Kolontai spoke. She has 
 short dark hair. Perhaps she spoke well, but of 
 that I could not judge. Tired of standing and of 
 not understanding I left the theater at the moment 
 when a great many repetitions of Churchill's and 
 Lloyd George's names were rocking the house with 
 laughter. 
 
 September 25TH, 1920. Saturday. Moscow. 
 
 I feel very discouraged. Every one I meet asks 
 me what I have come to Moscow for. They as- 
 sure me there is no chance of doing Lenin,
 
 CLARE SHERIDAN'S DIARY 91 
 
 especially not Dsirjinsky who is a recluse. Never- 
 theless, I have spent the day getting everything in 
 order. Sackfuls of bone dry clay have been de- 
 livered at my door. Five men and one girl stood 
 inert and watched mc break it up with a crow 
 bar. Finally I was able to get them all gone ex- 
 cept one, a really intelligent carpenter, who in- 
 stead 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 Kamenev 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 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 intelli- 
 gence was worthy to be a government minister. 
 Kamenev 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 and 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 what I have heard — 
 that things come slowly in Russia, but they come.
 
 92 MAYFAIR TO MOSCOW 
 
 September 26th, 1920. Sunday. Moscow. 
 I went to church with Mr. Vanderlip. We 
 selected St. Saviour's, the big church beyond the 
 bridge, which was built with the private money of 
 the Tsar as a thanksgiving for deliverance from 
 Napoleon. It has five gold domes which are a 
 beacon to me when I am lost I A service was going 
 on and we mingled with the crowd, which had 
 an amazing preponderance of men. The richness 
 of the golden and crimson robed priests seemed 
 to throw into relief the poverty of the people with 
 their faces so full of sadness. What absurdly 
 stupid things animate one's thoughts in the most 
 precious moments: for instance, when the priest 
 made the sign of the Cross with the three 
 branched candlesticks in each hand, I instinctively 
 looked to see if he had dropped candle-grease on 
 the carpet (he had!). When the contribution 
 plate began to circulate I watched an old peasant 
 next to me. He drew out his pocket book, and 
 fumbled for a few roubles, he held fiv^e of these 
 like a cardhand, and fingered them hesitatingly. 
 It was obvious that he was trying to make up his 
 mind whether he could afford to part with them 
 all, or only with some of them. In the end he 
 put them all into the plate, a little act of sacrifice 
 which I am sure will not pass unblessed. 
 
 The choir singing without accompaniment was 
 very beautiful. The masses seemed to be very
 
 CLARE SHERIDAN'S DIARY 93 
 
 fervent, one could see the Faith and Hope in all 
 their faces. It is surely the deep religious feeling 
 in Russia that has sustained these people through 
 all their years of privation and prevented a 
 greater chaos. 
 
 After church I walked along rejoicing in the 
 sun and went to the Tretiakovskaya gallery, full 
 of various schools of painting. Among the pic- 
 tures is the famous one of Ivan the Terrible kill- 
 ing his son, but everything I saw was obliterated 
 by the memory of three modern busts, the work 
 of Konenoff, the sculptor I met at the Strogonoff 
 school. These busts are carved out of blocks of 
 wood. They are indescribable masterpieces, in 
 conception, composition and carving. I remained 
 for some time in admiration and wonderment over 
 this modern work. I went away after that as I 
 could not look at anything else. 
 
 At 3 o'clock I hurried to the Kremlin as Kame- 
 nev had telephoned to me to expect Zinoviev. I 
 waited until 4 and then he arrived, busy, tired 
 and impatient, his overcoat slung over his shoul- 
 ders as he had not had time to put his arms 
 through the sleeves. He flung off his hat and ran 
 his fingers through his black curly hair, which al- 
 ready was standing on end. He sat restlessly look- 
 ing up and down, round and out and beyond: then 
 he read his newspaper, every now and again flash- 
 ing round an imperative look at me to see how it
 
 94 MAYFAIR TO MOSCOW 
 
 was getting on. He seemed to me an extraor- 
 dinary mix-up of conflicting personalities. He has 
 the eyes and brow of the fighting man, and the 
 mouth of a petulant woman. 
 
 Little by little he became more tractable, and 
 when he had finished reading we talked a little. 
 At moments he threw his head back and seemed 
 to be dreaming. Then he looked like a poet. He 
 is only 38. It is amazing how young all these 
 revolutionaries are. I gleaned from him the news 
 that Millerand is the new President of the French, 
 to which he shrugged his shoulders and said it 
 made no difference : and that the British strike 
 fixed for to-morrow has been postponed for a 
 week. Before he left, he said he was pleased with 
 the start of his bust, and that I must do Lenin. 
 
 I walked home in face of a lovely sunset, 
 the fiery ball was reflected in the gold dome of St. 
 Saviour's. I sang as I walked, because I have 
 begun work at last, but people looked at me. 
 They nev^er looked at me before. I suppose it 
 was peculiar to hear any one sing. 
 
 September 27TH, 1920. Monday. Moscow. 
 
 Things begin to move more rapidly now, and 
 my patience is being rewarded. To-day Dsirjin- 
 sky sat to me. He is the President of the Ex- 
 traordinary Commission, or as we would call it in
 
 CLARE SHERIDAN'S DIARY 95 
 
 English, the organizer of the Red Terror. He 
 is the man Kamenev told me so much about. He 
 sat for an hour and a half, quite still and very si- 
 lent. His eyes certainly looked as if they were 
 bathed in tears of eternal sorrow, but his mouth 
 smiled an indulgent kindness. His face is nar- 
 row, high-cheek-boned and sunk in. Of all his 
 features it is his nose which seems to have the most 
 character. It is very refined, and the delicate 
 bloodless nostrils suggest the sensitiveness of over- 
 breeding. He is a Pole by origin. 
 
 As I worked and watched him during that hour 
 and a half he made a curious impression on me. 
 Finally overwhelmed by his quietude, I exclaimed : 
 "How wonderful of you to sit so still." Our 
 medium was German, which made fluent conver- 
 sation between us impossible, but he answered: 
 "One learns patience and calm in prison." 
 
 I asked how long he was in prison. "A quarter 
 of my life, 1 1 years," he answered. It was the 
 revolution that liberated him. Obviously it is 
 not the abstract desire for power or for a politi- 
 cal career that has made revolutionaries of such 
 men, but fanatical conviction of the wrongs to be 
 righted for the cause of humanity and national 
 progress. For this cause men of sensitive intel- 
 lectuality have endured years of imprisonment. 
 
 Being Monday there is no theater, as that is 
 the night the artists have free (on Sundays they
 
 96 MAYFAIR TO MOSCOW 
 
 work for the enjoyment of the people) , so I dined 
 with Mr. VanderHp who told me many things 
 which I may not at this juncture write down or 
 repeat. I have not sought his confidence, so I 
 thought it rather unjustifiable when at the end of 
 the evening (having been a sympathetic listener) 
 he said to me: "You know too much now, I shall 
 see that you don't leave the country before I do." 
 Although he likes the people with whom he has 
 come in business contact, he is frankly a capital- 
 ist, and glories in it. He is like the Englishman 
 abroad who is conscious of being different to every 
 one else, and derives from it a smug feeling of 
 superiority. After dinner he was sent for by 
 Tchitcherin, and I spent the evening with Michael 
 Borodin. 
 
 Michael Markovitch, as Borodin is called, lives 
 in our house. He is a man with shaggy black 
 hair brushed back from his forehead, a trim 
 beard, deep set eyes, and a face like a mask. He 
 talks abrupt American English in a bass voice. I 
 have not seen much of him, as he works half the 
 day and all the night, like the other Foreign Oflice 
 officials. He is usually late for meals, eats hur- 
 riedly, and leaves before we have finished. As 
 soon as Vanderlip had gone Borodin switched out 
 all the drawing room lights but one, that Vander- 
 lip had put on. I asked him why he did this and 
 he looked round the garish room and gave a slight
 
 CLARE SHERIDAN'S DIARY 97 
 
 shudder. "It is parvenu," he said, then sinking 
 back into his chair he looked at me intently, and 
 asked, "What is your economic position in the 
 world?" It is the first time he has talked to me, 
 and I found myself answering as if my life de- 
 pended on my answers! Happily no one in this 
 country knows anything about my family, bring- 
 ing up, or surroundings. I have not got to live 
 down my wasted years, I can stand on my own 
 feet and be accepted on my own merits. Borodin 
 mystifies me. I cannot make out when all his ques- 
 tions have been answered what he thinks. 
 
 September 2BT11, 1920. Tuesday. Moscow. 
 
 Dsirjinsky came at 10 A. M. for an hour. He 
 is leaving Moscow for a fortnight, so I can get no 
 more sittings, but seeing how keen I was, he stayed 
 on and on, doling out 10 minutes and quarter 
 hours as so much fine gold. He sits so well that 
 two sittings are worth four of Zinoviev's. 
 
 When the Savonarola of the Revolution left, I 
 felt a real sadness that I may never see him again. 
 Zinoviev sat again in the afternoon, and brought 
 with him Bucharin and Bela Kun. They seemed 
 to approve of Dsirjinsky's bust, and Insisted on 
 looking through all the photographs of my work. 
 The "Victory" Is what really interests them. 
 
 I was frightfully disappointed In Bela Kun. I
 
 98 MAYFAIR TO MOSCOW 
 
 had imagined a romantic figure, but he looks most 
 disreputable. Bucharin is attractive with his neat 
 little beard and young face. 
 
 This afternoon, after all had left, three soldiers 
 brought a gilt Louis XVI sofa and a Turkestan 
 carpet to my workroom. These had been ordered 
 to help to make it more habitable and dispel the 
 severity. I had to laugh, the sofa looked so ab- 
 surdly refined and out of place! I wondered 
 whose drawing room it once furnished, and what 
 little tea time gossips it had listened to. At that 
 moment a sculptor called Nicholas Andreef came 
 in and introduced himself to me, sent by Kamenev 
 and mercifully speaking French. A big man 
 with small laughing eyes, and a red-gray beard, 
 typically Russian. After we had talked for awhile 
 he described to me the diflSculties with which he 
 had tried to do Lenin in his room, while he was 
 working. He said that portraiture was not Art. 
 I could but agree with him as to the difficulty al- 
 ways in doing portraits; that sittings are always 
 too few and too short, but that one had to put 
 up with it, and do the best one could, breaking 
 one's heart over it all the time. 
 
 He said he had given up sculpture for the time 
 being because of the difficult conditions, and had 
 taken to drawing instead. I said that for the 
 present I was intent on portraits, and that Art 
 would have to wait till later. His attitude is char-
 
 
 
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 CLARE SHERIDAN'S DIARY 99 
 
 acteristic of the sculptor species. They are all so 
 d d proud, and if they cannot get all the sit- 
 tings they need and work under ideal conditions 
 they do not think it worth while doing. I consider 
 there are a few people in the world who are worth 
 any effort to do, even if they do not give one a 
 chance to do one's best work. Andreef laughed 
 and said that was journalism in Art! 
 
 When I got home I found that the water had 
 been heated for baths. This was a great joy: 
 I had not had one for eight days. Once a week 
 is our allowance, and it should be on Saturdays, 
 but something went wrong with the pipe, and we 
 have been disappointed each evening, so that in 
 fact I had give, up hope. How one has learned 
 to appreciate the most ordinary things that one 
 never thought of being thankful for before. But 
 since I have been here I have to wash in cold 
 water; nor am I called, but I wake up quite 
 mechanically every morning at eight. It will be 
 wonderful to have scrambled eggs one day for 
 breakfast, but I am getting used to just black 
 bread and butter, and some mornings we have 
 cheese. 
 
 I wonder a good deal about my family and 
 friends. It is so strange to have left them with- 
 out a word, and to get no letters and not to be 
 able to write any. Mamma especially; bless her, 
 who always says "good-night" as if it was "good-
 
 loo MAYFAIR TO MOSCOW 
 
 by-for-ever," I wonder what she feels about 
 my going off without telHng her. I wonder if 
 Papa is anxious about me, or indifferent and re- 
 sentful! When I think about Dick and Mar- 
 garet I feel a sadness. I can get on without most 
 people in the world, but not without those two, 
 and they must wonder why they do not get letters 
 from me. It is rather dreadful to think they 
 m.ight believe my silence means forgetfulness. 
 
 This evening we went to the "Coq D'or." I 
 thought I was back in London until I looked away 
 from the stage. 
 
 September 30TH, 1920. Thursday. 
 
 Kamenev came to see me in the morning, his 
 watch in his hand, he had 20 minutes. It was 
 paralyzing, one cannot talk under those con- 
 ditions. I confined myself to presenting him with 
 a list of things I want done! Small wonder he 
 comes so seldom to see me. When he does come 
 every one in the house knows it, and one by one 
 they come to my door and ask to see him, each 
 wanting something of him, and his car which 
 waits at the door is borrowed for an errand. It 
 is very discouraging for him ! 
 
 Borodin took me to Prince Igor this evening. 
 It combined the opera with the Ballet. In the box 
 next to us was a party of Afghans and a Khorean
 
 CLARE SHERIDAN'S DIARY loi 
 
 with them. Down in the stalls one man was in a 
 smoking coat and evening shirt, the first I have 
 seen. He was very conspicuous. 
 
 October ist, 1920. Friday. Moscow. 
 Nicholas Andreef met me at the Kremlin at i 
 o'clock. Kamenev had placed a car at our dis- 
 posal for the afternoon. We went to several gal- 
 leries, beginning with the Kremlin. The Palace 
 of a Grand Duchess (opposite the big bell) has 
 been converted into a working people's club. It 
 was quite clean and cared for, but only the Em- 
 pire Swan furniture suggested it had ever been a 
 private habitation. We went downstairs to a 
 private chapel painted black and gold. This had 
 been made into a modeling school, and there were 
 some very good things being done from life. The 
 Spirit of the Holy Ghost descending as a dove 
 from above, and the golden rays of a carved sun 
 made a strange background. My bourgeois prej- 
 udice was just for a moment shocked until I re- 
 membered that in our own old 14th century Chap- 
 el at home Papa typewrites on the altar step. If 
 has been longer in disuse it is true, but still, one 
 must be consistent. From there we drove in the 
 car to the house of Ostrouckof, who showed me 
 his room full of Ikons, some dating back to the 
 5th and 6th centuries. One came out of St. Sofia.
 
 102 MAYFAIR TO MOSCOW 
 
 They are beautiful in design and color, and most 
 interesting when he explained them to me. Down- 
 stairs he had a modern motley collection. He 
 showed us a Matisse given to him by Matisse 
 himself. It was a curious contrast after Ikons! 
 
 At 9 p. M. Kamenev came to see me to hear how 
 I was getting on. He stayed till ii which 
 was very wonderful. He had had nothing to eat 
 and I procured some tea for him and gave him 
 some of the Crown Prince's biscuits, which are 
 life-saving! ! 
 
 October 2nd, Saturday. Moscow. 
 Hearing there was a review of troops in the 
 Red Square at 1 1 o'clock, I went off to see what 
 I could see. Every one else seemed busy, and 
 Michael Markovitch, whom I wanted, was not to 
 be found. If he had come with me I would have 
 taken my kodak, but I have not a permit, and did 
 not feel like risking a controversy alone. Ar- 
 rived in the Red Square I was not allowed to get 
 anywhere near, and I did so want to see and hear 
 Trotsky addressing the troops. Soldiers kept the 
 onlookers absolutely out of the square, and I stood 
 on the steps of the wonderful church of St. Basil. 
 The soldiers certainly were very amiable, when I 
 wandered rebelliously from my steps out into the 
 road, a bayonet was leveled smilingly at me, I 
 made a gesture of not understanding, and said
 
 CLARE SHERIDAN'S DIARY 103 
 
 helplessly in English, "Where do you want me to 
 go?" Whereupon he laughed and allowed me to 
 stand by his side. The crowd was very quiet and 
 apathetic, one certainly was not near enough to 
 get excited. In the dim distance one could hear 
 Trotsky's voice, punctuated by cheers from the 
 soldiers. After awhile the crowd broke forward 
 to where I stood with the soldier, some mounted 
 detachments came towards us, very decorative in- 
 deed with bright colored uniforms and lances with 
 fluttering pennons. Suddenly a man at my side 
 said to me in French: "Madame — does this 
 please you?" I was very glad to have some one 
 to speak to. The man was young, and though ill 
 shaved he was well dressed in uniform. He could 
 speak German also, but English he said he had 
 forgotten, though he had at one time spent three 
 months in England. Waving a hand contemptu- 
 ously towards the scene before us, he said, "C'est 
 du theatre, Madame — that is all it amounts to." 
 I ventured to say that a theatrical display was 
 not much use unless there were spectators. In 
 England I assured him we had our military page- 
 ants for the benefit of the people. What was the 
 use of this if we were not allowed anywhere near? 
 He replied that it was a necessary precaution for 
 the protection of Trotsky. I laughed, "We are 
 
 three gimshots away, at least " Then to my 
 
 amazement the man began to discuss and criti-
 
 104 MAYFAIR TO MOSCOW 
 
 cize, and talk what seemed to me pure counter- 
 revolutionary stuff. From all one has ever heard 
 about Russian conditions (Tsariste as well as 
 Revolutionary) it seemed to me that he was 
 strangely indiscreet, and I asked him: "Are you 
 not mad to talk like this in a crowd? Any one 
 may understand French." He shrugged his shoul- 
 ders: "One has lived so long now side by side 
 
 with death that one has grown callous " He 
 
 then asked if I would care to go for a walk. I 
 felt rather self-conscious of walking away in 
 front of the crowd with a man whom they had 
 seen me so obviously "pick-up." However in 
 Russia there are no conventions, it was only my 
 bourgeois blood rushing to the surface again that 
 made it seem peculiar. 
 
 We went down to the river and leaned against 
 the railing and talked for a long time. He was 
 certainly very interesting and amazingly indis- 
 creet. Happily I have nothing to reproach my- 
 self with. I adopted a perfectly good Bolshevik 
 point of view, and argued in my usual way about 
 wars and blockades, and urged him to have imag- 
 ination and look further ahead than to-day and 
 to-morrow. Talked about idealists, reviewed a 
 few Tsariste items and made comparisons. But 
 everything I said provoked him to further extreme 
 utterances. He wished finally that he might have 
 an opportunity of showing me "the other side."
 
 CLARE SHERIDAN'S DIARY 105 
 
 He invited me to go to a factory with him. I 
 asked what use that would be as I cannot speak 
 a word of Russian. He said he would like to 
 present to me his father and his uncle, but as 
 they were both "known" he would have to be 
 very careful. Finally we exchanged my name and 
 address for his telephone number. He said that 
 if I would telephone him to-morrow, Sunday, 
 night, he would meet me outside my front gate at 
 1 1 on Monday morning but he would not dare to 
 come into the house. 
 
 At I o'clock A. M. (I have adopted the Rus- 
 sian habit of not going to bed!) I saw Michael 
 Markovitch when he returned from the Commis- 
 sariat, and told him about it. He said it was the 
 queerest sort of counter-revolutionary he had ever 
 heard of, and advised me to leave him alone. 
 
 October 3RD, Sunday. Moscow. 
 I have been five days out of work. It seems 
 much longer. I am told there are people in Mos- 
 cow who have been waiting 6 months to accom- 
 plish the business they came for. Lenin seems 
 to me further away than he did in London. There 
 is nothing to do here unless one has work. Never 
 could one have imagined a world in which there 
 is absolutely no social life, and no shops; where 
 there are no newspapers (for me) and no letters
 
 io6 MAYFAIR TO MOSCOW 
 
 either to be received or written. There are no 
 meals to look forward to and comfort cannot be 
 sought in a hot bath. When one has seen all the 
 galleries, and they are open only half a day, and 
 some of them not every day, and when one has 
 walked over cobblestones until one's feet ache, 
 there is nothing to be done. One must have work 
 to do. Perhaps I would be calmer if I had al- 
 ready accomplished Lenin, but my anxiety is lest 
 I have to wait weary weeks. Return to London 
 without his head I cannot. Michael took me for 
 a walk; it was extremely cold. We went to St. 
 Basil as I wanted to see it inside, but it is locked 
 after 3 o'clock. Outside it is wonderful, painted 
 all over in various designs and colors. I cannot 
 understand how it stands the climate. Inside I 
 am told it is not much to see. Napoleon stabled 
 his horses in it. One has heard so much about 
 Bolshevik outrages, but they have done nothing 
 like this. Napoleon distinguished himself in sev- 
 eral ways while he was here. For instance he or- 
 dered the destruction of the beautiful Spassky 
 Gate of the Kremlin, the barrels of powder were 
 placed in position and the matches were lit as the 
 last of the French rode out. The Cossacks gal- 
 loped up in time to put the matches out at the 
 risk of their lives. 
 
 On our way home we passed by St. Saviour's 
 church and looked in, really impelled to seek
 
 CLARE SHERIDAN'S DIARY 107 
 
 refuge from the cold. In a side chapel where the 
 light was dim, a priest, with his long hair and 
 beard and fine features, was preaching to a con- 
 gregation which sat fervently absorbed. The 
 heads of the women looked Eastern in their shawl 
 swathings. I listened for some time to the strange 
 musical tongue, of which I could not understand 
 a word. The priest looked so amazingly like the 
 traditional pictures of Christ that I felt I was 
 listening to the great Master teaching in the 
 Temple. 
 
 October 4TH, 1920. Monday. Moscow. 
 When I came down to breakfast at 10 my 
 strange counter-revolutionary was sitting in the 
 hall. How he ever got there or why he came as I 
 had not telephoned him, I shall never understand. 
 I expressed my astonishment and told him I was 
 sorry I could not go out with him, as I had some 
 one coming to see me. I promised to telephone 
 him later. He seemed a little disappointed, said 
 he was "entierement a ynon service" and departed. 
 In the dining-room I found Michael breakfasting 
 and told him, and he got up quickly to see, but I 
 laughed and said that naturally I had sent him 
 away before telling any one he was there. Michael 
 looked at me with a cold look in his eyes. He is 
 like the others; one feels instinctively that how-
 
 io8 MAYFAIR TO MOSCOW 
 
 ever much they may like one as a woman, they 
 would sacrifice one in a minute if it was necessary 
 for the cause. 
 
 At lunch time H. G. Wells arrived from Petro- 
 grad, with his son. They are lodged in our house. 
 It was a great pleasure to find an old friend and 
 to be able to talk of things and people familiar to 
 us. He was as usual laughing and extremely hu- 
 morous about the condition of life in Petrograd. 
 On his account we were a big party for lunch, and 
 there was an effort to make a spread, but this was 
 frustrated by Michael Borodin. When I asked 
 for some of the beautiful apple cake I had seen 
 on the side table, Michael made grimaces at me. 
 He had sent it back to the kitchen. The perfect 
 Communist in him revolted against the inequality 
 of H. G. having a special cake, considering neither 
 Vanderlip nor Sheridan had one on their arrival! 
 The household call me Sheridan, like a man. One 
 has quite lost the habit of prefixing Mr. and Mrs., 
 in fact one cannot do it; it sounds so absurd and 
 affected. I have not yet been honored to the ex- 
 tent of being called Tovarisch (Comrad), but 
 some people call me Clara Mortonovna (Clare, 
 daughter of Moreton). 
 
 After lunch I went for a walk with Michael; 
 he had tiptoed out of the room at lunch time and 
 I asked him why. He was not very communi- 
 cative, said he hated people collectively and he
 
 CLARE SHERIDAN'S DIARY 109 
 
 disliked H. G. though for no reason that I could 
 make out. I sat far into the night, first with 
 Michael, then with Vanderlip and finally with 
 H. G. 
 
