It is acutely cold, and the river is completely frozen over. Children skate and toboggan everywhere. The side walks 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 skates on to any kind of footgear, 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 everyone seems to have put his burden on to a little wooden sledge, and grown-up people look like big children pulling toys on the ends of strings. I have borrowed clothes and Jaegers from my friends. One’s nostrils freeze and the breath crystallises on one’s fur collar. The town with its white pall is indescribably beautiful. At dusk the sky is darkened by a flight of grey-backed crows. They settle on the bare tree branches with the effect of great black leaves silhoueted against a coloured evening sky. At 8.30 this evening, Kameneff unexpectedly walked into my room. It is nearly three weeks since he went to the front. I had almost forgotten about him. He was in tremendous spirits, much thinner, quite unshaved, and with his hair long. He was interesting about the spirit of the Red Army. He says they are wonderfully enthusiastic, 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 having gone with Trotsky. They met at Kharkof, and I could have come back with Kameneff. OCTOBER 31ST. 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 cannot do anything. I built up such a big fire in the stove to keep myself warm, that the unfortunate soldier in the overcoat got 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 discouraging. Andrev fetched me at 12.30, and we went to the house of Shucken, who was a cotton-king, and who had the biggest collection of modern French pictures in existence. It is now taken over by the Government, and open on several days a week to the public. Madame Shucken 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 wanting to see. The first room was full of Claude Monet, and there were three little Whistlers in the doorway leading to a room full of Dégas, Renoir, and Cézanne.