While I was looking round, Kameneff turned up; he told me to make a list of my requirements, and 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 almost values them. He told me I was to go to a meeting at the theatre in the evening, and promised that 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 theatre 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 Persians. No one attempted to offer me a place. Mr. Vanderlip and I stood for some time, while 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 realised that for the time being, at all events, I could not regard the Turks and Persians and Chinese as my brothers. After awhile 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, and one got a better view. Clara Zetkin, the German Socialist, was speaking, spitting forth venom, as it sounded. The German language is not beautiful, 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 look 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, everyone was attentive and concentrated. 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 theatre at the moment when a great many repetitions of Churchill’s and Lloyd George’s names were rocking the house with laughter. SEPTEMBER 25TH. I feel very discouraged. Everyone I meet asks me what I have come to Moscow for. They assure me that there is no chance of modelling Lenin, and still less of doing Dzhirjinsky, who is a [Illustration: ROTHSTEIN, SHOWING THE KREMLIN IN THE BACKGROUND. _p. 71._]