 We compared notes as to Petrograd and Mos- 
 cow conditions. He said: "You and I do not 
 clash. You are Moscow and I am Petrograd; it 
 is like two different countries." But Russian hab- 
 its are the same all the world over. We com- 
 pared notes and laughed a good deal over the 
 ways of life that we both experience. There is 
 no privacy in Russian life; their rooms are like a 
 railway station. There is not an hour of the day 
 or night that people do not visit each other. What 
 I experienced at the Kamenevs' he also went 
 through at the Gorkis', They sit up and talk till 
 the small hours, eating and smoking till the at- 
 mosphere is thick, and then some one makes up a 
 bed on the sofa in that room and sleeps! People 
 come into one's room and talk while one is sitting 
 on the edge of the bed pulling on one's stockings. 
 It is a condition of things that makes for great 
 morality! 
 
 H. G. talked to me a good deal about a 
 Madame Benckendorff, a widow, who lives with 
 the Gorkis and who Is doing interpreter for him 
 while he is there. I have heard of her from oth- 
 ers. I hear she is a very beautiful and attractive 
 woman. She has twice been imprisoned by the
 
 no MAYFAIR TO MOSCOW 
 
 Bolsheviks, and is not allowed out of the country, 
 even to Esthonia, where her children are. Never- 
 theless, she told H. G. that she was happier now 
 than in the old prosperous days before the Revolu- 
 tion, because now life is more interesting and real ! 
 
 I can think of a good many women whose lives 
 might be considerably shaken up by the present 
 condition of things, but I don't know if they 
 would like it! Personally I prefer my life with all 
 its struggles and its uncertainties since everything 
 crashed for me, than the days of peaceful home 
 protection and inactivity. 
 
 There is in Moscow a very charming little 
 Madame Protopotoff, whose family used to be 
 very rich. They had the great bell foundry and 
 ikon factory. She has just succeeded in getting a 
 job at the Commissariat for Foreign Affairs. A 
 ' knowledge of French and German has made her- 
 invaluable in the translating department. For this 
 work she gets not only a wage, but a food ration 
 for herself and her mother and her child. She 
 did not complain to me about having to work, but 
 said it was interesting to watch the reconstruction 
 that is going on. These are certainly wonderful 
 days to be living in, and I think that many Rus- 
 sians who might have escaped have remained, to 
 work not for the Bolshevik system, but for Rus- 
 sia. I have met a good many who say they could 
 not abandon their Russia in this hour of agony —
 
 CLARE SHERIDAN'S DIARY in 
 
 and others with such Russian hearts that they 
 could not bear to miss their Russian winter for a 
 life of less hardship in an alien clime. These are 
 the people to whom one should take off one's hat. 
 H. G. of course deplores the discomforts and 
 the unnecessary lack of privacy. He says he 
 simply could do no work under these conditions. 
 To him are absolutely necessary the morning bath, 
 the daily papers, the quiet breakfast, and the lei- 
 sure and the peace that are required to get through 
 one's correspondence. Of course here one has 
 neither papers nor correspondence, and that ought 
 to give the leisure to think! But if one is 
 so constituted that one cannot work without the 
 start of a hot bath it is lamentable to be in Rus- 
 sia ! Oh, H. G. — dear H. G. ! I am very de- 
 voted to you, but you sadly need shaking out of 
 your habits. 
 
 October 5Th, Moscow. 
 H. G. had an hour's interview with Lenin. He 
 told me he was impressed by the man and liked 
 him, Lenin apparently told him all about the Van- 
 derlip business, the Kamschatka concessions and 
 the Alliance against Japan. This will greatly upset 
 Vanderlip, who did not want the news to leave the 
 country until he did. But I suppose Lenin's in- 
 discretion is the indiscretion of purpose. H. G. 
 talked to me at some length about the advisability
 
 112 MAYFAIR TO MOSCOW 
 
 of my going home. He too is discouraging about 
 my prospects of doing Lenin or Trotsky. He 
 says that Kamenev has "let me down" badly. I 
 could only say in Kamenev's defense that he has 
 not "let me down" yet. But H. G. had something 
 else in the back of his head that he did not tell 
   — I gathered he thinks there will be trouble here 
 in a few weeks. What the conditions are in 
 Petrograd I do not know, but here one feels as 
 safe as a mountain and as immovable. H. G. 
 may learn a lot of facts about schools and fac- 
 tories, and things, but it is only by living a life of 
 dull routine and work, even of patient inactivity 
 and waiting, that one absorbs the atmosphere. 
 Inactivity is forced upon me, I have to wait. I am 
 waiting neither patiently nor calmly it is true, but 
 all the while I realize that I am gaining something 
 and that some understanding is subconsciously 
 flowing to me. I see no danger signals. A winter 
 of hardship and sacrifice for these people, yes, but 
 no disorder. The machine is slowly, very slowly, 
 working w^th more competence, and freedom. Of 
 course one dislikes cold baths in cold weather, 
 and bad food and all the discomforts to which a 
 pampered life has made one unaccustomed, but 
 these need not blight one's outlook. They are 
 not necessarily indicative of a disruption. 
 
 After the Ballet "Sadko" I walked home with 
 Michael, we had supper together of cabbage soup
 
 CLARE SHERIDAN'S DIARY 113 
 
 and tepid rice, and talked until 2 A. M. Michael 
 always says the food is eatable even if it is not. 
 He never complains, he just pretends to eat it; 
 sometimes I see his pretense! This evening he 
 talked to me about my work. He wants me to 
 think about a Statue interpreting the Soviet idea, 
 and told me a good deal about the Third Inter- 
 national, as representing a world brotherhood of 
 workers. The plan of the Third International is 
 very fine: "Workmen of the world unite" — if 
 they did unite they could hold the peace of the 
 world for ever — but unity is hard to attain. I 
 wonder if it is not unattainable. Everything that 
 one hears and sees here stirs the imagination — 
 my mind is seething with allegories with which to 
 express them, but they are so big" I should have to 
 settle for life on the side of a mountain and hew 
 out my allegories from the mountain-side. This 
 night in his big Gothic room I paced back and 
 forth, my arm through Michael's, talking ab- 
 stractedly, until his calmness calmed me. He 
 knows that I have been going through a period of 
 waiting, not unmixed with despair and anxiety. I 
 understand so little about the Russian tempera- 
 ment and hear such conflicting reports that it is 
 difl'icult to know what to expect. He has en- 
 couraged and cheered and tolerated me. He re- 
 minds me sometimes of Munthe,* in his adhesion 
 
 • Axel Munthe. San Michele. Anacari, Italy.
 
 114 MAYFAIR TO MOSCOW 
 
 to his convictions, and his demand that one should 
 live up to one's idealism. 
 
 October 6th, 1920. Wednesday. Moscow. 
 
 Spent the morning darning my stockings, and 
 Mr. Vanderlip reading Rupert Brooke out loud. I 
 was depressed to the point of resignation. It is al- 
 ways blackest before dawn; at 2 o'clock the Com- 
 mandant of the house walked in with a telephone 
 message: "Greetings from Comrad Kamenev and 
 all is prepared for you to go and do Lenin in his 
 room to-morrow from 1 1 till 4." 
 
 It was marvelous news. I went directly to the 
 Kremlin with Humphries * and on our way we 
 talked about Wells and the Lenin interview, and 
 the effect it would have on Vanderlip when he 
 heard about it. I asked why Lenin had told 
 about it, considering Vanderlip's business was sup- 
 posed to be such a secret, and H. (who had been 
 present at the interview) said that Rothstein 
 (who was also present) had interposed In Rus- 
 sian, and asked Lenin if he was not being Indis- 
 creet. Lenin simply said that he was not and 
 went on! I can imagine the futility of question- 
 ing Lenin as to whether he is doing the right 
 thing! Lenin always knows what he Is doing. 
 No one Is more deliberate. 
 
 * Humphries, American Communist attached to Tchitcherin's 
 office.
 
 '# 
 
 ^ 
 
 LliNlX
 
 CLARE SHERIDAN'S DIARY 115 
 
 With Humphries' help I got my stands and clay 
 moved from my studio to Lenin's room. I hap- 
 pily had him built up, ready to work on as soon 
 as the order should come, 
 
 October 7TH, Thursday. Moscow. 
 
 Michael Borodin accompanied me to the Krem- 
 lin. On the way he said to me: "Just remember 
 that you arc going to do the best bit of work to- 
 day that you have ever done." I was rather 
 anxious about the conditions of the room and the 
 light. 
 
 We went In by a special door, guarded by a 
 sentry, and on the third floor we went through 
 several doors and passages, each guarded. As I 
 was expected, the sentries had received orders to 
 let me pass. Finally, we went through two rooms 
 full of women secretaries. The last room con- 
 tains about five women at five tables, and they 
 all looked at me curiously, but they knew my 
 errand. Here Michael handed me over to a little 
 hunchback, Lenin's private secretary, and left me. 
 She pointed to a white baize door and I went 
 through. It did not latch, but merely swung be- 
 hind me. 
 
 Lenin was sitting at his desk. He rose and 
 came across the room to greet me. He has a 
 genial manner and a kindly smile which puts one 
 instantly at ease. He said he had heard of me
 
 ii6 MAYFAIR TO MOSCOW 
 
 from Kamenev. I apologized for having to 
 bother him. He laughed and explained that the 
 last sculptor had occupied his room for weeks, 
 and that he got so bored with it that he had sworn 
 it never should happen again. He asked how 
 long I needed, and offered me to-day and to-mor- 
 row from 1 1 till 4, and three or four eve- 
 nings, if I could work by electric light. When I 
 told him I worked quickly and should probably 
 not require so much, he said laughingly that he 
 was pleased. 
 
 My stand and things were then brought into 
 the room by three soldiers, and I established my- 
 self on his left. It was hard work for he was 
 lower than the clay and did not revolve, nor did 
 he keep still. But the room was so peaceful and 
 he on the whole took so little notice of me that I 
 worked with great calm till 3 :45 without stopping 
 for rest or food. 
 
 During that time he had but one interview, but 
 the telephone was of great assistance to me. 
 When the low buzz accompanied by the lighting 
 up of a small electric bulb signified a telephone 
 call, his face lost the dullness of repose and be- 
 came animated and interesting. He gesticulated 
 to the telephone as though it understood. 
 
 I remarked on the comparative stillness of his 
 room, and he laughed. "Wait till there is a po- 
 litical discussion!" he said.
 
 CLARE SHERIDAN'S DIARY 117 
 
 Secretaries came in at intervals with letters. 
 He opened them, signed the empty envelope, and 
 gave it back, a form of receipt I suppose. Some 
 papers were brought him to sign and he signed, 
 but whilst looking at something else instead of 
 his signature. 
 
 I asked him why he had women secretaries. He 
 said because all the men were at the war, and that 
 caused us to talk of Poland. I understood that 
 peace with Poland had been signed yesterday, 
 but he says *'No," that forces are at work trying 
 to upset the negotiations, and that the position is 
 very grave. 
 
 "Besides," he said, "when we have settled 
 Poland we have got Wrangel." I asked if Wran- 
 gel was negligible, and he said that Wrangel 
 counted quite a bit, which is a different attitude 
 from that adopted by the other Russians I have 
 met, who have laughed scornfully at the idea of 
 Wrangel. 
 
 We talked about H. G. (Wells) and he said 
 the only book of his he had read was "Joan 
 and Peter," but that he had not read it to the end. 
 He liked the description at the beginning of the 
 English intellectual bourgeois life. He admitted 
 that he should have read, and regretted not hav- 
 ing read some of the earlier fantastic novels about 
 wars in the air, and the world set free. I am told 
 that I.cnin manages to get through a good deal of
 
 ii8 MAYFAIR TO MOSCOW 
 
 reading. On his desk was a volume by Chiozza 
 Money. He asked me if I had had any trouble 
 in getting through to his room, and I explained 
 that Borodin had accompanied me. I then had 
 the face to suggest that Borodin, being an ex- 
 tremely intelligent man, who can speak good Eng- 
 lish, would make a good Ambassador to England 
 when there is Peace. Lenin looked at me with the 
 most amused expression. His eyes seemed to see 
 right through me. He then said: "That would 
 
 please Monsieur Churchill! wouldn't it ?" I 
 
 asked if Winston was the most hated Englishman. 
 He shrugged his shoulders and then added some- 
 thing about Churchill being the man with all the 
 force of the capitalists behind him. We argued 
 about that, but he did not want to hear my 
 opinion, his own being quite unshakable. He 
 talked about Winston being my cousin. I said 
 rather apologetically that I could not help it, and 
 hastily informed him that I had another cousin 
 who was a Sinn Felner. He laughed, and said 
 "that must be a cheerful party when you three get 
 together." I suppose it would be cheerful, but 
 we have never all three been together! 
 
 During these four hours he never smoked, and 
 never even drank a cup of tea. I have never 
 worked so long on end before, and at 3 145 I could 
 hold out no longer. I was blind with weariness, 
 and hunger, and said good-by. He promised to
 
 CLARE SHERIDAN'S DIARY 119 
 
 sit on the revolving stand to-morrow. If all goes 
 well, I think I ought to be able to finish him. I 
 do hope it is good, I think it looks more like him 
 than any of the busts I have seen yet. He has a 
 curious Slav face, and how ill he looks. 
 
 When I asked for news of England he offered 
 me the three latest Daily Heralds he had, dated 
 September 21, 22, and 23. I brought them back 
 and we all fell upon them, — Russians and Amer- 
 icans alike. As for me I have spent a blissful 
 evening reading the Irish Rebellion and the Min- 
 ers' Dispute, as if it were yesterday's news. 
 Goodness, one feels as though one had looked 
 through a window and seen home on the horizon. 
 
 How tired I was, and I had eaten nothing from 
 10 A. M. and dinner was not until 9 P. M. In be- 
 tween I ate some of my English biscuits. 
 
 October 8th, Friday. Moscow. 
 
 Started work again in Lenin's room. I went by 
 myself this time, and got past all the sentries with 
 the pass that I had been given. I took my kodak 
 with me, although I had not the necessary kodak 
 permission. I put a coat over my arm which 
 hid it. 
 
 I don't know how I got through my day. I 
 had to work on him from afar. My real chance 
 came when a Comrad arrived for an interview,
 
 I20 MAYFAIR TO MOSCOW 
 
 and then for the first time Lenin sat and talked 
 facing the window, so I was able to see his full 
 face and In a good light. 
 
 The Comrad remained a long time, and conver- 
 sation was very animated. Never did I see any 
 one make so many faces. Lenin laughed and 
 frowned, and looked thoughtful, sad, and humor- 
 ous all In turn. His eyebrows twitched, sometimes 
 they went right up, and then again they puckered 
 together maliciously. 
 
 I watched these expressions, waited, hesitated, 
 and then made my selection with frantic rush — It 
 was his screwed up look. Wonderful! No one 
 else has such a look; It Is his alone. Every now 
 and then he seemed to be conscious of my pres- 
 ence, and gave a piercing enigmatical look in my 
 direction. If I had been a spy pretending not to 
 understand Russian, I wonder whether I should 
 have learnt interesting things. The Comrad, 
 when he left the room, stopped and looked at my 
 work, and said the only word that I understand 
 which is "carascho" (It means "good"), and then 
 said something about my having the character of 
 the man, so I was glad. 
 
 After that Lenin consented to sit on the re- 
 volving stand. It seemed to amuse him very 
 much. He said he never had sat so high. When 
 I kneeled down to look at the planes from below,
 
 CLARE SHERIDAN'S DIARY 121 
 
 his face adopted an expression of surprise and 
 embarrassment. 
 
 I laughed and asked, "Are you unaccustomed 
 to this attitude in woman?" At that moment a 
 secretary came in, and I cannot think why they 
 both were so amused. They talked rapid Russian 
 together, and laughed a good deal. 
 
 When the secretary had gone he became seri- 
 ous and asked me a few questions. Did I work 
 hard in London? I said it was my life. How 
 many hours a day? An average of seven. He 
 made no comment on this, but it seemed to satisfy 
 him. Until then I had the feeling that although 
 he was charming to me, he looked upon me a 
 little resentfully as a bourgeoise. I believe he 
 always asks people, if he does not know them, 
 about their work and their origin, and makes up 
 his mind about them accordingly. I showed him 
 photographs of some of my busts and also of 
 "Victory." He was emphatic in not liking the 
 "Victory," his point being that I had made it too 
 beautiful. 
 
 I protested that the sacrifice involved made vic- 
 tory beautiful, but he would not agree. "That 
 is the fault of bourgeois art, it always beautifies." 
 
 I looked at him fiercely. "Do you accuse me 
 of bourgeois art?" 
 
 "I accuse you," he answered, then held up the 
 photograph of Dick's bust, "I do not accuse you
 
 122 MAYFAIR TO MOSCOW 
 
 of embellishing this, but I pray you don't em- 
 bellish me." 
 
 He then looked at Winston. "Is that Church- 
 ill himself? You have embellished him." He 
 seemed to have this on the brain. 
 
 I said: "Give me a message to take back to 
 Winston." 
 
 He answered: "I have already sent him a mes- 
 sage through the Delegation, and he answered it 
 not directly, but through a bitter newspaper ar- 
 ticle, in which he said I was a most horrible crea- 
 ture, and that our army was an army of 'puces.' 
 How you say puces in English? You know the 
 French 'puces' ? Yes that is it — an army of fleas. 
 I did not mind what he said; I was glad. It 
 showed that my message to him had angered 
 him." 
 
 "When will Peace come to Russia? Will a 
 General Election bring it?" I asked. 
 
 He said, "There is no further news of a Gen- 
 eral Election, but if Lloyd George asks for an 
 Election it will be on anti-Bolshevism, and he may 
 win. The capitalists, the Court and the Military, 
 all are behind him and Churchill." 
 
 I asked him if he were not mistaken in his esti- 
 mate of the power and popularity of Winston 
 and the importance and influence of the court. 
 
 He got fiery. "It is an intellectual bourgeois 
 pose to say that the King does not count. He
 
 CLARE SHERIDAN'S DIARY 123 
 
 counts very much. He is the head of the Army. 
 He is the bourgeois figure-head, and he represents 
 a great deal, and Churchill is backed by him." He 
 was so insistent, so assured, so fierce about it that 
 I gave up the argument. 
 
 Presently he said to me: "What does your 
 husband think of your coming to Russia?" 
 
 I replied that my husband was killed in the 
 war. 
 
 "In the capitalist Imperialist war?" 
 
 I said: "In France, 1915; what other war?" 
 
 "Ah, that is true," he said. "We have had 
 so many, — the Imperialist, the civil war, and the 
 war for self-defense." 
 
 We then discussed the wonderful spirit of self- 
 sacrifice and patriotism with which England en- 
 tered upon the war in 19 14, and he wanted me 
 to read "Le feu" and "Clarte" of Barbusse, in 
 which that spirit and its development is so won- 
 derfully described. 
 
 Then the telephone gave its damnable low buz- 
 zing. He looked at his watch. He had promised 
 me fifteen minutes on the revolving stand and had 
 given me half an hour. He got down and went 
 to the telephone. It did not matter: I had done 
 all I could. I had verified my measurements, and 
 they were correct which was a relief, and so, it 
 being 4 o'clock and I mighty hungry, I said 
 good-by.
 
 124 MAYFAIR TO MOSCOW 
 
 He was very pleased, said I had worked very 
 quickly, called in his secretary and discussed it 
 with her, said it was "carascho." I asked him 
 to give orders to have it removed to my studio, 
 Room 31. Two soldiers arrived and carried it 
 out. I asked Lenin for his photograph, which he 
 sent for and signed for me. 
 
 I hurried after the two panting soldiers with 
 their load. We passed through the rooms of the 
 astonished secretaries out into the corridors, past 
 the bored and surprised sentries, and got through 
 to the main building. Two or three times they 
 had to pause and deposit Lenin on the floor, to 
 the interest of the passers by. At last he was 
 safely in Room 31, and they returned to Lenin's 
 room for the stands. It was a good long way 
 and they were tired and dripping with sweat when 
 their job was done. 
 
 To my intense embarrassment they refused 
 money, though I offered them stacks of paper 
 notes. They refused very amiably, but firmly. I 
 made signs of imploration, and signs of secrecy, 
 but they laughed and just pointed to their com- 
 munist badges, and offered me their cigarettes, 
 which were precious, being rationed. 
 
 At 4, Kamenev walked in, v^ery surprised at 
 Lenin being finished and already back in my room. 
 He had come in from a conference next door. 
 He went back and fetched in the Conference;
 
 CLARE SHERIDAN'S DIARY 12; 
 
 eight or more men came In, some with interesting 
 heads, others just ordinary looking workmen. 
 
 They all talked at once. One was Kalinin, 
 whom I had seen in Lenin's room at an interview. 
 Kalinin is the President of the Republic, and is a 
 peasant elected by the peasants. He was charm- 
 ing and promises to sit for me, but is off to the 
 front to-night for ten days, and offered to take 
 me with him. He told Kamenev that I worked 
 so rapidly I could find some interesting heads 
 there to do, especially General Budienny. 
 
 I said I thought it would be wonderful to do 
 this work within sound of the guns. Kamenev 
 promised to ring me at 9 o'clock to tell me if I 
 was to start at 10. Alas! it turned out to be a 
 troop train and not possible for a woman. 
 
 October qth, 1920. 
 Started off in a motor with Mr. Vanderlip and 
 some one from the Foreign Office, We went to a 
 textile factory, a huge place and pronounced by 
 Mr. Vanderlip to have the best and latest ma- 
 chinery, but there were 240 workers where there 
 had been 2500, and there were acres of machinery 
 lying idle, the reason being lack of fuel. Mr. 
 Vanderlip said that 50 experienced American 
 workers could have done the work of those 240. 
 It is true there was a good deal of idling going on.
 
 126 MAYFAIR TO MOSCOW 
 
 This may have been due either to lack of suf- 
 ficient work, or to the Communist system by which 
 each man or woman is as good as another, and 
 there is none to boss. But what had been done 
 was well done. 
 
 From there we went to one of the big fur stores 
 which before the revolutions belonged to a private 
 firm, but to-day is the property of the Govern- 
 ment. There were rooms full of huge hampers 
 packed with sable skins for export, and of course 
 as I was the only woman present they dangled 
 bunches of sable skins before me. Now sables 
 don't say much to me if they are not made up, 
 but silver foxes are different, and they cruelly put 
 round my neck some silver foxes 
 
 October ioth, Sunday. 
 Kamenev came at midday to say good-by to 
 me. He is off to the front to-morrow for an in- 
 definite time. He brought with him a young man 
 with close-cropped hair, and clear-cut features, 
 calling himself Alexandre. Kamenev thinks Al- 
 exandre may be able to take care of me during 
 his absence. I certainly need some one, as Mi- 
 chael Borodin goes to Madrid on Tuesday, and 
 then what will become of me ! Kamenev dis- 
 cussed with me about the Government buying the
 
 CLARE SHERIDAN'S DIARY 127 
 
 Russian copyright of my heads. He then asked 
 mc to make a list of the 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 color, is a very dec- 
 orative exterior. The bourgeois women have 
 brought out their former remains of splendor 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 ex- 
 pected back from the front in a few days. It is a 
 bore that Kamenev is going away, but Alexandre 
 promised to arrange sittings for me. 
 
 October iith, 1920. 
 In the morning I accompanied Michael Borodin 
 to the headquarters of the Third International. It
 
 128 MAYFAIR TO MOSCOW 
 
 is a beautiful house, formerly the German Em- 
 bassy, and where Mirbach was murdered. 
 
 I came away in a car with Madame Balabanoff, 
 whom I had often heard of. She is small, past 
 middle age, crumpled up face, but intelligent. I 
 did not find her any too amiable on our way to the 
 Kremlin, where she dropped me. 
 
 She told me that it was absurd that any bust 
 of Lenin or any one else should be done, her 
 theory being that the cause not the individuals 
 should count. The humblest person who suffers 
 privation for the cause is equally as important as 
 any of the legislators, she explained, and pro- 
 ceeded to assure me that no picture or bust of her- 
 self existed, nor ever should. Happily I had not 
 asked her to sit for me. She practically told me 
 that I was doing Lenin's head to take back to 
 England to show to the idle curious. I corrected 
 her by saying that, so far as the public was con- 
 cerned, I only wished to substitute a bust for those 
 who had him at present represented by a photo- 
 graph. She was equally vehement about the pho- 
 tograph. Perhaps she expects to alter human 
 nature. 
 
 Before I got out of the car, she assured me 
 that her tirade was in no way personal and would 
 I, please, not misunderstand her.
 
 CLARE SHERIDAN'S DIARY 129 
 
 October 14TH, Tlwrsday. Moscow. 
 
 Borodin found me after breakfast miserably 
 wrapped around in my rug shivering with cold and 
 depression. Tears were irrepressibly streaming 
 down my face. I had several grievances which 
 had been accumulating for some days, and at last 
 my impatience had come to a head. The fact is 
 I had heard of a courier having arrived yester- 
 day from London, and no one had taken the 
 trouble to find out if there were any letters for 
 me. Ever since I left England on Sept. iith I 
 have not had one word of news, nor answers to 
 two telegrams that Kamenev sent for me asking 
 after the children. Secondly I had not been given 
 the coat that Kamenev had ordered for me, so 
 it was impossible to go out as it was too cold. 
 
 Michael for the first time seemed really moved. 
 He wrapped me round in his fur coat, went off to 
 the garden and fetched up a load of wood for me 
 (I had never known him do such a thing before) 
 and lit my fire himself. Then he telephoned to 
 the Foreign Office. There were no letters for me, 
 but some bundles for Kamenev — ( ?) He also 
 got hold of Comrad Alexandre on the telephone 
 to know when I was going to have the promised 
 coat. Altogether he was very helpful, and the 
 involuntary tears had been very efficacious. His 
 journey to Madrid has been delayed daily. He 
 is to start to-morrow. It seems to me that in
 
 I30 MAYFAIR TO MOSCOW 
 
 Russia one only knows about ten minutes before- 
 hand what one is going to do ! They are divinely 
 vague. 
 
 October 15TH, 1920. Friday. Moscow. 
 
 I went to the Kremlin to meet Comrad Alex- 
 andre there at midday. He was to bring me a 
 soldier as a model. Not feeling brave enough 
 to go and review a platoon and make my own se- 
 lection, I had described exactly what I wanted: 
 
 Not the bloodthirsty savage Bolshevik of Eng- 
 lish tradition, but the dreamy eyed young Slav, 
 who knows what he is fighting for, and such as I 
 passed every day on the parade ground. I waited 
 in my studio impatiently till 2 o'clock, and then 
 Alexandre arrived accompanied by a soldier who 
 was typically neither Russian, nor military, nor in- 
 tellectual, nor even fine physically. He was small, 
 white, chetif, and had a waxed mustache. It 
 was a bad moment. I tried to hide my disap- 
 pointment and my amusement. I missed lunching 
 in order to work on him, and began something 
 that was not in the least like my model, but was 
 the product of my imagination. At 5 I came 
 home tired and hungry and cold. I lay down on 
 my sofa and watched the dusk crawl up behind 
 the Kremlin. At 8 130 I was called down to 
 the telephone, which is in the kitchen. It was
 
 CLARE SHERIDAN'S DIARY 131 
 
 Borodin speaking from the Foreign Office. He 
 said "good-by" in his abrupt manner. "This is 
 
 the right way " he said: "This is the way it 
 
 should be." The maid was throwing her broom 
 around the kitchen, making as much noise as pos- 
 sible, and a strange man glared at me out of the 
 gloom. I found it difficult to concentrate my at- 
 tention. Michael knows that I do not believe in 
 "futures" but nevertheless we said "someday" 
 and I wonder very much if that strange Commun- 
 ist, Revolutionary, with his mask-like face and 
 deep voice will ever cross my path again. To- 
 night I regret him, but then I am lonely for the 
 moment, friendless, and this is a place where one 
 needs friends. 
 
 At 9 o'clock having not eaten since 10 A. M. I 
 went downstairs to Mr. Vanderlip's room to sug- 
 gest we round up some food. There to my sur- 
 prise I found Litvinolif, who had been in Moscow 
 since the day before yesterday. Our pleasure at 
 seeing each other again was mutual and spon- 
 taneous. He is coming to stay at our house and 
 will occupy the vacated room of Borodin. 
 
 October i6th, 1920. Saturday, Moscow. 
 
 Comrad Alexandre came to see me at 9 r. M. to 
 tell me he could not arrange with Trotsky for 
 sittings. I gathered that Trotsky had been em-
 
 132 MAYFAIR TO MOSCOW 
 
 phatic and brusque in his refusal — ^but after all I 
 hav^e done Lenin and he is the one who counts 
 most. I can go back to England without the 
 head of Trotsky. I could not have gone without 
 the head of Lenin. I have accomplished what I 
 came for, and so — to with Trotsky! 
 
 Alexandre said he could only stay lo minutes, 
 but he left at midnight. He talked Communism 
 the whole time. Now Borodin unfurled his Com- 
 munist spirit to me slowly, because he knew me, 
 and to what I belonged, and he realized that the 
 thing hurled at me in a crude mass would stagger 
 me. He led me up to it with great caution. Al- 
 exandre on the other hand, with no understand- 
 ing or sympathy, took all my inborn prejudices 
 and just broke them, stamped on them, meta- 
 phorically spat on them, and gave me a big feed 
 of unadulterated Communism. He is a fanatic, 
 and left me breathless and wondering. All was 
 well until we got to the children part: he said 
 that his wife had to work, so their baby, who is 
 six weeks' old, has to go by day to the Creche. 
 
 "Are you satisfied with the care it gets at the 
 Creche?" I asked him. He shrugged his shoul- 
 ders, said that collectively they could not receive 
 the same attention as they could if they were cared 
 for individually. He then volunteered the in- 
 formation that of course the baby was more liable 
 to get ill and even die, if it was in the Creche,
 
 CLARE SHERIDAN'S DIARY 133 
 
 but that It was a chance, and after all his wife's 
 life was not going to be reduced to feeding, wash- 
 ing, and dressing a baby. That was no sort of 
 existence, and so what alternative was there ex- 
 cept the Creche? 
 
 It was the cold dispassionate way in which he 
 said it that gave me the creeps. 
 
 "What is your wife's work?" I said. 
 
 "Politics, same as me " he said. 
 
 "Are you fond of your baby?" 
 I es 
 
 "Is your wife fond of it?" 
 I es 
 
 I thought to myself, she has not had to pray for 
 a baby, and weep because the months went by. 
 She has not had to wait and wait — it is not in- 
 finitely precious to her, her baby. 
 
 He then counter-questioned me: 
 
 "What did you do with your children when you 
 became a widow and had no home?" 
 
 "My parents took them." 
 
 "And if you had had no parents who could take 
 them, how would you have worked?" 
 
 It is true there must be thousands of women 
 who earn their livings and have no family in the 
 background on whom to plant the baby. What 
 happens In a country where there is no paternal 
 State? In Russia the State will clothe, feed and 
 educate them from birth until fourteen years old.
 
 134 MAYFAIR TO MOSCOW 
 
 They may go to the Creche for the day or perma- 
 nently. 
 
 Children may go to the State school for the 
 half day, whole day, or to board. Their parents 
 may see them, or give them up for ever as they 
 choose, and there is no difference made between the 
 legitimate and the illegitimate child. Moreover, 
 according to the labor laws, no woman may work 
 for eight weeks before the baby is born, nor for 
 eight weeks after its birth. She is sent away to 
 a rest house in the country, always of course at 
 the State's expense. On application she is given 
 the necessary layette for the newborn. It is dif- 
 ficult to preserve one's maternal sentimentality in 
 the face of this Communistic generosity. 
 
 October lyxH, Sunday. 
 I stayed in bed all day as I felt ill, and there 
 was nothing better to do. LItvinoff came in to 
 see me in the afternoon and was surprised that I 
 did not begin to work on Trotsky. I explained 
 to him that through Comrad Alexandre, Trotsky 
 had flatly refused to let me do him. Litvinoff 
 could not understand this, but said he had seen 
 Trotsky last night. It was then decided that Lit- 
 vinoff would see Trotsky again during the day, 
 and telephone to me what arrangements he could 
 make. He then left me, to come back again in a
 
 CLARE SHERIDAN'S DIARY 135 
 
 few minutes bringing something, preciously, in 
 both hands. It was a hen's egg. As I have not 
 seen one since I have been In Moscow, I stifled my 
 Instinctive aversion to accepting valuable presents 
 from men and had the egg fried for dinner, 
 
 October iStii, Monday. Moscow. 
 
 Trotsky's car came for me punctually at 1 1 130 
 A. M. (usually the cars that are ordered are an 
 hour late, and people keep their appointments two 
 hours late. Trotsky and Lenin are, I hear, the 
 only two exceptions to the rule). I made Lit- 
 vinoff come and tell the chauffeur that he was 
 first to go to the Kremlin with me to fetch my 
 things. When we got to the big round building 
 in the Kremlin in which I have my studio, I took 
 the chauffeur to the pass office and explained by 
 signs by showing my own pass that I required one 
 for the chauffeur. This was done. It is satis- 
 factory to have arrived at the stage when I get a 
 pass for some one else. Instead of some one else 
 getting one for me. Kamenev told me the other 
 day that I walk Into the Kremlin with the air of 
 one who belonged to It. 
 
 Trotsky's chauffeur, myself, and the plaster 
 moulder who was there working, carried the things 
 down to the car, and I was driven to a place some 
 way off, the War Ministry, I think. Getting In 
 was not easy, as I had no pass, and there was an
 
 136 MAYFAIR TO MOSCOW 
 
 altercation with the sentry. I understood the 
 chauffeur explaining: "Yes, yes, it's the English 
 
 sculptor " but the sentry was adamant. He 
 
 shrugged his shoulders, said he didn't care, and 
 made a blank face. I had to wait until a secre- 
 tary came to fetch me. He took me upstairs, 
 through two rooms of soldier secretaries. In the 
 end room there was a door guarded by a sentry, 
 and next to that door a big writing table from 
 which some one telephoned through into the next 
 room to know if I could come in. Unlike Lenin's 
 room, not even secretaries go in to see Trotsky 
 without telephoning first for permission. It was 
 not without some trepidation, having heard how 
 very intractable he is (and knowing his sister) * 
 that I was ushered in, I and my modeling stand 
 and my clay together. 
 
 I had instantly the pleasurable sensation of a 
 room that is sympathetic, — ^big, well propor- 
 tioned, and simple. 
 
 From behind an enormous writing table in one 
 corner near the window came forth Trotsky. He 
 shook hands with me, welcomingly, though with- 
 out a smile, and asked if I talked French. 
 
 He offered courteously to assist me in moving 
 my stand into the right place, and even to have 
 his mammoth table moved into some other po- 
 sition if the light was not right. 
 
 * Mrs. Leo Kamenev.
 
 CLARE SHERIDAN'S DIARY 137 
 
 The light from the two windows was certainly 
 very bad, but although he said: "Move any- 
 thing and do just whatever you like " there 
 
 was nothing one could do that would help. The 
 room, which would have made a beautiful ball- 
 room, loomed large and dark. There were huge 
 white columns which got in my way and hampered 
 the light. My heart sank at the difficulties of the 
 situation. I looked at my man, who was bending 
 down writing at his desk. It was impossible to 
 see his face. I looked at him and then at my 
 clay in despair. Then I went and knelt in front 
 of the writing table opposite him, with my chin 
 on his papers. He looked up from his writing 
 and stared back, a perfectly steady unabashed 
 stare. His look was a solemn analytical one; per- 
 haps mine was too. After a few seconds, realizing 
 the absurdity of our attitudes, I had to laugh, and 
 
 said, "I hope you don't mind being looked at " 
 
 "I don't mind," he said, "I have my revanche in 
 looking at you, and it is I who gain." 
 
 He then ordered a fire to be lit because he 
 thought it was cold for me. It was not cold, it 
 was overheated, but the sound and sight of the 
 fire were nice. A matronly peasant woman with 
 a handkerchief tied round her head came and lit 
 it. He said he liked her because she walked 
 softly, and had a musical voice. Curious that he
 
 138 MAYFAIR TO MOSCOW 
 
 should admire in another what is so characteristic 
 of himself; his voice is unusually melodious. 
 
 Seeing that he was prepared to be amiable I 
 asked him if I could bother him with measure- 
 ments. "Tout ce que vous voudrez,'' he said, and 
 pointed out to me how unsymmetrlcal his face is. 
 He opened his mouth and snapped his teeth to 
 show me that his underjaw is crooked. As he 
 did so, he reminded me of a snarling wolf. When 
 'he talks his face lights up and his eyes flash. 
 Trotsky's eyes are much talked of in Russia, and 
 he is called "the wolf." His nose is also crooked 
 and looks as though it had been broken. If it 
 were straight he would have a very fine line from 
 the forehead. Full-face he is Mephlsto. His 
 eyebrows go up, at an angle, and the lower part 
 of his face tapers into a pointed and defiant beard. 
 As I measured him with calipers, he remarked: 
 *'Fous me caressez avec des instruments d'acier." 
 He talks very rapidly and very fluent French, and 
 could easily be mistaken for a Frenchman. I 
 dragged my modeling stand across the room to 
 try for a better light on the other side. He 
 watched me with a weary look, and said, "Even in 
 clay you make me travel, and I am so tired of 
 traveling." He explained to me that he is not as 
 desperately busy as usual because there is Peace 
 with Poland, and good news from the South. I 
 told him that I had nearly gone to the Southern
 
 CLARE SHERIDAN'S DIARY 139 
 
 front with Kalinin who wanted to take me. But 
 that Kamenev wouldn't let me go because It was 
 a troop train. Without hesitating a moment he 
 answered : 
 
 "Do you want to go to the front? You can 
 come with me." 
 
 He was thoughtful for awhile, and then asked 
 me, "Are you under the care here of our Foreign 
 Office?" 
 
 I said I was not. 
 
 "But who are you here with? Who Is re- 
 sponsible for you?" 
 
 "Kamenev^" I said. 
 
 "But Kamenev is at the front." 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "Then you are alone? H'm — that is very dan- 
 gerous in a revolutionary country. Do you know 
 Karahan, Tchitcherin's secretary?" 
 
 "Yes, he Is living in our house, so Is Litvlnoff." 
 
 "Ah, Litvlnoff. I will ring him up." 
 
 He did ring him up, but what he said I could 
 not understand. Litvlnoff told me later that 
 Trotsky had asked him If I was all right and if 
 it would be indiscreet or not to show me the 
 Front. Litvlnoff gave me a good character. 
 
 At 4 o'clock he ordered tea, and had some 
 with me. He talked to me about himself, and of 
 his wanderings in exile during the war, and h(nv. 
 finally, at the outbreak of the revolution he sailed
 
 I40 MAYFAIR TO MOSCOW 
 
 on a neutral ship from the United States to re- 
 turn to Russia, how the British arrested him and 
 took him to a Canadian concentration camp. He 
 was detained a few months, until the Russian Gov- 
 ernment succeeded In obtaining his release. 
 
 He was particularly incensed at the British In- 
 terfering with the movements of a man who was 
 not going to Britain, nor from a British colony, 
 nor by a British ship: "But I had a good time 
 in that camp," he said. "There were a lot of 
 German sailors there, and I did some propaganda 
 work. By the time I left they were all good rev- 
 olutionaries, and I still get letters from some of 
 them." 
 
 At 5 I prepared to leave. He said I looked 
 tired. I said I was tired from battling with my 
 work In such a bad light. He suggested trying 
 by electric light, and we agreed for 7 o'clock the 
 next evening. He sent me home in his car. 
 
 October 19TH, 1920. Moscow. 
 Trotsky's car came at 6:30. Nicholas Andreef 
 had been having tea with me, and I offered to 
 give him a lift as he lives somewhere near the 
 War Ministry. It was snowing hard and there 
 was a driving wind, which lifted up the frozen 
 snow and blew it about like white smoke. The 
 car had a hood, but no sides. In the Red Square
 
 CLARE SHERIDAN'S DIARY 141 
 
 we punctured. For some time we sat patiently 
 watching the passers-by falling down on the slip- 
 pery pavement, and the horsecarts struggling up 
 the hill. Winter has come very suddenly and one 
 month too soon. The horses have not yet been 
 shod for the slippery roads, consequently they can 
 hardly stand up. This morning I counted four 
 down all at the same moment. In London a fallen 
 horse attracts a good deal of attention, and a 
 crowd collects — but here no one even turns his 
 head to look. I have been much laughed at be- 
 cause I stop to watch, but the method of getting 
 the horse up amuses me. The driver (man or 
 woman, as the case may be) gets behind and 
 pushes the cart. The horse, so weak that he has 
 no resisting power impelled forward by the shafts, 
 struggles to his feet in spite of himself. No un- 
 harnessing is necessary. This evening when I be- 
 came too cold to be interested any longer by the 
 passers-by falling in the Red Square, I asked the 
 chauffeur if he had nearly finished. He answered 
 "cichas," which literally translated is "immediate- 
 ly" but in practice means to-morrow, or next week I 
 So I pulled up the fur collar of my inadequate 
 cloth coat, put my feet up lengthways on the seat, 
 and let Andreef sit on them to keep them warm. 
 I arrived at Trotsky's at 7 130. He looked at me 
 and then at the clock. I explained what had hap- 
 pened. "So that is the reason of your inexacti-
 
 142 MAYFAIR TO MOSCOW 
 
 tude," he said. An inexactitude which could not 
 in the least inconvenience him as he did not have 
 to wait for me. He kissed my frozen hand, and 
 put two chairs for me by the fire, one for me and 
 one for my feet. When I had melted and turned 
 on all the lights of the crystal candelabra he said, 
 "We will have an agreement, quite businesslike: I 
 shall come and stand by the side of your work for 
 five minutes every half hour." Of course the five 
 minutes got very enlarged, and we talked and 
 worked and lost all track of time. When the 
 telephone rang he asked, "Have I your permis- 
 sion?" His manners are charming. I said to 
 him: "I cannot get over it, how amiable and 
 courteous you are. I understood you were a very 
 disagreeable man! What am I to say to people 
 in England when they ask me, 'What sort of a 
 monster is Trotsky?' " With a mischievous look 
 
 he said: "Tell them in England, tell them " 
 
 (But I cannot tell them!) I said to him, "You 
 
 are not a bit like your sister " The shadow 
 
 of a smile crossed his face, but he did not answer. 
 I showed him photographs of my work. He 
 kept the ones of the "Victory." Among the por- 
 traits, he liked "Asquith" best and said that one 
 was worked with more feeling and care than any 
 of the others. He took for granted that As- 
 quith must like me, which is not necessarily the 
 case, and said half laughingly: "You have given
 
 CLARE SHERIDAN'S DIARY 143 
 
 me an idea — If Asquith comes back into office 
 soon (there is a rumor that he might bring in a 
 coalition with labor and recognize Russia) I will 
 hold you as a hostage until England makes peace 
 with us." I laughed, "What you are saying hu- 
 morously is what a British Official told me seri- 
 ously, only he said it apropos of Winston. As a 
 matter of fact, Ed be proud if I could be of any 
 use In the cause of Peace. But if you said you 
 would shoot me, Winston would only say 'shoot,' " 
 which is to my mind the right spirit, and exactly 
 the spirit that prevails among the Bolsheviks. 
 They would not hesitate to shoot me (some of 
 them have told me so) if it were necessary, even 
 if they liked me as a woman. Winston Is the 
 only man I know in England who is made of the 
 stuff that Bolsheviks are made of. He has fight, 
 force, and fanaticism. 
 
 Towards the end of the evening, as Trotsky 
 said nothing more about the project of my going 
 to the Eront, I asked him If he had decided to 
 take me or not. He said : "It is for you to 
 decide if you wish to come — but I shall not start 
 for three or four days." It was getting late, he 
 looked very tired. He was standing in front of 
 the clay with his back to it so that I had the two 
 profiles exactly in line. His eyes were shut and 
 he swayed. Eor a moment I feared he was going 
 to faint. One does not think of Trotsky as a
 
 144 MAYFAIR TO MOSCOW 
 
 man who faints, but anything may happen to a 
 man who works as he does. My thought was of 
 my work, and I said to him: "Do not fall back- 
 ward, or you fall on my work." He answered 
 quickly, "Je tomhe toiijours en avantf" I asked 
 him to order the motor, having realized that un- 
 less he sends for it I have to wait outside in the 
 cold or look for it in the garage. While the car 
 was coming round he sent for a reproduction of 
 a portrait of himself by an artist friend of his, to 
 show me that the same difficulties I am having 
 with his jaw and chin were experienced also by 
 the draughtsman who only succeeded in this, the 
 last of a great many sketches. It is evidently one 
 that Trotsky likes, for it is reproduced in color 
 in almost every office one goes into. I told him 
 I wanted it and he wrote upon it "Tovaritsch 
 Clare Sheridan" and signed it. This has its effect 
 on the Bolsheviks who have been into my room 
 and have seen it! 
 
 October 20TH, 1920. Moscow. 
 Comrad Alexandre telephoned that he would 
 fetch me at one o'clock to go to the fur store. I 
 suppose the intense cold had at last moved either 
 his pity or his anxiety for me. Before I left, 
 Vanderllp said that if there was any choice, and 
 I was fool enough not to choose a sable coat, he 
 would never speak to me again. The threat left
 
 CLARE SHERIDAN'S DIARY i^s 
 
 me unmoved. It is only on occasions of neces- 
 sity when we exchange valuable presents, say a 
 new tooth brush for a box of pills, that we have 
 an armistice. On the way to the fur store Alex- 
 andre picked up another man, unknown but very 
 nice, with whom I talked a mixture of English 
 and German. We went to one of the biggest 
 storehouses in Moscow, which like all the rest had 
 been a private firm, but has been requisitioned by 
 the Government. It was a cave-like building, 
 dark and stone cold. We went up in a cage lift 
 to what seemed to be the attic. It was low and 
 long and dark and an arclight barely lit up the 
 corner. Coats hung from the ceiling like so many 
 hundred Bluebeard wives. 
 
 I took off mine to try on. An old man who 
 looked like Moses and spoke German showed me 
 the best and told me to make my choice. Alex- 
 andre looked on with a grim smile, and asked if 
 I was the proverbial woman, or whether I'd make 
 my choice within reasonable limits of time. It 
 was not easy. The coats dated back three years, 
 and some were even too old-fashioned for Mos- 
 cow! I liked a brown Siberian pony lined with 
 ermine, but the moth had got into the pony. I 
 liked a broadtail but it was thin as cloth. They 
 offered to have it furlined for me, but my need 
 was immediate. There was a mink, but it had an 
 antiquated flounce. There were astrachans.
 
 146 MAYFAIR TO MOSCOW 
 
 hut every one in Moscow has astrachan, and It 
 seemed too ordinary. I felt hewildered. My at- 
 tention then wandered to a row of shubas: big 
 sleeveless cloaks of velvet, that wrap around one, 
 and descend to one's feet. There was a dream 
 lined with blue fox, and another with white. My 
 friends put one around my shoulders, it was lined 
 with sable: light as a feather, and warm as a nest. 
 I despairingly voiced the fact that I could not 
 walk about the streets of Moscow in a wine col- 
 ored velvet and sable cape. They said I could, 
 but then they were wrong. "I look much too 
 bourgeois, I shall be shot!" 
 
 "You won't be shot, and sable is good enough 
 for a good worker." I showed a sable stole to 
 Alexandre and told him it was the blackest and 
 most beautiful bit of sable one could find. He 
 shrugged his shoulders with perfect indifference, 
 and said he knew nothing about it. Finally I 
 walked out in a very practical black Siberian pony 
 lined with gray squirrel, divinely v/arm though 
 rather hea\y, and Alexandre said to me: "Now 
 you can say you have shared in the Government 
 distribution of Bourgeois property to the people." 
 
 At 7 :30 p, M. Trotsky sent his car for me, but 
 a soldier stopped us before we even reached the 
 block where the War Ministry is. The whole 
 bit of road was being especially guarded. The 
 reason for this is because foreign papers have
 
 CLARE SHERIDAN'S DIARY 147 
 
 announced an impending counter-revolution, but 
 if there is any such plot their warning has been 
 given most obligingly in time, and steps have been 
 taken to deal with it. The town is placarded 
 with notices that inhabitants must not be out after 
 midnight. It gave one just a small thrill and 
 there have been none so far. This evening when 
 I arrived Trotsky stood by the fire while I was 
 warming and I asked him for news. He says 
 that the German workers have voted in favor of 
 joining the Moscow International which is very 
 important. "England is our only real and dan- 
 gerous enemy," he said. "Not France ?" I 
 
 asked. "No, France is just a noisy hysterical 
 woman, making scenes: but England — that is dif- 
 ferent altogether." 
 
 He talked about the persistence of the Foreign 
 press in decrying the stability of the. Soviet Gov- 
 ernment. All the Governments of Europe, he 
 said, had undergone changes in the last three 
 years. He pointed to France, Italy, the Central 
 Powers, Turkey, and finally Poland. The Brit- 
 ish Government was holding out longer than any 
 other, but that was pretty rocky, and its minis- 
 ters were constantly changing their posts. The 
 Soviet Government was the oldest Government in 
 Europe, and the only one in which the Ministers 
 retained their posts and displayed any unity, and
 
 148 MAYFAIR TO MOSCOW 
 
 this in spite of every effort on the part of the 
 world to dislodge them! 
 
 He then busied himself at his table with papers. 
 I worked for an hour and we never spoke. But 
 he never disregarded me as Lenin did. I could 
 walk round Lenin and look at him from all sides, 
 while he remained absorbed In his reading, and 
 apparently oblivious of my presence. Whenever 
 I go near Trotsky he looks up sharply from his 
 work, with piercing eyes, and I forget which part 
 of his face I was intent upon. Towards the end 
 of the evening, when even my tiptoe stalking had 
 aroused him, he asked me, "Avez vous besoin de 
 moif" I replied yes, as always. He came and 
 stood by the clay but he is very critical, and 
 watches it and me all the time, and makes me 
 nervous. I undid and did over again a good deal. 
 The room was hot, and the clay got dry; it was 
 uphill work. Never have I done any one so dif- 
 ficult. He Is subtle and irregular. At one mo- 
 ment the bust looked like Scipio Afrlcanus, and 
 I could see he was dissatisfied; then when I had 
 altered It and asked him what he thought, he stood 
 for some time In silence with a suppressed smile 
 before he let himself go: "It looks like a French 
 Bon Bourgeois, who admires the woman who Is 
 doing him, but he has no connection with Com- 
 munism !" 
 
 Happily the peasant woman came in with tea.
 
 CLARE SHERIDAN'S DIARY 149 
 
 and I sat down wearily with my head in my hands, 
 utterly dispirited and discouraged. Only the fierce 
 determination to make it come right roused me 
 and I went at it again. He said as he watched me, 
 "When your teeth are clenched and you are fight- 
 ing with your work, "vous etes encore femme." I 
 asked him to take off his pince-nez, as it hampered 
 me. He hates doing this, he says he feels "des- 
 arme" and absolutely lost without them. It 
 seemed akin to physical pain, taking them off — 
 they have become part of him and the loss of them 
 completely changes his individuality. It is a pity, 
 as they rather spoil an otherwise classical head. 
 While he was standing there helplessly with 
 introspectively half closed eyes, he remarked on 
 my name being spelt the same way as that of the 
 playwright. I explained that I had married a 
 direct descendant. He was interested and said, 
 "The School for Scandal" and "The Rivals," had 
 been translated and were occasionally acted here 
 in Russian. He then got on to Shakespeare. I 
 wish I could recall the words in which he de- 
 scribed his appreciation, exclaiming finally, "If 
 England had never produced anything else, she 
 would have justified her existence." We disa- 
 greed as to Byron and Shelley. He, like others I 
 have met here, preferred Byron, and insisted in 
 spite of my assertions to the contrary that Byron 
 was the greater Revolutionary of the two. He
 
 I50 MAYFAIR TO MOSCOW 
 
 was surprised that I loved Swinburne. He said 
 he would have thought me too much of this 
 world to love the spirituality of Swinburne. I 
 said: "One has one's dreams." He gave a sigh: 
 
 "Yes," he said, "we all have our dreams " 
 
 When at the end of the evening I was dissatis- 
 fied with my work and feeling suicidal I asked him, 
 "May I come back and work to-morrow night?" 
 "And the night after," he answered, and added, 
 laughing, that he would rig the place up as a studio 
 for me, and that I could do General Kamenev 
 after I'd finished him. General Kamenev (who 
 is no relation to Leo Kamenev) is the Command- 
 er-in-Chief and was a very distinguished Tsariste 
 officer. I hear that he strongly warned the War 
 Ministry against advancing too far towards War- 
 saw, and foretold the debacle that has since been 
 fulfilled. But he was not listened to, perhaps 
 because of his Tsariste tradition. Probably his 
 opinion is more respected now. Trotsky asked 
 me if I would like to do Tchitcherin, and I ex- 
 plained that never before had I worked under 
 such difl^icult conditions, and that although I had 
 made efforts for Lenin and himself I did not feel 
 like doing it again for any one else. He was 
 quite indignant and said, "What difl^culty have 
 you had in working here?" True it was a per- 
 fectly good room and excellent light, but Tchitche- 
 rin would not move out of his Commissariat and
 
 CLARE SHERIDAN'S DIARY 151 
 
 that would mean new conditions to adapt one's self 
 to, nor does any one understand the difficulties of 
 moving the finished work back to the Kremlin. 
 Trotsky swept my excuses aside: "Of course you 
 must do Tchitcherin — it is almost a diplomatic ob- 
 ligation on his part to be done." 
 
 It was a quarter to midnight when I prepared to 
 stop work and looked desperately at the clock: 
 "What about this order — how am I to be home 
 at midnight?" I asked. He said, "I will take you 
 myself." At about half after midnight we left. 
 A man in uniform joined us and sat next to the 
 driver. He had in his hands a very big leather 
 holster. We started off by going in the opposite 
 direction to the right one, and I had to try and 
 describe to them the way. We turned back, and 
 crossing the bridge we were stopped by five sol- 
 diers. The man with the holster had to show our 
 papers by the light of the car lamp. It delayed 
 us several minutes. I said to Trotsky: "Put your 
 head out of the window and say who you are." 
 "Tmsez-vous," said Trotsky peremptorily. I sat 
 rebuked and silent until we were able to pass on 
 unrecognized. He explained afterwards that he 
 did not want them to hear a woman's voice in 
 the car talking English. I was talking French 
 as we always do together, and what does it mat- 
 ter to any one in this country whether there is a
 
 152 MAYFAIR TO MOSCOW 
 
 woman in a Government car or not — but I did 
 not argue. 
 
 October 2 1ST, 1920. Moscow. 
 
 I went to see my friend the plastermolder 
 who is working for so many thousand roubles 
 a day in my studio. He is making piecemolds 
 of the busts, so that I can have duplicates 
 when I go. I asked Andreef why he had to 
 be paid so much. Andreef explained that he 
 is the only moulder in Moscow, so he can ask 
 what he likes — "He says he will work for this, 
 and not for that." And Andreef held a thou- 
 sand rouble note in one hand, and a hundred rou- 
 ble note in the other. "But it is all the same 
 really, only it's a different pattern!" And he 
 laughed. Certainly money has no value here, and 
 no meaning. At 8 o'clock I went back again to 
 the War Commissariat in Trotsky's car. On ar- 
 rival I told him that I had got to get this work 
 right to-night, and that he was not to be critical 
 and look at it all the time and make me nervous. 
 
 He was surprised and said that he had no idea 
 he had that effect on me, that all he wanted was 
 to help. "Je veiix travailler cela avec vous." His 
 criticism he said was from intense interest, and 
 that for nothing in the world would he be dis- 
 couraging. He promised, however, to be good.
 
 CLARE SHERIDAN'S DIARY 153 
 
 and offer no opinion until asked. It was a better 
 night for work. I felt calmer and it went pretty 
 well. 
 
 The worst difficulties were surmounted. 
 Trotsky stood for me in a good light and dic- 
 tated to his stenographer. That was excellent. 
 His face was animated and his attention occupied. 
 I got all one side of his face done. Then came 
 the question of the other side. He laughed, sug- 
 gested another dictation, offered to stand in an- 
 other position, and called back his stenographer. 
 When we were alone again he came and stood 
 close beside the clay and we talked while I went 
 on working. We talked a little about me. He 
 said I should remain In Russia a while longer, 
 and do some big work — something like my "Vic- 
 tory." "An emaciated and exhausted figure and 
 still fighting and that is the allegory of the 
 Soviet." 
 
 I answered him that I could get no news of my 
 children and therefore must go back. 
 
 "I must return to my own world, to my own 
 conv^entional people whose first thought is always 
 for what the world will think. Russia with its 
 absence of hypocrisy and pose, Russia with its big 
 ideas, has spoilt me for my own world." 
 
 "Ah! that is what you say now, but when you 
 are away " and he hesitated. 
 
 Then suddenly turning on mc, with clenched
 
 154 MAYFAIR TO MOSCOW 
 
 teeth and fire in his eyes, he shook a threatening 
 finger in my face : "If when you get back to Eng- 
 land vons nous calomniez as the rest have, I tell 
 
 you I will come to England et je vous " He 
 
 did not say what he would do, but there was mur- 
 der in his face. 
 
 I smiled: "That is all right. Now I know 
 how to get you to England." (Then to fall in 
 with his mood) : "How can I go back and abuse 
 the hospitality and the chivalrous treatment I 
 have received?" 
 
 He said, "It is not abusing, but there are ways 
 of criticizing even without abuse. It is easy 
 enough here to be blinded par les saletes et les 
 souf ranees and to see no further than that, and 
 people are apt to forget that there is no birth 
 without suffering and horror, and Russia is in the 
 throes of a great accouchement," 
 
 He talks well, he is full of imagery and his voice 
 is beautiful. 
 
 We paused for tea, and I talked to him of 
 things I had heard about the schools. In reply 
 he said he had heard no adverse reports of the co- 
 education scheme for boys and girls. There might 
 be an individual case of failure, though even of 
 such a case he had not heard. He then compared 
 the present system with that of boy colleges of 
 his own day, and he said that his own boy of four- 
 teen had nicer ideas about girls, and far less cyni-
 
 CLARE SHERIDAN'S DIARY 155 
 
 cism than he had at the same age. The boy ap- 
 parently confides in his mother, so he knows some- 
 thing about it. 
 
 To-night he sent me home alone in his car. He 
 excused himself, saying it was the only time it 
 was possible for him to walk. He kissed my dirty 
 hand and said that he would always preserve a 
 memory of "Une femme — avec une aureole de 
 cheveux et des mmns tres sals." 
 
 October 22ND, 1920. Moscow. 
 
 Finished I 
 
 I worked until half after midnight. I think it 
 is a success. He said so, but it has been such a 
 struggle. 
 
 About half way through the evening, the electric 
 lights went out. A secretary lit four candles. On 
 the telephone Trotsky learnt that the lights had 
 gone out all over the town. 
 
 I asked him hopefully if it could possibly be 
 the outburst of a counter-revolution. 
 
 He laughed and asked if that was what I 
 wanted. 
 
 I said I thought it would break the monotony. 
 
 Until the lights went on I read the leading 
 article on Bolshevism in The Times of, I think, 
 October 4th. He had several English papers on 
 his desk and we read together with much amuse-
 
 156 MAYFAIR TO MOSCOW 
 
 ment, that he (Trotsky) had been wounded, and 
 that General Budienny has been courtmartialed. 
 There were even descriptions of barricades in 
 the streets of Moscow. Some one must have mis- 
 taken the stacks of fuel that the tramcars are 
 bringing in and unloading every day. When the 
 lights went on I worked hectically until half after 
 midnight with the desperation of knowing it was 
 the last sitting. 
 
 At midnight he was standing by the side of the 
 work, rather tired and very still and patient, when 
 suddenly I had the thought of asking him to undo 
 his collar for me. He unbuttoned his tunic and 
 the shirt underneath, and laid bare his neck 
 and chest. I work like a fury for half an 
 hour which was all too short. I tried to convey 
 into my clay some of his energy and vitality. I 
 worked with the concentration that always accom- 
 panies last moments. When I left he said to me, 
 
 "Eh bien, on ira ensemble an front ?" But 
 
 something tells me that we will never meet again. 
 I feel that it is almost worth while to preserve the 
 impression of our hours of individual work, col- 
 laboration and quietude, silently guarded over by 
 a sentry with fixed bayonet outside the door. To 
 let in the light of day would be to spoil it. 
 
 There is a French saying: "On n'est pas tou- 
 jours nee dans son pays." It equally follows that 
 all are not born in their rightful sphere. Trotsky
 
 CLARE SHERIDAN'S DIARY 157 
 
 is one of these. At one time, in his youth, what 
 was he? A Russian exile in a journalist office. 
 Even then I am told he was witty, but the witti- 
 ness that is bitterness. Now he has come into 
 his own and has unconsciously developed a new 
 individuality. He has the manner and ease of a 
 man born to a great position. He has become a 
 statesman, a ruler, a leader. But if Trotsky were 
 not Trotsky, and the world had never heard of 
 him, one would still appreciate his very brilliant 
 mind. The reason I have found him so much 
 more difficult to do than I expected, is on account 
 of his triple personality. He is the cultured well 
 read man, he is the vituperative fiery politician, 
 he can be the mischievous laughing school-boy 
 with a dimple in his cheek. All these three I have 
 seen in turn, and had to converge them into one 
 clay interpretation. 
 
 October 23RD, 1920. Saturday. Moscow. 
 I went in the n'orning to fetch away the bust 
 and take it to my room in the Kremlin. I went 
 at 1 1 before Trotsky had got there. His motor 
 was at my disposal and three men to convey the 
 precious work away. These are the moments that 
 take years off my life! It arrived, however, un- 
 damaged, which was little short of a triumph. 
 When my plaster moulder saw it he exclaimed
 
 158 MAYFAIR TO MOSCOW 
 
 with pleasure. Apparently it is very like, and 
 every one is pleased. As Trotsky is adored, I 
 take it as a great compliment to my work that the 
 Bolsheviks consider it good enough. 
 
 The relief of having accomplished him as well 
 as Lenin is indescribable. 1 wake up in the night 
 and wonder if it is true or a dream. Now I am 
 completely happy; I have achieved my purpose. 
 I have proved myself to these people, and they 
 in return have proved their belief in me by their 
 trouble and courteousness. I am no longer har- 
 assed by anxieties and fears. Those who dis- 
 couraged me in the early days, treat me now with 
 respect, consideration, and even admiration. I 
 am happy, I am happy, I sing when I wake in the 
 morning, I sing when I wash in cold water, I 
 come down to my breakfast of black bread with 
 a lighter step! I breakfast every morning with 
 Litvinoff. By coming down at 1 1 the others 
 have finished, so we can talk. If Rothstein is 
 present the conversation becomes Russian. If 
 Vanderlip is there he talks all the time about 
 America. (He usually leaves the room with bore- 
 dom if conversation is on any other subject!) It 
 is the fashion in Europe to villify Litvinoff and 
 to regard him as a terribly dangerous man. I 
 suppose he is an astute diplomatist. Whatever 
 he is he is better than he pretends, and though 
 he gets no credit for it, he has done a good deal
 
 CLARE SHERIDAN'S DIARY 159 
 
 for the British prisoners here. He has an un- 
 fortunately abrupt manner, and a way of refusing 
 to do things, by pretending it is no concern of his, 
 but straightway he will go off and do a kindness 
 ta the very people who are damning him for hav- 
 ing refused. To me he is frank, outspoken, and 
 always ready to help. 
 
 I have a great trust in him, and I know he is 
 my friend, and will carry out his self-imposed 
 task of protecting me. But to-day he gave me 
 furiously to think. Suddenly, without any warn- 
 ing, he sat back in his chair and fixed me with his 
 small eyes: "Do you know a man called Russel 
 Cooke?" he asked. It was rather a surprising 
 question, and I admitted that I knew a very young 
 man called Sidney Russel Cooke. Though why 
 Litvinoff should have ever heard of him I couldn't 
 imagine. He went on to say that Kamenev knows 
 him. I said yes, that Kamenev had met him 
 through me. Litvinoff said: "He is in the Brit- 
 ish Intelligence Service, isn't he?" I confess to a 
 slight shiver down my spine when he said this; 
 but I refuted the statement. I said that so far 
 as I knew (and it hadn't interested me very much) 
 Sidney Cooke was working in the city awaiting a 
 propitious moment to plunge into rather liberal 
 politics. Litvinoff gave a sort of grunt, which de- 
 noted nothing at all, and refused to be drawn any 
 further on the subject. But something seems to
 
 i6o MAYFAIR TO MOSCOW 
 
 be in the air, and I cannot tell what it is. Odd 
 things happen, quite small things, but they give 
 one a feeling of insecurity. I have asked if I may 
 see Constantin Benckendorff.* I have explained 
 that he is the only friend I've got in Russia, and 
 that I haven't seen him since before I married. 
 When I return to England I shall see his mother 
 and sister, and would like to give them news of 
 him. Litvinoff said that Benckendorff was, he 
 thought, at Riga, but he would find out. Later 
 he came to me, and said rather mysteriously: 
 "Don't try to see your friend Benckendorff, and 
 please don't ask me why, but be advised by me, 
 not to ask any one to arrange for you to see him." 
 So there it is. I do not understand, but one has 
 learnt not to argue, and, moreover, to do as one 
 is told. When I said to Kamenev: "There is 
 no liberty here," he laughed and said there is "une 
 liberie dicipUne" — and I suppose (it is hard to be- 
 lieve!) I have become well disciplined! 
 
 October 24TH, 1920. Sunday. Moscow. 
 
 We have all been very much saddened by the 
 
 death from typhus of John Reed, the American 
 
 Communist. Every one liked him and his wife. 
 
 Louise Bryant, the War Correspondent, She is 
 
 * An officer in the Russian Navy and son of the late Count 
 Benckendorff, ambassador to Great Britain.
 
 CLARE SHERIDAN'S DIARY i6i 
 
 quite young and had only recently joined him. He 
 had been here two years, and Mrs. Reed, unable 
 to obtain a passport, finally came in through Mur- 
 mansk. Everything possible was done for him, 
 but of course there are no medicaments here; the 
 hospitals are cruelly short of necessities. He 
 should not have died, but he was one of those 
 young strong men impatient of illness, and in the 
 early stages he would not take care of himself. 
 
 I attended his funeral. It is the first funeral 
 without a religious service that I have ever seen. 
 It did not seem to strike any one else as peculiar, 
 but it was to me. His cofl^n stood for some days 
 in the Trades Union Hall, the walls of which are 
 covered with huge revolutionary cartoons in 
 marvelously bright decorative coloring. We all 
 assembled in that hall. The coffin stood on a 
 dais and was covered with flowers. As a bit of 
 staging it was very effective, but I saw when they 
 were being carried out that most of the wreaths 
 were made of tin flowers painted. I suppose they 
 did service for each Revolutionary burial. 
 
 There was a great crowd, but people talked 
 very low. I noticed a Christ-like man w-ith long 
 fair curly hair, and a fair beard and clear blue 
 eyes ; he was quite young. I asked who he was. 
 No one seemed to know: "An artist of sorts," 
 some one suggested. Not all the people with won- 
 derful heads are wonderful people. Mr. Roth-
 
 1 62 MAYFAIR TO MOSCOW 
 
 « 
 
 stein and I followed the procession to the grave, 
 accompanied by a band playing a Funeral March 
 that I had never heard before. Whenever that 
 Funeral March struck up (and it had a tedious 
 refrain) every one uncovered — it seemed to be the 
 only thing they uncovered for. We passed across 
 the Place de la Revolution, and through the sacred 
 gate to the Red Square. He was buried under the 
 Kremlin wall next to all the Revolutionaries, his 
 Comrads. As a background to his grave was a 
 large Red banner nailed upon the wall with the 
 letters in gold "The leaders die, but the cause 
 lives on." 
 
 When I was first told this was the burying 
 ground of the Revolutionaries I looked in vain 
 for graves — and I saw only a quarter of a mile 
 or so of green grassy bank. There was not a 
 memorial, a headstone or a sign, not even an in- 
 dividual mound. The Communist ideal seemed 
 to have been realized at last: the Equality, unat- 
 tainable in life, the equality for which Christ died, 
 had been realizable only in death. 
 
 A large crowd assembled for John Reed's burial 
 and the occasion was one for speeches. Bucharin 
 and Madame Kolontai both spoke. There were 
 speeches in English, French, German and Russian. 
 It took a very long time, and a mixture of rain 
 and snow was falling. Although the poor widow 
 fainted, her friends did not take her away. It
 
 CLARE SHERIDAN'S DIARY 163 
 
 was extremely painful to see this white-faced un- 
 conscious woman lying back on the supporting arm 
 of a Foreign Office official, more interested in the 
 speeches than in the human agony. 
 
 The faces of the crowd around betrayed neither 
 sympathy nor interest, they looked on unmoved. 
 I could not get to her, as I was outside the ring 
 of soldiers who stood guard nearly shoulder to 
 shoulder. 
 
 I marvel continuously at the blank faces of the 
 Russian people. In France or Italy one knows 
 that in moments of sorrow the people are deeply 
 moved, their arms go round one, and their sym- 
 pathy is overwhelming. They cry with our sor- 
 rows, they laugh with our joys. But Russia seems 
 numb. I wonder if it has always been so, or 
 whether the people have lived through years of 
 such horror that they have become insensible to 
 pain. 
 
 Happily no salute was fired. The last time 
 the machine guns rattled at a burial I heard them 
 in my studio, which is just the other side of the 
 wall. On that occasion, the old porter who takes 
 care of me at the Kremlin, told me that his wife 
 nearly died of heart failure. She thought "the 
 Whites" had come. Probably it affects other 
 jumpy people in the same way. Here the terror 
 of the Whites is as great as on the other side the 
 terror of the Reds! The poor people don't want
 
 1 64 MAYFAIR TO MOSCOW 
 
 any more fighting. I think they are quite indiffer- 
 ent as to who rules them, only they want Peace. 
 
 When I got back I found Maxim Litvinoff who 
 also had been at the funeral and had looked for 
 me in the crowd in vain. He says he has ar- 
 ranged with Tchitcherin that I am to begin him on 
 the morrow. I have not asked to do him, but if 
 it is all arranged for me I am only too delighted. 
 But I do not look forward to working at the 
 Commissariat for Foreign Affairs. It is the Hotel 
 Metropole, in the Place de la Revolution, and 
 although it will not be necessary to have a pass, 
 and there will be none of the sentry difficulties, 
 as with Lenin and Trotsky, the drain smells are 
 such that one climbs the stairs two at a time hold- 
 ing one's breath! There are bits of the Kremlin 
 that are enough to kill the healthiest person, but 
 the Metropole baffles all description. Inside the 
 offices it is all right, but the double windows every- 
 where are hermetically sealed for the winter, and 
 I wonder that people do not die like flies. Lit- 
 vinoff tells me that a new building is almost ready 
 and that the next time I come to Moscow there 
 will be a beautiful Commissariat. It is curious that 
 Moscow having been one of the richest cities in 
 the world, more full of rich merchants than al- 
 most any other, that something more was not done 
 for sanitation. Last year owing to lack of fuel 
 most of their pipes burst in the town. No wonder
 
 CLARE SHERIDAN'S DIARY 165 
 
 there was an epidemic of typhus. This year 
 things are better organized, and if there is Peace 
 on the two fronts conditions may be enormously 
 improved. 
 
 This evening Comrad Alexandre took me to a 
 play. He gave me my choice, and I decided that 
 "La fille de Madame Angot," being an operette 
 would be more amusing than "Twelfth Night" in 
 Russian. It was at the Theatre des Arts, where 
 Chekhov's plays used to be produced. Chekhov is 
 no longer acted — he wrote for a class that is tem- 
 porarily extinct — the workers and peasants would 
 not understand it. Afterwards, coming home in 
 the motor I noticed a tremendous glare in the 
 sky. It obviously meant a fire, and I insisted on 
 going to look for it. If the fire, when found, was 
 disappointing, at least the search for it was in- 
 teresting, and revealed to me the unsuspected size 
 of Moscow. We drove through miles of deserted 
 streets, where we met only a few soldiers wearily 
 trudging through the mud. We shouted to them : 
 "Tovarisch ! where is the fire?" There is some- 
 thing very pleasant in hailing a complete stranger 
 as a Comrad — one feels at once a link of friend- 
 ship. The Tovarisch, however, only waved vague- 
 ly onwards, which is the only instruction one ever 
 gets in Moscow when one asks the way! On we 
 bumped and jolted and skidded. There was an 
 Icy wind blowing and we had no rug. We seemed
 
 1 66 MAYFAIR TO MOSCOW 
 
 to cross two rivers, or they may have been river 
 branches. Everything looked very beautiful in 
 the twilight. There was no parapet to the river 
 edge, only some tortuous tree stems; finally we 
 arrived upon the scene. It was to find that some 
 building in a big clearing had burnt to the founda- 
 tions, and was still burning brightly. Having got 
 out of the car and waded through the mud I could 
 not get anywhere near, and I abandoned the quest. 
 A party of men returning from the fire, surprised 
 at our having a motor, asked Alexandre for his 
 identification papers. Happily he is a member of 
 the Communist party. On the way home he was 
 anxious lest the bad road should cause some 
 damage to the car. If it broke down, he explained 
 cheerfully, there was no other car to be had in 
 these parts, and no telephone to call one up, and 
 too far to walk home. It was snowing and we 
 got back at i A. M. after losing the way many 
 times. 
 
 In the hall I was met by Litvinoff, who while I 
 was having supper told me he had a message from 
 Trotsky who asked if I would be ready to go off 
 to the front on the morrow at 4 P. M. I had to 
 make up my mind. We discussed the plan in all 
 its aspects. Litvinoff was splendid, he advised me 
 neither way, he merely said he would make all 
 arrangements If I decided to go. I knew that 
 going would involve cold and discomfort and I
 
 CLARE SHERIDAN'S DIARY 167 
 
 guessed I would not really see much of the front, 
 and as the only woman I would be most conspicu- 
 ous. Yet . . . what a temptation. Finally about 
 3 A. M. for various reasons I decided to preserve 
 Trotsky as a memory. Then for the first time 
 Litvinoff said, "I am so glad . . ." 
 
 October 25TH. Moscow. 
 
 Litvinoff was most kind and helped me to move 
 my clay and stand from the Kremlin to the For- 
 eign Office. I would have liked a snapshot of our 
 procession — the moulder carrying the clay block, 
 Litvinoff, in his fur-lined coat and sealskin cap 
 armed with the modeling stand, and I following 
 with the bucket of clay and cloths. 
 
 On arrival at the Foreign Office we were 
 greeted by the Chinese General in uniform and all 
 his staff. Litvinoff, who is likely to be the Soviet 
 representative in China, was rather taken aback 
 by this rencontre and the Chinese enormously 
 amused. 
 
 Later, at 9 p. M. I returned with Litvinoff to 
 Tchitcherin's office to begin work. While Litvi- 
 noff went inside I waited in the secretary's room, 
 and while I was waiting a man hurried through 
 the office. He was a little man in brown trousers 
 and a coat which did not match. With small steps
 
 i68 MAYFAIR TO MOSCOW 
 
 he shuffled hurriedly along. It might have been 
 a night watchman. It was Tchitcherin. 
 
 Still I waited, and the length of my wait began 
 to annoy me, and then I began to feel something 
 was wrong. Presently Litvinoli called me, but I 
 got no further than the doorway. 
 
 There Tchitcherin confronted me, and in hur- 
 ried and confused tones said, "To-night is impos- 
 siible, quite, quite impossible . . ." and disap- 
 peared. He had not even allowed me to cross 
 his threshold. 
 
 Litvinoff and I looked at each other and walked 
 out. We went upstairs to Litvinoff's office. He 
 was obviously upset and at a perfect loss to ex- 
 plain or excuse. I sat and talked until the car 
 arrived to take me home, and from what Litvinoff 
 said and from what I had seen in that flash I have 
 learned something of the personality of Tchitche- 
 rin. 
 
 He is an abnormal man, living month after 
 month in that Foreign Office with closed windows 
 and never going out. He insists on having a bed- 
 room there, as he says he has not time to go 
 home to sleep. He works all night, and if a tele- 
 gram comes in the day he has to be awakened. 
 His nights are days and his days are not entirely 
 nights. He has no idea of time and does not 
 realize that other people live differently. He will 
 ring up a Comrad on the telephone at 3 or 4
 
 CLARE SHERIDAN'S DIARY 169 
 
 in the morning for the most trivial information. 
 He does all his own work, and will not ring for a 
 secretary or messenger, but runs himself with 
 papers to other departments. He lives on his 
 nerves and the slightest thing throws him off his 
 pivot. 
 
 I had been told he was an angel and a saint. 
 What I found was a fluttering and agitated bird. 
 The joke is that he is looked upon as the "gen- 
 tleman" of the party. He is by origin well born 
 and propertied. His property he gave away to 
 the people. To-day was a particularly unfortu- 
 nate one for me. It happened to be the first day 
 in months that Tchitcherin had gone out. He 
 went to the dentist. Some one watching him from 
 an office window described to me the phenomenon 
 of Tchitcherin in the street. He did not go in a 
 car, but on foot. He stood at the corner of the 
 curb, looked at the street hesitatingly, much as 
 one might look into a river on a cold day before 
 plunging in. When he did finally decide to get 
 across he got half way and then ran back. What 
 with the trafl'ic, the fresh air, and the dentist, it 
 must have been a thoroughly unncr\ing day for 
 him, and no wonder he received me so ill ! 
 
 October 26th, Moscow. 
 Tchitcherin sent me a message through Litvi- 
 noff inviting me to do him at 4 in the morning, as
 
 I70 MAYFAIR TO MOSCOW 
 
 this is his quietest time, but it is unfortunately my 
 quietest time too. 
 
 October 29TH, Friday. Moscow. 
 
 I have had 4 inactive days, but the sense of 
 work, completed is a great relief. I have drifted 
 about with Andreef and in his spare moments with 
 Maxim Litvinoff. On his way to work at mid- 
 day he first takes me in his car to the place I want 
 to photograph. At 5 o'clock he comes back and 
 has tea with me, brings his portfolio and works in 
 my room till 7. Then he starts out again to meet- 
 ings. I have interesting talks with him, and learn 
 a good deal. He smiles tolerantly when my 
 bourgeois breeding breaks out. But he says I am 
 getting better. Even Rothstein has grown to 
 treat me more seriously. 
 
 To-day my fourth day of rest began to rouse 
 in me a fresh energy. I long to fill in this interim 
 of waiting with some new work. I have offered 
 to do Litvinoff, and he suggests that I work in 
 his office. This is so difficult that I have asked him 
 to let me do it at home, in odd moments when he 
 is free. Between the two nothing gets decided. 
 Meanwhile the sentries at the Kremlin gate have 
 fired my enthusiasm. They are magnificent, wrap- 
 ped around in goat skin coats with collars that en- 
 velop their entire heads. My efforts to get such
 
 CLARE SHERIDAN'S DIARY 171 
 
 an one to sit to me has at last been successful. 
 Andreef and I wandered from building to build- 
 ing this morning to accomplish this purpose. 
 Andreef is great fun to explore with. He has a 
 "Je m'en fichiste" air, opens all the doors he 
 comes to, and walks in everywhere. I see all sorts 
 of places that I would never dare to investigate 
 alone. 
 
 We walked boldly into the barracks. I doubt if 
 a woman had been in before, but I did not attract 
 much attention. A few soldiers gathered round 
 us to hear our explanation to the officer in charge. 
 One or two smiled, the rest looked at me blankly! 
 What Andreef said of course I don't know, ex- 
 cept I understood the officer to ask if we were 
 Bolshevik. Apparently if we were not Bolsheviks 
 we must get permission from the Commandant of 
 the Kremlin before a soldier could be sent to^-me. 
 Off we went in search of the Commandant. Oh ! 
 the dark passages, and the stuffy offices. They 
 smelt as if the air belonged to bygone ages. I 
 am sure no fresh air ever leaks in. From there to 
 the military store to obtain an overcoat. They 
 lent me a new one. It was an enormous goat- 
 skin. More smells! No living goat ever could 
 have smelt stronger. Andreef staggering under 
 the weight and the unwieldy size, carried it to my 
 studio to await the soldier's arrival to-morrow.
 
 172 MAYFAIR TO MOSCOW 
 
 The room reeks of it. My Idea Is a statuette, only 
 in Russia one could find such a silhouette. 
 
 It was still early and I did not want to go home, 
 so we wandered to the Palace, opened more doors, 
 and after a little conversation with some men in 
 an office, one of them took us to see the Museum 
 and the Armory. This was a grea't revelation, 
 and I regretted not ha-ving seen it before, so that 
 I could have had time to go often again. Our 
 guide spoke French, and knew all the things in- 
 timately. He talked of them with pride and al- 
 most with love. The things were beautifully ar- 
 ranged. There were glass ca&es full of Romanoff 
 crowns, jewel studded, and scepters, and harness 
 and trappings set with prec-iou-s stones. One really 
 got quite bewildered by the dazzlement of them. 
 The armor is very fine, I believe, but that I know 
 nothing about and it does not interest me. What 
 
 I loved were the old coaches. There was one 
 given by Queen Elizabeth of England, the most 
 beautiful bit of painted Jacobean carving I have 
 ever seen. The French Louis XV and XVI 
 coaches looked vulgar next to it. There was a 
 room full of silver and gold cups. I believe this 
 contains the finest collection of English Charles 
 
 II silver in the world. Moreover so many chalices 
 ha-d been collected recently from the Churches 
 that there were long wooden trestles covered with 
 these, and they were in process of being cat-
 
 CLARE SHERIDAN'S DIARY 173 
 
 alogued. In the furthest room were exhibited all 
 the old costumes, Church vestments, and beautiful 
 brocades. The Coronation robe of Catherine the 
 Great was there, and others that had been wed- 
 ding and Coronation robes of various other Czar- 
 inas. It is wonderful that these things have re- 
 mained unhurt throughout the Revolution. 
 
 October 30TH. Moscow. 
 
 It is acutely cold. The river is completely 
 frozen over. Children skate and toboggan every- 
 where. The sidewalks have become slides, and 
 are very difficult for the pedestrian who is not 
 equipped with skates. Children here seem to be 
 born able to skate. They strap them on to any 
 kind of foot-gear, even on to big loose, felt boots, 
 and they skate everywhere at breakneck speed. 
 
 It is a relief not to see people wearily carrying 
 their bundles over their shoulders. Now every 
 one seems to have put his burdens on to a little 
 wooden sledge, and grown up people look like 
 big children pulling toys on the end of strings. I 
 have borrowed clothes and Jaegers from my 
 friends. One's nostrils freeze and the breath 
 cry^stallizes on one's fur collar. 
 
 The town with its white pall is indescribably 
 beautiful. At dusk the sky is darkened by a flight 
 of gray-backed crows. They settle on the bare
 
 174 MAYFAIR TO MOSCOW 
 
 tree branches with the effect of great black leaves 
 silhouetted against a colored evening sky. 
 
 At 8 :30 this evening Kamenev unexpectedly 
 walked into my room. It is nearly three weeks 
 since he went to the front. He was in tremendous 
 spirits, much thinner, quite unshaved and his hair 
 long! He was interesting about the spirit of the 
 Red Army. He says they are wonderfully en- 
 thusiastic and anxious to finish Wrangel, and have 
 peace. It is just possible there may be a big 
 "coup" which would obviate a winter campaign. 
 
 More than ever do I regret not going with 
 Trotsky, They met at Karkof and I could have 
 come back with Kamenev. 
 
 October 31ST. Moscow. 
 I went to the Kremlin and tried to work on my 
 soldier who came to sit to me, but the clay gets 
 so cold and my fingers so numbed, I find I can- 
 not do anything. I build up such a big fire in the 
 stove to keep myself warm that the unfortunate 
 soldier in the overcoat gets nearly apoplectic. 
 Moreover, the hot goatskin smells stronger and 
 stronger. Even the soldier seems to be affected 
 by it. We cannot open the windows and let the 
 cold in. These conditions make work very dis- 
 couraging. Andreef fetched me at 12:30 and we
 
 CLARE SHERIDAN'S DIARY 175 
 
 went to the House of Shuken, who was a cotton 
 king, and who had the biggest collection of modern 
 French pictures that exists. It is now taken over 
 by the Government and opened several days a 
 week to the public. Madame Shuken is I believe 
 allowed to occupy her rooms in the house. There 
 is no such modern collection in France. There 
 were represented all the artists I have been want- 
 ing to see. The first room was mostly full of 
 Claude Monet, and there were three little Whis- 
 tlers in the doorway leading to a room full of 
 Degas, Renoir, and Cezanne. 
 
 To-day for the first time, I can appreciate Mat- 
 isse; there were twenty-one in a room. Next to 
 this was another room, with twenty Gauguins. In 
 a further gallery there was a motley collection in- 
 cluding a couple of Brangwyns which held their 
 own well. There was also the big William Morris 
 tapestry of Burne-Jones' "Nativity" which one 
 could hardly bear to look at after the modern 
 French, 
 
 Coming out, we passed by a rudely painted 
 doorway in the snow painted in blotches of green 
 and yellow. A sentry stood by. I pointed it out 
 to Andreef who agreed that it was pure Matisse. 
 One has but to borrow the eyes of another and 
 the same old world appears quite different. I 
 remember when I had been in Florence a few 
 days, every one looked like a Madonna!
 
 176 MAYFAIR TO MOSCOW 
 
 This evening Litvinoff gave a banquet for the 
 departing Chinese General. It was a great event. 
 The dishes as they appeared were like things we 
 have seen in dreams. The party consisted, be- 
 sides the General and three of his staff, of two in- 
 terpreters (one being the professor of Chinese 
 at the University of Petrograd), Tchitcherin, 
 Karahan, his secretary, Mrs. Karahan, Vanderlip, 
 Rothstein and myself. 
 
 We were invited for 9 P. M., but it was half past 
 eleven before we began, true Russian fashion, two 
 hours and a half late. It was for Tchitcherin we 
 had to wait; he has no idea of time. 
 
 The hours preceding were rather tedious, as 
 conversation through an interpreter is not a suc- 
 cess. One Chinaman talked F'rench. He was the 
 President of the Union of Chinese Workers. 
 
 Karahan is Armenian. He speaks some strange 
 Eastern language, but nothing that I understand. 
 His wife can talk only Russian. They live in our 
 house but one seldom sees them. They have their 
 meals in their own apartments. He is very beauti- 
 ful, his face is like carved ivory. He is a great 
 mystery, he lives in a better way than any one 
 else, smokes the best cigars, drives to his office 
 in a limousine, and looks like the most prosper- 
 ous gentleman in Europe in his astrachan coat and 
 hat. He must do some very good work for the 
 Government, or he would not be tolerated. I
 
 CLARE SHERIDAN'S DIARY 177 
 
 believe Lenin once asked what was the use of him, 
 and he was told that Karahan was most impor- 
 tant. Was he not the only man amongst them 
 who could wear evening clothes? 
 
 At dinner I sat between the President of the 
 Union of Chinese Workers and Litvinoff, who did 
 host extremely well and was clever in placing us 
 all. He created so many places of honor that 
 every one was gratified. He put Tchitcherin at 
 the head of the table so that the General and 
 Vanderlip on cither side of him felt they were 
 guests of honor. He put me one side of him 
 and Mrs. Karahan at the end of the table op- 
 posite Tchitcherin. 
 
 I ate so many excellent hors d'oeuvres, think- 
 ing I was never going to eat again and that 
 nothing else was coming, that I had little room left 
 for anything else. It was a joy even to look at 
 a fresh salad and cauliflower. 
 
 Our old man servant was awfully happy. He 
 had on a collar and tie and was washed, and had 
 organized everything beautifully. He had got 
 out the Sevres salt-cellars and the cut-glass de- 
 canters and I suppose he just felt he was back 
 in the old pre-Revolution days and serving his 
 master's friends. He took intense pride in it all. 
 
 We had our jokes with him as he went by. 
 Handing me a dish of bucuf a la mode, he said,
 
 178 MAYFAIR TO MOSCOW 
 
 "inaffnifiquef" Litvinoff was reprimanded by him 
 for using his knife for his vegetables, and was told 
 he would not get another. When the apple dump- 
 lings came round I was done. I said to the old 
 man, "Zafter" (to-morrow). I do hope we get 
 some remains. I asked Litvinoff where all the 
 food had come from. He explained to me that 
 there is some food to be had but that the best is 
 sent to the hospitals and the children. 
 
 Then followed speeches. Anything more de- 
 plorable to listen to without understanding than 
 Russian being translated into Chinese and vice 
 versa is hard to imagine. Tchitcherin spoke for 
 quite a long time. The Chinese General's face 
 was immovable. After the professor had trans- 
 lated, the General replied with much the same sort 
 of face. 
 
 After dinner we adjourned to the Karahans' big 
 rooms opposite. Tchitcherin was evidently em- 
 barrassed at meeting me again. I had no feeling 
 on the subject, and merely laughed. 
 
 I said jokingly, "Comrad Tchitcherin, you 
 have treated me very badly." 
 
 He was again quite flustered. 
 
 Litvinoff told me apropos of Tchitcherin that 
 he had advised him to get some one extra into his 
 office to help to get his papers straight. Tchit- 
 cherin agreed, and said that he had already heard 
 of a young man who would do very well because
 
 CLARE SHERIDAN'S DIARY 179 
 
 "he works during the day, so he is free at night." 
 Litvinoff asked when the man should sleep. Tchit- 
 cherin looked surprised; he had forgotten about 
 that I 
 
 November 2nd, 1920. 
 Felt ill. Symptoms of abdominal typhus. Panic 
 on the part of my friends. They say they do not 
 want to lay my body under the Kremlin wall. If 
 they do, I have told them I don't mind speeches, 
 but would like a prayer. The answer to that was, 
 "Are you really croyante?" 
 
 "Well," I said, "there are two children praying 
 
 every night that I may return safe and soon, and 
 
 the thought of that gives me a certain security." 
 
 "What ! you teach your children to pray?" 
 
 "But surely they must have something to guide 
 
 them as they start life?" 
 
 "You should teach them reality, and not fan- 
 tasy." 
 
 "It is not fantasy to believe in a Divine power." 
 "You should believe only in your own power." 
 That is a conversation I have had as a result of 
 my slight indisposition. It was a conversation 
 that confirms the general idea I have met in others 
 since I have been here. I know these men are 
 idealists and selfless. I did not know these quali- 
 ties could go hand in hand with atheism. 
 
 On this point Litvinoff corrected me. He did
 
 i8o MAYFAIR TO MOSCOW 
 
 not even want to be regarded as an idealist. That 
 was too unpractical. "We are idealistic material- 
 ists," he said. To prove their tolerance of re- 
 ligious thought, the churches are all open. But 
 to enter the sacred gateway which leads to the 
 Red Square it was necessary in pre-Revolutionary 
 days for men to pass uncovered. A tablet has now 
 been inserted in the wall engraved with the in- 
 scription, "Religion is the opiate of the people." 
 Hardly ever have I passed that by without having 
 it pointed out to me with great pride. I never 
 quite understood the spirit of it. 
 
 And as for the people, they seem to disregard 
 it, to judge by the many who cross themselves as 
 they pass. The shrine seems to be always full 
 of devotees, who pause to pray. The religious feel- 
 ing of the people will not easily be obliterated and 
 after all, they need all the comfort and hope they 
 can get, even if the intellectuals do not. 
 
 My stay in Russia is nearing its end. Already 
 I see my departure in the near distance. People 
 at home will think I am a Bolshevist, on account 
 of my associations, but I am much too humble to 
 pretend I understand anything about it. 
 
 The more I hear, the clearer it seems to me that 
 economics are the basis of all these arguments, 
 and when it is a question of political economy 
 something happens to my mind, just as it used to 
 when I was a child and had to learn arithmetic. A
 
 CLARE SHERIDAN'S DIARY i8i 
 
 Bolshevist who can be defeated by argument Is 
 not worthy of the name. Therefore I am not a 
 Bolshevist. 
 
 But I have tried to understand the spirit of 
 Communism and It Interests me overwhelmingly. 
 There are little Incidents I like to recall that con- 
 tribute In no way to lessen my love of the people. 
 As for Instance, when the weather began to get 
 cold before Borodin went away, and unable to ex- 
 plain In Russian what I wanted, I went myself to 
 the back garden to fetch an armload of logs for 
 my fire. 
 
 I had to make a long journey through the 
 kitchen down the corridors and finally through the 
 drawing room. I have never minded carrying my 
 own wood, but I did think that the two men — 
 Borodin, who was telephoning, and Boris, who 
 was Idling in a Louis XVI chair, as I passed 
 through the drawing room, might have opened 
 the doors for me. 
 
 Because they did not, I most unforgivably lost 
 my temper, and said I was glad I was an English 
 woman, and not a Russian man. The effect of my 
 attack was different on each of them. 
 
 Boris said, "But it Is quite right you should 
 carry your own wood. Communism means each 
 should help himself." 
 
 I replied that that was nothing new, that self- 
 help was the oldest deep-rooted feeling In the
 
 1 82 MAYFAIR TO MOSCOW 
 
 world and that if Communism wanted to be orig- 
 inal it must teach the doctrine of helping the 
 other. 
 
 Borodin followed me to my room in a state 
 of apology and distress. He brought me two 
 apples and a cigarette, and told me that if I peeled 
 the birch bark off the logs, it made an excellent 
 substitute for kindling. With his advice he did 
 much to help me light my fire. I have never quite 
 made out in my own mind if they were typically 
 Russian or t>^pically Communist. I am still 
 wondering. 
 
 I was much laughed at once because I made 
 Vanderlip in the street shoulder a woman's burden 
 and carry it for her to the woman's house. She 
 was a frail well-dressed woman, obviously ex- 
 hausted by a long walk ov^er cobblestones, and was 
 utterly incompetent to carry the bundle contain- 
 ing her rations. I would have taken it for her 
 myself if I had been alone, but as Vanderlip was 
 champion-in-chief of the frail and the well- 
 dressed, I thought he might as well do it. Litvi- 
 noff was awfully amused when he heard about it, 
 and said that Vanderlip might really find a good 
 deal of work to do in Moscow on those lines. 
 
 Vanderlip one day told me with great concern 
 that a weak little bourgeoise friend of his, once 
 rich, but now a stenographer, had received a 
 paper ordering her to enlist her services among
 
 CLARE SHERIDAN'S DIARY 183 
 
 those who are to shovel the street clear of snow 
 in front of their doors. 
 
 "Terrible," he said. 
 
 "Why terrible?" I asked. 
 
 "Terrible that a woman, well-bred, and unused 
 to manual labor, should be called upon to shovel 
 
 snow." 
 
 "But," I argued, "she had better food and care 
 when young than the working classes, and ought, 
 therefore, to be physically stronger and more able 
 to do this work than many another." 
 
 (I thought of some of my friends in England 
 a year ago in the strike who made most efficient 
 railway porters.) 
 
 I said I would take pride if I were a Russian 
 bourgeoise in showing people here that I could do 
 as good a day's work as any one else, and that I 
 was not useless and helpless as they imagined. 
 
 Vanderlip disagreed. He said (and I wonder 
 if it is the American point of view) that women 
 ought not to work at all ; they ought to be worked 
 for. 
 
 It was quite useless to talk to him about co- 
 operation or the economic independence of 
 women. Besides, it was not about women, it was 
 about Communism that I wanted to talk. 
 
 Vanderlip is a source of some merriment to the 
 Communists. He has discovered a shop in Mos- 
 cow that is allowed to sell the only remaining
 
 1 84 MAYFAIR TO MOSCOW 
 
 things the government has not requisitioned. They 
 are birds of paradise. He has bought yellow ones, 
 black ones, and white ones of every conceivable 
 description. He has written checks for more 
 roubles than the Soviet Bank can find notes for. 
 Rumor says he will have to wait three weeks until 
 they print more notes. All Moscow has heard of 
 the purchase. It seems to me to be emblematical 
 of all he stands for, and of all the women "who 
 do not work, but are worked for," who will re- 
 ceive them. 
 
 How long and how rambling this is as the re- 
 sult of no occupation and an enforced stay within 
 doors. It is useless to write letters home, and this 
 is a sort of unburdening. I often wonder about 
 my family — whether they are anxious about me 
 (knowing nothing of the peaceful truth), or 
 whether they are too disapproving to be anxious. 
 
 I love the bedrock of things, here, and the 
 vital energy. If I had no children I would remain 
 and work. There may be no food for the body, 
 but there is plenty of food for the soul, and I 
 would rather live in discomfort in an atmosphere 
 of gigantic effort, than in luxury among the pur- 
 poseless. I find I no longer dream of home, and 
 have grown used to conditions which at first 
 seemed hard. I am thankful for the peace which 
 I once mistook for dullness, and appreciate the 
 absence of all the petty tyrannies of civilized life.
 
 CLARE SHERIDAN'S DIARY 185 
 
 My mode of living suits me very well. I am glad 
 not to have to take any part in the management 
 of a house. I prefer bad food than being con- 
 sulted about it. What the housemaid breaks is 
 not mine, nor any concern of mine. There are 
 no boredoms such as gas bills, taxes, rent and 
 rates, or Income Tax returns. I never have to 
 sign a check, nor go out with a purse. The ob- 
 literation of all social life is a boon. There are 
 no invitations by telephone to accept, refuse, or 
 make decisions about. There is no perplexity 
 about the choice of apparel, nor letters by post 
 that have to be answered. There is leisure to 
 read, leisure to think, leisure to observe. The big 
 ideas, wide horizons and destruction of all the 
 conventions have taken hold of me. Of course I 
 realize that as a guest of the government I am 
 judging things from a personal point of view, and 
 not the point of view of the Russian people. (Few 
 of us are big enough to be purely impersonal.) I 
 like living in this way. It may seem a strange 
 taste to those people who have the sense of pos- 
 session, the collectors' instinct, or the need of a 
 fixed home. I have none of these. So long as I 
 have a place to work in, and plenty of work to do, 
 and leisure in which to think about it I ask little 
 more. 
 
 My ear has accustomed itself to the language 
 of Communism, I have forgotten the English of
 
 1 86 MAYFAIR TO MOSCOW 
 
 my own world. I do not mean that I am a Com- 
 munist, nor that I think it is a practical theory, 
 but it seems to me, nevertheless, that the Rus- 
 sian people get a good many priv^ileges gratis, 
 such as education, lodging, food, railways, the- 
 aters, even postage, and a standard wage thrown 
 in. If the absence of prosperity is marked, 
 the absence of poverty is remarkable. The peo- 
 ple's sufferings are chiefly caused by lack of food, 
 fuel and clothing. This is not the fault of the 
 Government. The Soviet system does not do it to 
 spite them, or because it enjoys their discomfiture. 
 Only Peace with the world can ameliorate their 
 sufferings, and Russia is not at war with the world, 
 the world is at war with Russia. Why am I happy 
 here shut off from all I belong to? What is there 
 about this country that has always made every one 
 fall under its spell? I have been wondering. My 
 mind conjures up English life and English con- 
 ditions, and makes comparisons. Why are these 
 people who hav-e less education so much more 
 cultured than we are? The galleries of London 
 are empty. In the British Museum one meets an 
 occasional German student. Here the galleries 
 and museums are full of working people. London 
 provides revues and plays of humiliating medioc- 
 rity, which the educated classes enjoy and ap- 
 plaud. Here the masses crowd to see Shake- 
 speare. At Covent Garden it is the gallery that
 
 CLARE SHERIDAN'S DIARY 187 
 
 cares for music, and the boxes are full of weary 
 fashion, who arrive late and talk all the time. 
 Here the houses are overcrowded with workers, 
 and peasants who listen to the most classical 
 operas. Have they only gone as some one might 
 with a new sense of possession to inspect a 
 property they have suddenly inherited? Or have 
 they a true love of the beautiful, and a real power 
 of discrimination? These are the questions I ask 
 myself. Civilization has put on so many garments 
 that one has trouble In getting down to reality. 
 One needs to throw off civilization and begin anew, 
 and begin better, and all it needs is just courage. 
 What Lenin thinks about nations applies to In- 
 dividuals. Before reconstruction can take place 
 there must be a Revolution to obliterate every- 
 thing in one that existed before. I am appalled by 
 the realization of my upbringing and futile view- 
 point instilled In me by an obsolete class tradition. 
 Time is the most valuable material in the world, 
 and there at least we all start equally, but I was 
 taught to scatter mine thoughtlessly, as though 
 it were infinite. Now for the first time I feel 
 morally and mentally free, and yet they say there 
 is no freedom here. If a paper pass or an identifi- 
 cation card hampers one's freedom, then it Is 
 true. There may be restrictions to the individual 
 — and if I were a Russian subject I might not be 
 allowed to leave the country, but I seem to have
 
 1 88 MAYFAIR TO MOSCOW 
 
 been obliged to leave England rather clandes- 
 tinely ! 1 
 
 Freedom is an illusion. There really is not any 
 in the world, only the freedom one creates intellec- 
 tually for one's self. 
 
 My work is ended, but I am loath to go. I 
 love this place. I love the people who pass by 
 me in the street. I love the atmosphere laden 
 with melancholy, with sacrifice, with tragedy. I 
 am inspired by this Nation purified by Fire. I ad- 
 mire the dignity of their suffering and the courage 
 of their belief. 
 
 I would like to live among them forever, or 
 else work for them outside ; work and fight for the 
 Peace that will heal their wounds. 
 
 November 5th, 1920. Moscow. 
 A message has arrived 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 Kamenev, 
 and had he given me the chance then there would 
 hav^e been plenty of time. Now everything is 
 settled for me to go to-morrow with Professor 
 Lomonosoff in his special train. I am very dis- 
 appointed. Kalinin has a head that interests me. 
 I have wanted to do a Russian peasant type, and
 
 CLARE SHERIDAN'S DIARY 189 
 
 he is one. But if I don't get away in Lomonosoff's 
 train I may delay a long time. England seems so 
 very far away, and the children think I have for- 
 gotten them. Perhaps if I could work without my 
 fingers getting frozen I would stop and do him, 
 and do LitvinofI too. But I have made a failure 
 of my soldier, and it is not encouraging. An ap- 
 pointment was made for me with Kalinin at i 
 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 search- 
 ing, and enquiry, 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. Finally he opened a door that 
 proved to be the private office. A short haired 
 girl secretary looked up and said Kalinin might 
 come in half an hour. So he might, but with an 
 experience of Russian official appointments, it
 
 I90 MAYFAIR TO MOSCOW 
 
 seemed likely that he might not appear for a 
 couple of hours. We left messages and retreated. 
 On our way out some one, rousing himself from 
 a corner, asked whether Kalinin was really in his 
 room or not. Perhaps they thought we were priv- 
 ileged people, while they were kept waiting. I 
 was rather glad that we could say he was not 
 there. I came away with a melancholy impres- 
 sion 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 Dostoyevski, 
 which is a beautiful bit of work in granite that 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 any- 
 thing better than the Dostoyevski. 
 
 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 
 deliverejd, owing, no doubt, to the combined efforts 
 of Kamenev, Litvinoff, Andreef and my kind 
 Comrad Ynachidse, from whom all blessings flow. 
 Moreover, the heads were packed, there was 
 nothing for me to do. I said good-by 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 woolen jersey,
 
 CLARE SHERIDAN'S DIARY 191 
 
 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 reechoed for the 
 last time. 
 
 Then I crossed the courtyard and went to lunch 
 at the Kremlin table d'hote. This table d'hote, 
 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 a 
 place. Lunarcharsky sat opposite me. He has 
 just returned to Moscow and I regret there was 
 no one present who could introduce us. 
 
 My neighbors 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 con- 
 versation at the long table was very animated and 
 must have been interesting. 
 
 The interest for me was in the faces of the men 
 themselves, who were of the most varied types 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 to- 
 gether In one common thought.
 
 192 MAYFAIR TO MOSCOW 
 
 After lunch Andreef 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 the 
 stage scenery in the Russian operas had heen 
 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 place. 
 
 The modern apartments in the new wing are 
 bad architecture and 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 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 Andreef, Litvl- 
 noff, and Kamenev, who came and sat In my room. 
 Kamenev brought me a sheepskin hat, such as I 
 had seen at the ZuckarefskI market, and wanted 
 so much. Also the £ioo I had entrusted to his 
 care when we started, which I have never had oc- 
 casion to spend. He then told me that my de- 
 parture is most ill-timed. To-morrow Is the eve 
 of the Anniversary of the Revolution. There arc
 
 CLARE SHERIDAN'S DIARY 193 
 
 going to be great celebrations. A big meeting will 
 be held at the opera house, at which Lenin ami 
 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 3 or 4 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'etat for the 7th and Litvinoff suggested that I 
 should wait and "see the show." But I know by 
 experience that I would only wait in vain. When 
 I was alone with Kamenev he said to me: "Well, 
 did I keep my promises?" I told him that every- 
 thing 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 enemy Englishwoman." He would not listen 
 to any words of appreciation. Ele smiled in his 
 genial kindly way: "of course we were glad to re- 
 ceive you, and to have you among us, une fern me 
 artiste — what did it matter to us, your national- 
 ity, 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 I'espion-
 
 194 MAYFAIR TO MOSCOW 
 
 age" 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 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 hand 
 bags, 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 you were serious when 
 you asked me!" And he said, "Neither did I be- 
 lieve 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 s'een. 
 
 November 6th, Saturday. 
 Off at last — what a hectic day. Litvinoff tele- 
 phoned to me in the morning from the Commissar- 
 iat to say that my big wooden cases (my coffins 
 I call them, they are the same shape) were going 
 to be conveyed from my studio to the station, and 
 that I need not concern myself about them. It 
 was not until midday that I learnt for certain that 
 Professor Lomonosofif was going to start to-night. 
 In Russia one makes no plans, things happen when
 
 CLARE SHERIDAN'S DIARY 195 
 
 they happen ! With a rashness that nearly proved 
 reckless, I distributed my few belongings among 
 my friends. To a lady doctor friend of Andreef 
 who had been nice to me, I left all my stockings, 
 a box of soap, a skirt, a jersey and my cloth over- 
 coat. To the maids in the house, my shoes and 
 goloshes, workbag, jersey, fur-lined dressing 
 jacket, pair of gloves, and hat. To Rothstein as 
 a parting gift, my hotwater bottle and medicine 
 case. I started on my journey with the clothes I 
 stood up in. The maids, to my intense embar- 
 rassment, kissed my hands and nearly wept. I 
 nearly kissed them in return. I started off with 
 Litvinoff, and Rothstein came to the front door 
 to see the last of me. He overwhelmed me with 
 compliments: "You have been a brick, you have 
 played up splendidly, you have never complain- 
 ed " I tried to explain that I hadn't played 
 
 up, and I hadn't been anything except very happy. 
 I might have added that living Communistically 
 had proved to me that one must either love or hate 
 the people one sees everyday for any length of 
 time. Hate may be tempered into dislike, and 
 Love may be more appropriately friendship or 
 affection, but it was certainly affection that I had 
 grown to feel for Rothstein. He seemed some- 
 how to belong to our environment, — we should 
 have missed him if he hadn't been there. Just 
 occasionally he said things about England that
 
 196 MAYFAIR TO MOSCOW 
 
 roused opposition in me. I feel about England 
 as most people do about their relations, that I may 
 abuse my own, but no one else may! I realized 
 when I got to know him better that his attitude 
 was not so much one of hostility to England, as 
 of intense pride in Russia, and so I forgave him! 
 During my first days in Moscow Rothstein un- 
 failingly cross-questioned me at supper, as to how 
 I had spent my day, where I had lunched, who I'd 
 seen, and what time I had come home. At last I 
 said to him: "Don't ask me, try and find out — " 
 and I chaffed him so that he had to give up ask- 
 ing. I never knew whether there was a motive in 
 his curiosity or not. At all events, he never was 
 anything but a kindly and helpful friend to me. I 
 drove away from No. 14 Sofiskaya Naberezhnaya 
 in an open car in the bright light of a full moon, 
 glittering stars and hard frost. Litvinoff, observ- 
 ing that I looked back at it rather sentimentally 
 said: "That is your Moscow home, the next time 
 you come you will bring your children," and I felt 
 that I did not look upon it for the last time. We 
 drove first to the Commissariat for Foreign Af- 
 fairs, as he had some packages of papers to pick 
 up there which he had taken away in the morning 
 to have sealed up for me. I waited outside in the 
 car for some time. When he rejoined me he was 
 agitated. My "coffins" he had just learnt were still 
 at the Kremlin. Organization had miscarried, it
 
 CLARE SHERIDAN'S DIARY 197 
 
 was "somebody's" fault. The lorry had waited 
 for them 3 hours, the sentry at the building had 
 refused to deliver up the cases. What could have 
 happened? Every one was at the big Opera 
 House meeting, so all telephoning efforts to get 
 hold of responsible help had been in vain. We had 
 three-quarters of an hour before the train was 
 due to start. I suggested driving to the Kremlin 
 to see what we could do. Happily I still had my 
 pass on me, so we got in, by the sentry. The 
 building, ev^er before so busy, was now utterly de- 
 serted and resonant. I unlocked the door of my 
 studio, — there were the two coffins lying packed 
 and sealed and unmoved. I lifted one end of one, 
 it was far beyond our combined strengths to carry, 
 and the motor could not ha\ c taken them. We 
 gave it up in despair. Down in the courtyard our 
 car refused to move, the chauffeur was tinkering 
 at it. It seemed to have a real congested chill. 
 Train time was drawing near. The station was 
 some way off. "Stay," said Litvinoff. I had vis- 
 ions of staying, perhaps indefinitely, having parted 
 with all except what I stood in. 
 
 I looked round at the beautiful Kremlin, to 
 which I had already said good-by, not expecting 
 to see it again. It seemed more beautiful than 
 ever, more still, more dignified, more impassive. 
 The clock in the old Spassky tower complainingly 
 chimed three times, it was a quarter to seven. At
 
 198 MAYFAIR TO MOSCOW 
 
 last the car breathed, pulsed, started, then 
 stopped. Then pulsed, grunted, and started again. 
 We were off, and as the road lay downhill, it 
 seemed possible the car, which was missing badly, 
 might get there! It seemed to be an evening of 
 mishaps, and I felt fated not to leave Moscow. 
 However, we reached the station at exactly seven 
 and I gathered up all I could in each hand, and 
 ran towards a crowd that stood by the only train 
 in the station. Litvinoff shouted to me, "You 
 needn't run." Indeed, I need not, the only train 
 in the station was not the train of Professor 
 Lomonosoff. His special came in at another plat- 
 form about half an hour later, and never went out 
 till after 9. Had we known, something could 
 have been done in the time to get the cases to the 
 train, also I could have gone to the meeting and 
 heard Lenin. No one was more frantic than 
 Lomonosoff himself, who prided himself on his 
 train being punctual. But it could not be helped, 
 the train had just returned from the Urals, and 
 was in a state of disorder! 
 
 Litvinoff, when he said good-by to me, promised 
 to send on my cases by courier to Reval in time to 
 catch the Stockholm boat. He then roused my 
 curiosity by telling me that he had been a better 
 friend to me than I should ever know. I begged 
 him to explain, but he said I must wait ten years 
 or so.
 
 CLARE SHERIDAN'S DIARY 199 
 
 November 7x11, 1920. In the train. 
 
 Professor Lomonosoff Is the Minister of Rail- 
 ways. We arc carrying six and a half million 
 pounds in gold, which he is taking to Germany to 
 buy locomotives with. We are accompanied by 
 an armed guard. 
 
 We were held up many hours last night because 
 there was an accident on the line and it took a 
 long time to clear. Periodically the axle of the 
 gold car breaks, or the oil-box takes fire, and we 
 stop perpetually: but wc are steadily nearing our 
 goal. It really does not matter how long we take 
 so long as we catch next Thursday's boat from 
 Reval. 
 
 Our party consists besides Lomonosoff's staff, 
 which he is taking with him to Germany, of Van- 
 derlip and Neuorteva, and a charming man called 
 Dargone, who is a railway expert. He was once 
 a very rich man and in the Tsar's entourage. He 
 seemed anxious to tell me as quickly as possible 
 that he was a Monarchist, as if to be mistaken 
 for a Bolshevik were more than he could bear. 
 He looked anasmic and well bred, with deep-set 
 sad eyes and a calm and resignation that were 
 almost tragic. 
 
 He differed bitterly and openly in his views 
 from Lomonosoff and said, "I am a Russian. I 
 am working for Russia, not for the Bolsheviks," 
 whom he called robbers! Professor Lomonosoff
 
 200 MAYFAIR TO MOSCOW 
 
 sat back in his chair and chuckled. He said : "You 
 call us robbers, but we called you robbers." It 
 was just a question of which robber came out top. 
 
 Afterwards when Lomonosoff left us, I begged 
 D not to indulge in any more political discus- 
 sions. "I shall be over the frontier in a few 
 hours, but you have to live here. Do take heed 
 for yourself." 
 
 He shrugged his shoulders. "One dies but 
 once," he said, laughing, and then explained: 
 "They know my views well; but I can do good 
 work for them, and they know I am not in touch 
 with counter-revolutionary movements, and that I 
 take no part in politics, so I am safe enough." 
 
 Lomonosoff, who had been a railway official in 
 Tsarist days, told us how he had accompanied the 
 Tsar's train to Tsarskoe-Selo. The Tsar, he said, 
 had even up to that moment not realized the mean- 
 ing of the Revolution. He probably thought he 
 was retiring to Siberia until the storm had blown 
 over. At the station, upon his arrival, his body- 
 guard had by courtesy been drawn to greet him. 
 The Tsar alighted from the train and went to in- 
 spect the guard with the usual greeting: "Good 
 health to you soldiers!" The answer is: "Good 
 health to your Imperial Majesty," but on this oc- 
 casion the soldiers answered almost in one voice. 
 "Good health to you, Colonel!" The Tsar 
 seemed to realize for the first time the real sit-
 
 CLARE SHERIDAN'S DIARY 201 
 
 uation. He became ashen white, turned the collar 
 of his overcoat up, and shrank away. 
 
 Lomonosoff also gave us a vivid and thrilling 
 account of the detailed organization, in which he 
 took part, with the purpose of wrecking the 
 Tsar's train while he was on his way to Siberia. 
 Two runaway engines were to be despatched, with 
 no one on board, to collide with the back of the 
 Tsar's train. These plans were only frustrated at 
 the last second by the news of the Tsar's abdica- 
 tion. 
 
 When he proceeded to tell us how the Tsar's 
 entourage deserted him as rats do a sinking ship, 
 it was evidently very painful to Dargone, who sat 
 grimly silent. I could not help feeling that they 
 a little bit enjoyed his discomfiture. 
 
 Later, when we were again alone together, he 
 said to me rather passionately, "It is not tnie that 
 every one deserted my Tsar, for my best friend 
 followed him to Siberia to share his death, and 
 there were devoted friends of the Tsaritza who 
 did the same." 
 
 We are now nearing the frontier. The little 
 country stations decorated for the 7th with red 
 bunting and pictures of Lenin will soon be passed. 
 Back we go to the old world of tips and restau- 
 rants, and civilization. 
 
 Good-by, wonder world, good-by — good-byl
 
 202 MAYFAIR TO MOSCOW 
 
 November i2th, 1920. 
 
 We arrived in Reval late on Tuesday night the 
 9th. I was handed a package containing my two 
 volumes of diary and all my Kodak films, which, 
 thanks to Litvinoff, had been sealed with Govern- 
 ment seals and confided to a courier who kept 
 them in his charge until we were over the frontier. 
 
 I have written my diary all these weeks as trust- 
 ingly as though I were in my own home, never 
 foreseeing any difficulties of departure. My trust 
 in Providence is always justified. 
 
 The next day I went to the British Consulate. 
 Mr. Leslie (no relation) made me extremely wel- 
 come. He said he had heard of me from H. G. 
 Wells, and that until then he had not known I 
 was in Russia. I had (reproachfully) not ad- 
 dressed myself to the Consulate on my in-going 
 journey. I found he had a Henry James cult, and 
 had read everything Henry James had written, in- 
 cluding the two volumes of letters. He gave me 
 his bath-room for an hour and a half, invited me 
 to luncheon and then arranged for me to stay the 
 remaining two days in Reval with a most hospit- 
 able English couple, Mr. and Mrs. Harwood, who 
 lived in a beautiful villa on the seashore. There 
 I was overwhelmed by kindness. 
 
 I also learned with some curiosity and interest 
 the politics of Esthonia, the half Bolshevist con- 
 dition of things, and the history of the Baltic
 
 CLARE SHERIDAN'S DIARY 203 
 
 Germans, their settlement in Reval and their 
 forced departure. It is an amusing and compli- 
 cated little side-show. 
 
 During my stay in Reval I had to go several 
 times to the Soviet headquarters at the Hotel 
 Petersbourg. It amuses me to recall my bewil- 
 dered impression of last September. This time 
 when I went I felt thoroughly at home ! Not only 
 did Comrad Gai take a great deal of trouble for 
 me, but Gukofski received me as a friend. 
 
 On Thursday morning the coffins arrived from 
 Moscow, by courier, as promised by Litvinoff, and 
 I had a fine game of dodge. Gai sent them on a 
 lorry to me at the British Consulate, just when 
 I had left, and they returned to the Hotel 
 Petersbourg while I was chasing after them to the 
 British Consulate. Finally I got them down to 
 the quay but they were not allowed on board be- 
 cause there was not the required official paper 
 from Moscow. Had the ship left as she was sup- 
 posed to leave, at midday, they certainly would 
 not have been on board, but there was a storm 
 brewing so the ship delayed sailing a day. When 
 Gai had finally sent me the necessary paper, I 
 sought out the Captain and begged him to have 
 my cases put somewhere especially safe. "They 
 contain the heads of Lenin and Trotsky," I ex- 
 plained. The Captain looked awfully impressed
 
 204 MAYFAIR TO MOSCOW 
 
 and pleased, so pleased that I added, "Plaster 
 heads — and breakable." 
 
 "A plaster head of Trotsky — and breakable — ? 
 Come on! Let's break Trotsky's head!" and he 
 made towards it threateningly, much to the amuse- 
 ment of the onlookers. 
 
 My departure from Reval was superintended 
 by my late Bolshevist hosts, whose representatives 
 in Reval, and also Professor Lomonosoff and his 
 staff, did everything in their power to be kind and 
 attentive. 
 
 We are on our way now to Stockholm. ... I 
 find the same Swedish banker, Mr. Aschberg, on 
 board who went across with us in September. He 
 is in charge of a cabin full of gold. He takes good 
 care of me and I am glad to find a friend. I am 
 told the food on board is very bad, but I think it 
 is marvelous. 
 
 November i6th, 1920. 
 
 Have lost all track of time. Storms forced 
 our little boat to anchor under the shelter of an 
 Oland isle for two days and a night. 
 
 On our arrival late at night at Stockholm we 
 were met by Professor Lomonosoff's representa- 
 tive with a car, and after we had all been submit- 
 ted to a search, not for arms, but for insects, and 
 declared fit to step on to Swedish soil, I was 
 whirled off to the Hotel Anglais.
 
 CLARE SHERIDAN'S DIARY 205 
 
 I was fully expected to be lost and forgotten on 
 leaving Moscow, but here I am being taken care 
 of in the third country away. If the Stockholm 
 experiences foreshadow my coming reception in 
 England, it promises to be hectic. I am not al- 
 lowed breathing space, nor eating time. 
 
 Reporters besiege me. They even walk up to 
 my room without being announced. I am so 
 ignorant of the papers they represent that I say 
 all the wrong things. One paper, a Conservative 
 one, says that I declared Trotsky to be a perfect 
 gentleman. This, if it gets back to Moscow, is 
 most embarrassing. Never in my wildest moments 
 would I use so mediocre a description to apply to 
 Trotsky. I might say he was a genius, a super- 
 man, or a devil. Anyway, in Russia we talk of 
 men and women and not of ladies and gentlemen. 
 I dare say the editor meant well, and things get 
 distorted in translation. 
 
 The experience of returning through Stockholm 
 is rather unique. Because we have both come out 
 of Russia together, Mr. Vanderlip and I have 
 been entertained at the same parties, but for me 
 Frederick Strom and the Russian Bolshevists are 
 invited, and for Vanderlip the leading Swedish 
 bankers. It is a queer amalgamation, but it 
 works well. 
 
 The first evening I talked to Socialist Strom and 
 a Conservative banker for an hour and a half in
 
 2o6 MAYFAIR TO MOSCOW 
 
 flowing but execrable German. They did not laugh 
 at my grammar, and they listened and spurred me 
 on with questions. The German of my childhood 
 slightly practiced in Moscow has returned to me 
 with a rush. 
 
 I have been invited to do a monument for a 
 public square in Stockholm representing peace 
 uniting the workers of the Right and Left Wing. 
 The money has been subscribed in kroner by the 
 workpeople. It is an international thing, and they 
 would be pleased if I would do it. It is a sub- 
 ject which rather lends itself to allegorical treat- 
 ment and appeals to the imagination. 
 
 I am now in the night train for Goteborg. Be- 
 fore I left I went to tea with the children at the 
 Palace. The Crown Prince unfortunately was in 
 Rome. The children seemed lonely, but well. 
 Princess Ingrid looked sad, big-eyed, and rather 
 pale. The baby, Johnny, is adorable. He is a 
 thing so sweet to woman, so much to be appre- 
 ciated. One feels the maternal spirit-arms round 
 him. 
 
 I also went to see the Controller of the Queen's 
 household (an artist and an old friend of many 
 years). Here the impression I received of preju- 
 dice against my Russian friends was overwhelm- 
 ing, but I suppose in Court circles this is to be ex- 
 pected.
 
 CLARE SHERIDAN'S DIARY 207 
 
 November i8th, 1920. 
 Goteborg to Newcastle. 
 More delays, owing to storms. Always there 
 are delays on this journey. Do what one will it is 
 impossible to hurry. In pre-war days it took two 
 days to come from Russia. Now it takes two 
 weeks. 
 
 November 23RD, 1920. London. 
 
 We arrived at Newcastle at midnight on the 
 19th. Steaming up the Tyne at night is wonder- 
 ful, all the arcllghts throwing into relief great 
 machinery and construction. The activity and 
 work looked colossal. As soon as we had glided 
 alongside the quay, and I had touched English 
 soil once more, I was not left in doubt one moment 
 as to the truth of Kamenev's premonitions. 
 
 While the coffins were being opened with chisel 
 and hammer at the Custom House, reporters, who 
 declared they had come from London and had 
 been waiting two days, clamored for information. 
 The head official of the Customs was very abrupt 
 in his manner and subjected all my luggage to a 
 most ruthless search. I did not declare the 
 identity of my heads, but from the unpleasant offi- 
 cial attitude I guessed they were already known. 
 One official began examining a large album of 
 photographs. I said to him, "That isn't contra- 
 band, It's photographs of my work. Yes, that one
 
 2o8 MAYFAIR TO MOSCOW 
 
 is Mr. Churchill, — if it interests you, you may 
 look at it — " He nearly flung it down. "I've no 
 scent and no tobacco, one doesn't get those things 
 in Russia — " I said. Unfortunately at that 
 minute he came upon a packet of Soviet cigarettes, 
 my last ration that I had carefully kept and 
 brought back to England. But he said, "That's 
 not what we are looking for — " Whatever he 
 was looking for he didn't find. 
 
 He then poked his arm up to the elbow in the 
 straw and shavings that wrapped up Dsirjinsky, 
 until satisfied that it was not a Xmas bran-pie. 
 I then got it nailed down again, and accepted the 
 newspaper reporters' invitation to drive with them 
 from the quay to the station. There another man 
 met me armed with a kodak and a flashlight. I 
 sympathize with professional keenness but I will 
 not be butchered to make a Roman holiday. The 
 moment seemed inappropriate. There were in- 
 ebriate young fellows shouting, singing, and fall- 
 ing about the station to such an extent that the 
 policeman, who had vainly tried to look the other 
 way, had finally to take notice, but he had to 
 knock one of them down before he could arrest 
 him. It was a revolting sight and I was glad to 
 get into my sleeper and shut out the sight and 
 sound of Newcastle at midnight. 
 
 Since then my soul, my life, my time, has been 
 no longer my own. I have been pursued, besieged,
 
 CLARE SHERIDAN'S DIARY 209 
 
 harassed, feasted, attacked, and praised in 
 turn. . . . 
 
 I have seen prejudice and hate and bitterness. 
 Russia, to-day, is a new phenomenon, but the op- 
 position is merely history repeating itself. We 
 read of the same condition of mind in England 
 after the Napoleonic wars; the same fear of 
 French Revolutionary ideas, the same actions and 
 reactions. 
 
 Yet, if people would only realize it. Revolutions 
 are not caused by propaganda, nor by plots. In 
 Russia the Revolution failed every time it was or- 
 ganized. It was brought about, by cause and ef- 
 fect, at the very moment the present leaders were 
 in exile, in the four corners of the globe. 
 
 Alexinsky says in his "Modern Russia," "Seek 
 for the cause of Revolution neither in the ardent 
 propaganda of the Revolutionists, nor in the bad 
 qualities of monarchs and their advisers, but in 
 the deep and silent operation of certain forces, 
 which lead new social classes upon the stage of 
 History." It is futile to waste hate upon these 
 forces, or to call them Lenin and Trotsky, when 
 really it is the law of evolution and change that 
 is demonstrating in certain parts of the Earth. 
 
 Jan., 1 92 1. 
 
 Since my return from Moscow on November 
 20th, 1920, I have hardly*had a breathing space —
 
 210 MAYFAIR TO MOSCOW 
 
 first there were the "Times" publication of my 
 Diary and all it involved, then the writing of my 
 book, which is only just finished. 
 
 When I started off to Moscow without a word 
 to any one, I could not surmise what would be the 
 outcome of it, nor what the attitude of my family 
 and friends would be. I have returned to find 
 a revelation of surprises. It is a bitter world, — 
 the world to which I once belonged, — and they do 
 me the compliment of taking me a good deal more 
 seriously than I have ever taken myself. In fact 
 very seriously. 
 
 But my adventure has shaken off a good 
 many of those worthless friends with which one 
 gets unavoidably lumbered up as the years go 
 on and one's tastes and ideas evolve. But I have 
 made more new friends than the old ones lost. 
 And I like my new friends. I talk heart to heart 
 and soul to soul with them. At last, and for the 
 first time, almost, in my life I am among people 
 with whom I talk the same language. 
 
 Nearly two months have flashed by, full of in- 
 cident and interest — impossible to record. 
 
 Strange people call on me and ask for me on 
 the telephone — strange only insomuch as they are 
 unknown to me, but not strange for long. . , . 
 One day Massingham asked me to lunch with him 
 and I went not knowing him. My friend 
 Capt. Grenfell was of the party. I loved Massing-
 
 CLARE SHERIDAN'S DIARY 211 
 
 ham and to this day I think I hav^e enjoyed my 
 talk with him more than any other. Bernard 
 Shaw too I met at dinner at Sidney Cooke's, but 
 Shaw with all his wit and genius has not the fierce 
 flame that is characteristic of the Russian spirit. 
 Massingham has a bitter sense of humor, and one 
 feels in him the fight of the worker, whereas in 
 Shaw one recognizes the rather "lazy" man, who 
 sees what is wrong, but without its arousing more 
 than a jest and a sardonic hit of the pen at his 
 adversary. Shaw is a man of letters, first and 
 foremost. Massingham is concerned with better- 
 ing the world. I believe he will fight his hardest, 
 — he would go under fighting. He is unbreak- 
 able, he has the passion that the Russians have. 
 He asked me to write something for the "Nation" 
 and I tried, but it is not easy to write an article, 
 whereas it is very easy to write a Diary. An 
 article at once is pretentious and one has to know 
 one's subject in all its aspects. I do not want to 
 tempt Providence by doing something amateur- 
 ish. My writing is like my modeling — I can do 
 something quick from life, that has the impression 
 and the freshness of perception — to toil at a solid 
 piece of work I am incapable and would fail. 
 
 I have been asked by Coates, the Secretary of 
 the "Hands Off Russia Committee," to address 
 big meetings at Liverpool, Bradford, Manchester, 
 etc., but I refused as, however non-political I
 
 212 MAYFAIR TO MOSCOW 
 
 might be, I would unavoidably be branded by a 
 political platform. He asked me to meet Robert 
 Williams and Malone. Williams is a serious, in- 
 tent and deep thinking man. Malone is young 
 and new to the game and not big minded enough. 
 But he has the spirit of sacrifice. 
 
 Jan. 14, 1921. 
 I lunched with Kitty Somerset * and found the 
 Bernard Shaws there. Kitty is splendid. Shaw 
 was very entertaining. We had discussions on 
 education, children, religion and so on. We all 
 agreed on the misery of childhood. Shaw says 
 that children have the right to get up and walk 
 away if their teachers bore them! I asked him 
 whether I ought to persist in making my children 
 say prayers every night, when it means no more 
 to them than the bread and milk which accompa- 
 nies the pre-bed time moment. Ought one not to 
 get away from shams and stick to realities? The 
 table was divided in opinion about this, and Shaw 
 told us that when he was a child he used to im- 
 provise his own prayers, and end up with the 
 Lord's Prayer, until suddenly one day out in the 
 sun, he realized that he did not believe in it, and 
 that it was all unnecessary nonsense, and resolved 
 to give it up. The first night, he said, he went 
 to sleep with a feeling of omission and consequent 
 
 * Daughter of the late Duke of St. Albans.
 
 CLARE SHERIDAN'S DIARY 213 
 
 discomfort. After that It was all forgotten. He 
 then proceeded to tell us that all the Jonah and 
 the Whale and such-like tales have the effect of 
 ruining the Christian faith and muddling children's 
 heads — Atheists wipe out everything and conse- 
 quently start on a clean sheet and end in believing 
 something worth while. 
 
 Jan. 15. 
 
 Had my passport photos done and Mr. Coates 
 lunched with me. He read me a letter from Roth- 
 stein from Moscow, in which Rothstein, who is 
 obviously homesick, nevertheless describes the im- 
 provement in the conditions of everything, par- 
 ticularly of food. In fact it made such good read- 
 ing that I felt my sympathy for my friends in 
 Moscow was no longer required. 
 
 After lunch Dick arrived from Honseley and 
 brought me the last news of my beloved Teeta, 
 who is evidently getting on very well. 
 
 Jan. 16. 
 Fitzie* gave Dick and me lunch at Caunto's — 
 we were late, and Fitzie was walking up and down 
 outside quite cheerfully without any coat or hat 
 on. After lunch we went to the Zoo. I like Fitz's 
 unconventionality and "jr w'rn fuliisti'" air. He 
 gave me dinner and came back to the studio after- 
 wards to talk peacefully. We talked about the 
 
 • General P. Fitzgerald.
 
 214 MAYFAIR TO MOSCOW 
 
 United States. He returned not very long ago. 
 He says that one has a wonderful time but that 
 it costs a million a minute to live — and that is 
 the very devil of it for English people. He says 
 I ought not to start off into the unknown with the 
 burden of Dick and that while I am on tour, lec- 
 turing, I should not have the fun of seeing him 
 and all the anxiety of wondering how he was 
 getting on. 
 
 Of course Fitzie was talking sense. I had sur- 
 mised all that to myself long ago, but firmly re- 
 pressed it. However, the result of our evening 
 was that Fitzie took the tickets away in his pocket 
 to take them to the Cunard office to cancel the 
 two extra ones. I went to bed a very sad woman. 
 America is only contemplatable with Dick, and if 
 I have to go without him it will be a wretched 
 business. 
 
 Jan. 17. Monday. 
 
 I sent my passport papers all filled up and 
 signed to Sidney, to the Reform Club, and he is 
 going to deal with the matter for me. There 
 seem to be delays that one suspects of being de- 
 liberate — I feel none too easy just yet about that 
 passport. 
 
 At quarter to one I arrived at the "Daily Her- 
 ald'' office as directed by Mr. Ewer and met Lans- 
 bury, who took us, with three others, to lunch
 
 CLARE SHERIDAN'S DIARY 215 
 
 somewhere nearby. Ewer then approached me on 
 the subject of doing a head of Lansbury — there is 
 terribly little time, but I said I thought I could do 
 it if Lansbury would sit every day for an hour. 
 Ev^en that only gives me four days. Lansbury de- 
 murred and was shy and had to be talked to 
 severely. Finally he consented. He's got a good 
 head, a very characteristic one, which should not 
 be difficult. I find him easy to talk to, and he 
 seems to love (as I do) to talk over Moscow. 
 
 Jan. 18. Tuesday. 
 
 Lansbury sat at 10:30. Lunched with Dennis 
 Trefusis at the Cafe Royal — while we were lunch- 
 ing Sidney brought me my passport. 
 
 After lunch Dennis came with me to the Ameri- 
 can Consulate, but it was useless as I hadn't the 
 lawyer's letter vouching for my respectability! 
 What red tape — time is getting short ! 
 
 At 5 I had tea with the Forbes Robertsons. I 
 am to take care of "Blossom" who is crossing on 
 the Aqiiitan'ia. I stupidly thought of her as I had 
 known her years ago, a lovely child, and I told 
 her mother on the telephone that I would be de- 
 lighted to take care of her, and that I'd wash 
 her and dress her! Blossom, however, turns out 
 to be grown up 1 
 
 I have changed my mind about not taking Dick 
 and Louise with me and I rang up Fitzie, who
 
 2i6 MAYFAIR TO MOSCOW 
 
 marvelously was not bad tempered at being asked 
 to get the ticket back from Cooks'. He just 
 laughed, and did as I asked him, and cancelled 
 the cancellations. I don't know why I've changed 
 my mind. I just have a blind instinct that I must 
 have Dick on the other side of the ocean. I will 
 trust to luck that he will be taken care of, and 
 Providence never lets me down. 
 
 Jan. 19. Wednesday. 
 Lansbury came punctually at 10:30. He stayed 
 till 12:15, and talked the whole time. I think he 
 likes me and does not find it tedious to "sit" as 
 he expected. Mr. Ewer did not come which 
 shows that he did not mind facing the hours alone 
 with me. We talked a good deal about Moscow, 
 and about Lenin, and we both agreed about Lenin 
 being curiously obstinate in his own views. For 
 instance, nothing that one can tell him about the 
 position in England avails in any way. He per- 
 sists in his misinformation. Lansbury assured 
 Lenin there was no Revolutionary movement in 
 England that was of any account — but this he 
 simply would not believe. At midday Lansbury 
 rushed away, late for his meeting! A few 
 minutes later Mr. Cousins, the President of the 
 Phrenological Society, arrived and I spent an ab- 
 sorbingly interesting hour with him. He 
 measured the Russian heads as far as it was possi-
 
 CLARE SHERIDAN'S DIARY 217 
 
 ble, but unfortunately the measurements that con- 
 cern me are not the measurements that concern 
 him. His interest centers in the back of the head 
 and cranium, — mine of course is with the features 
 and outline of the face. He was, however, able 
 to deduce a good deal, and while he was measur- 
 ing and observing I took down hasty notes of what 
 he dictated. His summing up of each man was so 
 accurate, — at least it coincided so extraordinarily 
 with the judgment I had formed of them myself, 
 that I accused him of knowing something about 
 them individually. But he assured me he knew 
 nothing whatever beyond the average prejudices 
 shared by the general public. 
 
 I confess that I had viewed with some anxiety 
 the report he might make. For instance suppose 
 he had declared sweepingly that they all were 
 criminal lunatics! I should have been terribly dis- 
 appointed. I felt like some one who goes to a 
 fortune teller, impelled by curiosity, but terri- 
 fied of what he might hear. It turned out so 
 much better than I expected that I warned Mr. 
 Cousins his report, if made public, would savor 
 of Bolshevik propaganda, and would recoil (I can 
 now speak feelingly!) on his own head! One 
 thing which had been mystifying me was the fact 
 that three out of the four men I did in Moscow 
 had sloping backs to their heads. The one who 
 apparently had nvl was Trotsky, but then his hair
 
 21 8 MAYFAIR TO MOSCOW 
 
 is so thick that it was difficult to tell whether he 
 also had this characteristic or not. Mr. Cousins 
 explained to me that it meant their powers of con- 
 centration and administration outbalanced and 
 counter-balanced their amativ^eness. 
 
 In a letter, Mr. E. W. Cousins, President of 
 the British Phrenological Society, Incorporated, 
 generalizes the characteristics of the leaders from 
 the scientific standpoint. He says: "Education 
 and environment are very important factors af- 
 fecting the expression of mentality. The present 
 leaders of the Bolsheviks have without exception 
 been in prison or suffered severe punishment on 
 account of their opinions. This treatment must 
 be considered in judging their character. It must 
 affect their mental outlook. 
 
 "Considering the exhausted and bleeding condi- 
 tion of the country when they assumed power they 
 were compelled to act swiftly and drastically. 
 The problems they had to face were tremendous. 
 
 "The leaders of the present government are all 
 firm, determined, energetic, hard workers and 
 hard fighters. The softer elements in their nature 
 are kept in the background by the force of cir- 
 cumstances. They are all idealists and their con- 
 scientiousness will tend in the direction of their 
 ideals. Any judgment of their character must 
 take these factors into consideration. They have 
 so much business and so little time that they have
 
 CLARE SHERIDAN'S DIARY 219 
 
 no room for a patient policy, and obstacles to 
 their schemes have to be swept aside. In this 
 sense they may be cruel and harsh but it is not cor- 
 rect to say that they are cruel and bloodthirsty 
 from a liking or disposition to be such. They 
 can be guilty of severity when in their opinion the 
 conditions demand it, but these men prefer other 
 methods." 
 
 Before proceeding with each in detail he 
 summed them up as follows: 
 
 Lenin: the statesman. 
 
 Trotsky: the military leader. 
 
 Zinoviev: the practical administrator. 
 
 Dsirjinsky: the aesthete and the philosopher. 
 
 Krassin: the business head. 
 
 Unfortunately Kamenev's bust had not re- 
 turned from the foundry, so there was no pro- 
 nouncement on him at all. 
 
 LENIN: His perceptive ability is excellent. 
 He is able to judge the qualities of things, and his 
 sense of order is good. His reflective power is 
 also large. He is a thinker. Has good planning 
 ability and is systematic. He has great ideals 
 and wishes to do things on a large scale, is benevo- 
 lent and firm, with great determination. 
 
 The religious* powers are considerable; their 
 expression will be in the direction prompted by 
 his education and environment. Spirituality ap- 
 
 • Religious in this sense means ideals or beliefs.
 
 220 MAYFAIR TO MOSCOW 
 
 pears to be large. He is not particularly anxious 
 to please, but will be more gracious to women 
 than men, unless the men are very closely as- 
 sociated with his ideals and purposes, and pull in 
 the same direction as himself. His intuition does 
 not appear to be relatively strong, and he may 
 sometimes fail properly to appreciate and under- 
 stand the position of other men. He has con- 
 siderable driving power and energy. He is secre- 
 tive, careful and combative. He has a strong 
 sense of his own weight and power and desires 
 everything to contribute to his own purposes and 
 ideals. I can imagine him wishing to sweep away 
 every obstacle that may hinder the progress of his 
 schemes, but he has no pleasure or delight in the 
 means which appear under the present conditions 
 to be essential and right. In other words, his 
 sense of right operates in a direction which he 
 considers to be right. 
 
 He is ambitious to achieve. He acquires, not 
 to amass wealth so much as mental gifts and 
 power. He will not easily be moved from his 
 course. His social instincts are good but well 
 under the control of his intellect. He appreciates 
 friends and children and the opposite sex. This 
 latter power controlled by his benevolence, rever- 
 ence and conscientiousness will cause him to be 
 gracious to women and considerate for their in- 
 terests.
 
 CLARE SHERIDAN'S DIARY 221 
 
 TROTSKY : His intellect controls his social 
 feelings. Considerable temporal lobe means 
 strong self-preserving instinct. He is cautious, 
 diplomatic and energetic. His whole heart goes 
 into the scheme in hand. He has great perceptive 
 powers and has particular ability to focus and in- 
 dividualize and estimate sizes and weights. A 
 keen sense of place helps him in his military move- 
 ments. He is critical, original, constructive and 
 analytical. Has excellent planning powers, is 
 very intuitive in practical affairs, will sense as well 
 as plan things. Can be agreeable but is brusque 
 because he is busy. He is firm, determined, ideal- 
 istic and has large self-esteem. He is right from 
 his own point of view. He wants to do things on 
 a big scale. Has courage and fighting spirit so 
 strong that it swamps his amativeness. 
 
 ZINOFIEF: A democratic autocrat, not ac- 
 tuated by his self-esteem, but driven by his ideals. 
 Has good planning and organizing ability. He is 
 critical, but his fault-finding is toned by human 
 sympathy. A sensualist but controlled. Artistic, 
 courageous, determined, and with a broad outlook 
 and a wide vision. Energetic and ambitious and 
 a fighter. Has less religious feeling than the 
 others. Would have excelled as a musician if he 
 had had time. Has only a fair desire to be agree- 
 able. Intuitive, aggressive and obstinate.
 
 222 MAYFAIR TO MOSCOW 
 
 DSIRJINSKY: More theoretical than execu- 
 tive. Moral region less pronounced than in the 
 other men. Efficiency is his great characteristic. 
 He is exacting, critical, often irritable and suffers 
 from liver. 
 
 Great powers of expression; active and ener- 
 getic mentally and physically, but especially men- 
 tally. This man supplies what the others have 
 not; excellent reflective powers. Ascetic, ideal- 
 istic, philosophical, theoretical, analytical and con- 
 structive in the mental line. Great literary pow- 
 ers. Exacting on every one but more exacting on 
 himself. Has benevolence and veneration. Dom- 
 inated by the intellectual. Enthusiastic, appre- 
 ciates the beautiful, the grand, the sublime. 
 
 KRASSIN : Fine perceptive power. Keen 
 sense of qualities of things and details. Has good 
 reflective powers, has practical common sense, a 
 keen sense of values, is diplomatic, and has prac- 
 tical intuition. Good powers of expression and 
 knows what he wants, and is determined to 
 achieve his ends. Is considerably endowed with 
 social instincts, has a good consciousness of his 
 own ability and has ambition. He is friendly and 
 appreciates children. 
 
 ALL are idealistic, determined and courageous 
 and forceful. They are all rather disgruntled 
 men, who have suffered imprisonment, which has
 
 CLARE SHERIDAN'S DIARY 223 
 
 poisoned their outlook. They are dissatisfied with 
 the present state of things and determined to 
 force their ideals on others. 
 
 In the afternoon I went with Sidney to the U. S. 
 Consulate, armed w'ith the necessary letter. A 
 good looking gray-haired young man looked at me 
 critically and invited me to "leave" my passport 
 and call for it on Saturday morning. I explained 
 my ship sailed on Saturday ! He promised to have 
 it especially seen to immediately — that is "as soon 
 as possible" — evidently there was a hitch. There 
 seemed little enough time for hitches. Later in 
 the day, he telephoned and made an appointment 
 for me to see the consul himself, Mr. Skinner, at 
 10 A. M. 
 
 J.\N. 20. Thursday. 
 
 Papa met me at the Consulate. Mr. Skinner 
 was extremely polite and showed a desire to help, 
 but was very non-committal as to his own powers, 
 or any one else's. After a lot of talk and ques- 
 tioning, I said to him: 
 
 "It seems to me more difficult to get into the 
 States than into Russia — " He smiled grimly 
 and said: "Yes, it's hard to get into the Kingdom 
 of Heaven." I went away with no hope, and no 
 despair. He had promised nothing and counseled 
 nothing. I expected a telephone call all day but 
 none came.
 
 224 MAYFAIR TO MOSCOW 
 
 Jan. 21. Friday. 
 The early morning post brought me a letter 
 from the Consul, advising me to cancel my berths 
 on the Aquitania as he did not expect to be able 
 to do anything in time for me to get off Saturday. 
 Accordingly I rang up Papa and he offered to go 
 immediately to the Cunard Company and see what 
 he could do. I telegraphed to Willie Wavertree 
 at Horseley so that he should not bring Margaret* 
 and Rosemary to the ship to see me off. Then I 
 reflected on the situation sadly but philosophically. 
 Everything that happens to me, that is not of my 
 own planning, always turns out for the best. I 
 have never believed that I am the arbiter of my 
 own fate, — so I accepted the position and not 
 without curiosity and interest prepared to await 
 developments. The only evils that I could see 
 were, ist, the possibility that I might have to for- 
 feit the journey money (no joke) and 2nd, that 
 if the U. S. definitely refused me a vise, I might 
 find an equal diflEculty if I tried France or Italy, 
 as all these governments copy one another. The 
 prospect of being marooned in England, with the 
 odd possibility of being perhaps allowed to enter 
 Russia, was rather deplorable and I wrote, in the 
 heat of the moment, a rather disconnected letter 
 to Mrs. Litvinoff, in which I deplored Bolshevism 
 
 * Rosemary Hall Walker, daughter of Lord Wavertree and 
 Margaret Sheridan.
 
 CLARE SHERIDAN'S DIARY 225 
 
 and all it inv'olved, and said something about not 
 having received one single letter from Moscow 
 since my departure. 
 
 At 10:30 Lansbury came to sit, soon followed 
 by Ewer. I was in the act of explaining to them 
 that everything had been cancelled when the tele- 
 phone rang and Mr. Skinner, the Consul, informed 
 me that all was clear, and if I would come down 
 with my passports immediately he would put them 
 right for me. It was a dramatic moment. Lans- 
 bury got down from the model stand and said 
 to me, "go at once" and assured me I could not 
 work in such circumstances — he was very kind 
 and considerate, and I let him go with regret. I 
 have made quite a good start with him. How- 
 ever, then came another telephone, — it was Peter. 
 He offered to go immediately to the Cunard Com- 
 pany and see if he could stop the transfer of my 
 ticket. (The Cunard Company must think me 
 mad.) Willie had to be re-telegraphed to — the 
 Consulate had to be reached immediately. While 
 the passport was being viseed, a consular offi- 
 cial observed: "What is against you, Mrs. 
 Sheridan, is that you were not put in prison when 
 you were in Moscow." So that is the trouble! 
 
 Loulou Harcourt came to lunch and after 
 lunch my friends turned up en masse — Aunt 
 Leonie Leslie first, with Mary Crawsbray and 
 Priscilla Annesley and Freddy Dufferin — to be sue-
 
 226 MAYFAIR TO MOSCOW 
 
 ceeded by Madame Krassin, Bob Williams, Ewer, 
 Francis Meynell, Coates and Mrs. Coates, Cap- 
 tain Grenfell, and into it came hurtling Oswald 
 Birley and Hazel Lavery with a young man who 
 had just returned from Hungary and was interest- 
 ing. What an afternoon ! And then, having not 
 yet packed a mortal thing, I went and dined at 
 Aunt Jennie's, a family farewell party. It was 
 late when I got back to the studio and later still 
 when I turned in. Three hours sleep I had be- 
 fore I caught my train. 
 
 Jan. 22, 1921. 
 
 At 8 A. M. I found an unexpectedly large pro- 
 portion of my family at the station. It was very 
 creditable ! 
 
 Aunt Jennie and Porch, Aunt Leonie and Papa, 
 all turned up in plenty of time and looking nearly 
 cheerful. Oswald Birley also came, and just as 
 the train was about to start he found a friend of 
 his, MacDermot, whom he quickly introduced. 
 Blossom Forbes Robertson was handed over to 
 my care by her father. Mamma said good-by as 
 she always says *'goodnight" as if I really was 
 going to America I Peter came along with us to 
 Liverpool. I was terribly sleepy, having only 
 slept three hours, and whenever my eyes closed 
 Dick sat on me or fell on me, or threw something 
 at me, or laughed or cried or romped with Peter.
 
 CLARE SHERIDAN'S DIARY 227 
 
 When we arrived at a view of the ship and 
 Dick saw the four orange funnels, he shouted and 
 clapped his hands and stroked my face and said: 
 "Thank you, Mema, for taking me with you! 
 Oh, thank you I" On board we found Margaret 
 waiting for me in my cabin, and we joined Willie 
 and Rosemary who were lunching in the saloon. 
 Margaret looked lovely but pale and big eyed. 
 It was a joy to see her up and dancing and run- 
 ning once more, instead of the little serious weak 
 girl I left in bed after appendicitis. She starts for 
 Cannes to join Sophie* on the 19th which will be 
 Heaven for her, but she hated not coming with 
 us and how I hated leaving her. When the gongs 
 sounded for the visitors to go ashore, we seemed 
 to renew those painful school-day partings, but 
 I think this time she was the one who did not cry. 
 
 Jan. 28. Saturday. On the eve of arrival. 
 
 In 1 9 10 I went for the first and only time to 
 America, and I remember, then, as now, I was 
 perhaps the only soul on board who regretted 
 the journey's end. When on the final morning, 
 New York, like a great imaginary dream city, 
 arose towers high from out of the sea, every one 
 got excited and restless, and conjectured how soon 
 they would be able to leave the ship. I alone 
 
 •Lady Wavertrcc, sister of late Wilfred Sheridan.
 
 228 MAYFAIR TO MOSCOW 
 
 looked on calmly and wonderingly and with the 
 curious sensation that to leave the ship would be 
 a sort of uprooting. This time exactly the same 
 process is evolving within me. I always take root 
 anywhere in a week (unless the place is unusually 
 uncongenial). I love the sea, and the sound of 
 the sea, and the big ship has become like a little 
 world. One has sifted out the congenial spirits, 
 and the rest don't count except just as population. 
 It is a motley crowd. There are besides the Brit- 
 ish and the American, French, Russian, Spanish, 
 Italian, Japanese and Chinese. There is an inter- 
 national spirit among" us. Only the British and 
 Americans seem to dovetail. The French keep 
 exclusively to themselves, so do the Spaniards. 
 As for the Japanese, they speak to none, and no 
 one speaks to them. 
 
 Lopokova is on board, the wonderful little 
 Russian dancer, who ruined the Russian ballet in 
 London when she ran away and was lost. She 
 was a delight in the "Bontique Fantasque," and 
 quite irreplaceable. She has the sad wistful Rus- 
 sian face, that has become familiar to me. I see 
 her standing sometimes a frail little figure and all 
 alone, looking over the ship's side, and I wonder 
 what she is thinking of so distantly. 
 
 One of the Orientals dared to ask if he might 
 speak to her. She looked at him with that im- 
 passive Russian dignity and shook her head.
 
 CLARE SHERIDAN'S DIARY 229 
 
 "You arc Japanese" — but he corrected her, — he 
 was Chinese. Her manner changed at once : "Ah, 
 that is delightful," and they talked together for 
 some time. Commander Koehler introduced us. 
 He is an American naval officer, attached to the 
 State Department, who has spent the last year 
 in Russia, of course on the Wrangel side. 
 Through him I also met Petchkoff, the adopted 
 son of Gorky, who is also on his way to lecture 
 in America upon "the world as he sees it." If 
 there are any Russians or any one in any way 
 connected with Russia anywhere near, I always 
 meet them. And I am happy to talk about Rus- 
 sia, and to talk to Russians. The more different 
 their political opinions, the better. 
 
 Sir Philip Gibbs is of our company. He is 
 going to lecture on "The Condition of Europe" 
 — Poor America ! She's going to get it from 
 every point of view. I wonder what conclusions 
 will result in their minds! Sir Ernest Shackleton, 
 who contemplates another and third Polar expe- 
 dition, gave us a very good lecture one evening. 
 It seems as though the Polar earth were his whole 
 life and being. As if there was nothing else for 
 him. It is an obsession. Before I knew he was 
 intent on a third expedition, I remarked on his 
 broad back as he paced the deck. "That Is the 
 back of a man who is determined to get there," 
 I said, and perhaps he will, next time. From him
 
 230 MAYFAIR TO MOSCOW 
 
 and from Philip Gibbs and Petchkoff, all of whom 
 have lectured before, I get a lot of Information, 
 some of which daunts me. Gibbs says one must 
 have great courage. But Petchkoff says there is 
 no such thing as courage in the world. There is 
 cowardice, but courage is really superfluous energy 
 which is generated by any one of intelligence and 
 good health! 
 
 Mr. Marsh, the American who rents Warwick 
 Castle, had letters from Papa and from FItzie, 
 asking him to seek me out and take special care 
 of me. But Commander Kochler and Frank Mac- 
 Dermot are the two who have taken upon them- 
 selves this burden. Commander Koehler, so far as 
 I am concerned, is an experienced and invaluable 
 adviser. With his help I may steer clear of pitfalls 
 and the inevitable snags of the unwary ignorant! 
 Whenever I am in greatest need of a friend, some 
 one falls metaphorically from the skies. It hap- 
 pened in Moscow, it is happening again. Provi- 
 dence seems to send me care-takers. Koehler is- 
 of White Russia, but he is one of those rare peo- 
 ple who has a wide horizon and some understand- 
 ing, whereas Mr. Marsh was instinctively hostile 
 and prejudiced (in spite of Fitz's letter !!) . Koeh- 
 ler placed me at once, he did not attack, he ques- 
 tioned and then assisted. I gave him the MSS. of 
 my book to read, and he generously admitted that 
 it could not be demanded of me that I should tell
 
 F 
 
 I M M 
 
 Left tr, Right — Mr. McDerniott; Major Petclikuli, son ol Maxim G<)rk\ ; Dick 
 Sheridan; Commander Hugo Koehler, U. S. Navy; Sir Philip Gibbs; Miss 
 Forbes-Robertson, daughter of Sir Johnston Forbes-Robertson, the actor; 
 Mme. Lopokova, the Russian Premiere Uanseuse ; Clare Sheridan; Rear 
 Admiral Huse, U. S. Navy (Commander U. S. European Squadron).
 
 CLARE SHERIDAN'S DIARY 231 
 
 other than the truth. — This I have done in my 
 Diary — day by day — as things happened, and 
 not colored by after reflections and opinions. He 
 even says that it would be a pity if I risked blur- 
 ring my impressions of the men I went to portray 
 by discussions of people of opposite views, of 
 whom I saw much less. 
 
 Meanwhile there are conflicting views on board. 
 Some say I will not be allowed to lecture (no one 
 has tried to find out what I mean to say!), yet 
 others that I will not be allowed to land. All of 
 which leaves me amused but quite unmoved. I 
 know, of course, that this is all absurd, — possibly 
 some sort of a practical joke. — So I answer in 
 kind : 
 
 "If I may not lecture it may even come as a 
 great relief. If I may not land, how interesting 
 I shall see Ellis Island, — as a compensation for 
 missing the inside of a Bolshevik prison. But if 
 I do lecture I mean to say what I please. I am 
 the freest woman in the world and of no party. 
 And the only value of life is in liberty." 
 
 We have had a last evening dinner, MacDer- 
 mot and I arranged it together. The party con- 
 sisted of Admiral Huse, Commander Koehler, 
 Philip Gibbs and Petchkoff, Blossom, Miss Whytc 
 and Lopokova, The Admiral, who has come into 
 our party at this last, so very late, moment is a 
 charming man. I am lost in admiration of his
 
 232 MAYFATR TO MOSCOW 
 
 tact and diplomacy. I hav-e observed on several 
 occasions that he has said the right thing to the 
 right person. For instance he introduced himself 
 to Petchkoff and alluded to his tweed suit as the 
 most distinguished uniform, because of its empty 
 sleeve. 
 
 At dinner, the headwaiter, a man who looked 
 like Admiral Beatty, and had a breastful of dec- 
 orations, asked the Admiral what liqueur he 
 would like. The Admiral looked at him and 
 then at his row of ribbons. One was France 
 191 5 — one was Salisbury Plain 19 14 — the first 
 was South Africa. 
 
 "This is rather an anti-climax," the Admiral 
 said. "You and I are about equal on that (point- 
 ing to the decorations) and then you ask me what 
 liqueurs Fll have!" It showed so much heat and 
 such fine feeling and gave such pleasure — I do 
 admire people who can do those things well. 
 
 Jan. 30. Sunday. New York. 
 
 At 6 A. M. we were waked by bugles so there 
 was not a chance of remaining in one's bed sleep- 
 ing! At 7:30 we had to pass the doctor, then 
 Admiral Huse and Commander Koehler joined 
 our table for breakfast. 
 
 A horrible morning, raining and cold, one might 
 have been landing in England. 
 
 Little Lopokova and I stood hand iii hand in
 
 CLARE SHERIDAN'S DIARY 233 
 
 the queue which had to pass the passport official. 
 It took time. So many silly people on board had 
 predicted that I should have difficulties that Koeh- 
 ler promised to be at my side in case of need. 
 He was amazingly kind and put up with infinite 
 boredom and endless waiting on our accounts. I 
 got clear immediately without the faintest hitch, — 
 the rest of the day was spent among pressmen, 
 and at one moment on the upper deck I was made 
 to face a steady row of some dozen kodaks and 
 movie machines. I made Dick come with me, but 
 I felt terribly ridiculous when Koehler's face ap- 
 peared in the companionway. I felt like sinking 
 through the floor, but he just laughed and under- 
 stood and was helpful. 
 
 During lunch Mr. Lee Keedick appeared and 
 introduced himself. I was most agreeably sur- 
 prised. I had feared some one rather pushing 
 and unreasonable, but he was extremely nice, hu- 
 man and sympathetic! At his instigation I spent 
 a long time over coffee, giving an interview to the 
 New York "Times" representative. The New 
 York "Times" is a sort of god parent to me, as it 
 published a part of my Diary, but the representa- 
 tive seemed to me an utterly cold human machine. 
 It was like talking to some soulless thing; one got 
 no response. He never smiled and looked dis- 
 satisfied all the way through. I worked very hard
 
 234 MAYFAIR TO MOSCOW 
 
 It seemed to me, — and I thought with no re- 
 sponse.* 
 
 On shore, at last. Towards 3 130 It was pande- 
 monium, but I got through the customs with the 
 least possible trouble, owing to three or four gal- 
 lant men, one of the Cunard Line, who took me 
 In charge. It was a moment when I needed help. 
 And I certainly found It. Koehler was heaven- 
 sent. He just took charge of Dick, took him back 
 to the ship to be out of the hurly-burly, and Dick, 
 who has developed the mad passion of a small 
 man child for a large mature man, went off with 
 him in delight. Again, it Is Impossible to describe 
 what I feel of gratitude for the patience and kind- 
 ness of my friends. 
 
 Finally a large party of us drove off to the Bilt- 
 more hotel and Koehler took Dick off my hands 
 until evening, while I with wooly and weary mind 
 talked as amiably and as intelligently as the oc- 
 casion permitted, to four men at tea time! Mr. 
 Keedick had a secretary waiting for me and she 
 seems splendid and capable. She is to go on tour 
 with me. It Is a great help. At 8 I got clear 
 and Koehler took me to dine at the Ritz and then 
 we were able to talk peacefully for the first time 
 In the long eventful day. He was delighted with 
 Dick who seems to have made intelligent remarks 
 about New York which amused him. One of his 
 
 * Editor's note. See page 236.
 
 CLARE SHERIDAN'S DIARY 235 
 
 questions was, why were there no chimney pots 
 
 on top of the skyscrapers. Why indeed ? 
 
 now I come to think of it! He loved the lighted- 
 up advertisements and said they help to light the 
 streets! 
 
 He brought me home after 11 p. M. The sen- 
 tinel chaperones who are seated behind desks that 
 are like machine guns placed in commanding po- 
 sitions at the end of each corridor gave one a 
 wicked feeling of guilt. One has the impression 
 that these severe ladies with their ledgers, who 
 observe one's every going in and coming out, are 
 recording opposite to the number of the room, 
 who went in, at what time, and the length of stay. 
 Koehler left to catch a midnight train for Wash- 
 ington, — how wicked, how adventurous, how dev- 
 ilish one feels with the consciousness of the watch- 
 ers outside the door! Trotsky's sentinel with 
 fixed bayonet was nothing in comparison — besides, 
 he did not rouse the same curious contrary and 
 self-conscious feelings in me. A sentinel woman 
 is a terrible thing, and a ledger is a worse weapon 
 than a bayonet. 
 
 Jan. 31, Monday. Biltmore Hotel. 
 
 I feel as if I had been here weeks! Although 
 
 I have not left my room so many people have 
 
 passed through it. I have been photographed 
 
 and given interviews all day. The weariness is
 
 236 MAYFATR TO MOSCOW 
 
 in trying not to be indiscreet. It will become sec- 
 ond nature to me soon to be cautious I How 
 unlike me. 
 
 As for Russia, I am weary of saying what T 
 think about it! But I feel encouraged. My 
 patience and my civility is not in vain. The New 
 York "Times" representative whom I thought so 
 cold and unresponsive has written a most charm- 
 ing account of his interview with me. It is ac- 
 curate, in good taste and absolutely in the right 
 spirit. But I am no longer free in body and soul. 
 I have to do what I am told by Mr. Lee Keedick. 
 It is very odd. I am so surprised at myself, that 
 I feel as if I were outside and looking on at myself 
 with dispassion and amusement. How long will 
 this curious situation last and what will it lead to 
 in the end ? 
 
 I am to make my first lecture next Friday here 
 in New York. Mon Dieu! Mon Dieu! What 
 a funny thing for me to be going to do. 
 
 At six this evening John Spargo came to see 
 me. This was informal. I really did not know 
 much about him, but I ought to. He is, or was, 
 the leading Socialist here. He is an Englishman. 
 He knows the Bolshevik leaders and gave me a 
 copy of his book called "The Greatest Failure in 
 all History." It would be interesting to get the 
 Moscow view of him ! How they must hate him. 
 Dick insisted we should accompany him down to
 
 CLARE SHERIDAN'S DIARY 237 
 
 the "playroom" which is the room full of toys, 
 a sort of Heaven-Nursery provided by the hotel. 
 They both slid down the sliding plank! John 
 Spargo was intensely interesting in his analysis of 
 Lenin and Trotsky. He is rather disillusioning 
 about Lenin. In his estimation Lenin is not even 
 a thinker. He says that Lenin is merely a primi- 
 tive mind. He said that Tolstoi was the same. 
 It was an illusion to think of him as a thinker. 
 It was "complex Europe trying to understand the 
 primitive mind," he said. Trotsky he referred to 
 as "a whirlwind among dry leaves." He thought 
 that any one with fire and force like Trotsky could 
 create an army and enthuse the Slav dull minds! 
 Here where there is education, energy and com- 
 mon sense thought, Trotsky "cut no ice." He 
 agreed, however, with my assertion that Trotsky 
 has developed and evolved with his position since 
 he went away from here. 
 
 I wasn't in the least influenced by what John 
 Spargo said, but I was deeply interested in the 
 way he said it. His remarks are crisp and illus- 
 trative. 
 
 Later. 
 I have not yet got my bearings nor do I under- 
 stand the psychology of New York. I am worn 
 out going from place to place that I am asked to, 
 and my odd spare moments are spent in writing
 
 238 MAYFAIR TO MOSCOW 
 
 little social notes of thanks or refusal. The tele- 
 phone never stops. America is known world- 
 wide for its hospitality and its genius for enter- 
 taining. Nevertheless, I feel rather lonely in a 
 big busy prosperous world. I go to parties where 
 there are so many people that I come away as I 
 arrived, a perfect stranger. Names mean nothing 
 to me, and it is impossible to remember so many 
 faces. 
 
 America offers one so much food, but will it 
 offer one work? I have never been so unproduc- 
 tively busy. Sometimes I forget that I have not 
 come to America for a spree. In time I shall 
 settle down and sift out my friends. Until then 
 I drift along ignorantly. It is bewildering but 
 interesting. On account of my family, I am in 
 touch with the social side of New York. Through 
 my profession I belong to the artists. On account 
 of my Russian adventure, I am beset by every 
 kind of political current. I feel as if I were in a 
 rudderless boat, wind tossed, at the mercy of tide 
 and storm. Had I a friend, knowledgable, and 
 farseeing, who cared enough, I could be steered 
 carefully. As things are, I must be my own 
 "look-out." But difficulties add to the zest of 
 Life. Endeavoring to overcome difficulties is like 
 battling up hill against the wind on an autumn 
 day. One comes out of it with a sense of health 
 and glow.
 
 CLARE SHERIDAN'S DIARY 239 
 
 "For I know that good is coming to me, that 
 good is always coming — " is the quotation I 
 chalked up on the black wall of my studio years 
 ago. And it has proved true. The words are 
 indelible in my mind and in my heart. But there 
 are moments when I feel as I did in Moscow, that 
 however kind people are, one really stands quite 
 alone. 
 
 THE END
 
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