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Organizational Communication
Second Edition
Dennis:

To the memory of Grace Mortimer Mumby 1925–2018

A long life well lived

Tim:

To Sophia Hinojosa

Mi bonita . . . te amo siempre

Organizational Communication

A Critical Introduction

Second Edition

Dennis K. Mumby
University of North Carolina at
Chapel Hill
Timothy R. Kuhn
University of Colorado Boulder
FOR INFORMATION:

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Brief Contents
1. Preface
2. Acknowledgments
3. PART I. STUDYING ORGANIZATIONS CRITICALLY
1. 1. What Is Organizational Communication?
2. 2. Developing a Critical Approach to Organizational
Communication
4. PART II. STUDYING ORGANIZATIONAL
COMMUNICATION HISTORICALLY
1. 3. Fordism and Organizational Communication
2. 4. Organizations as Communication Systems
3. 5. Communication, Culture, and Organizing
5. PART III. CRITICAL PERSPECTIVES ON
ORGANIZATIONAL COMMUNICATION AND THE NEW
WORKPLACE
1. 6. Post-Fordism and Organizational Communication
2. 7. Power and Resistance at Work
3. 8. Communicating Gender at Work
4. 9. Communicating Difference at Work
5. 10. Branding, Work, and Consumption
6. 11. Leadership Communication in the New Workplace
7. 12. Information and Communication Technologies in/at Work
8. 13. Organizational Communication, Globalization, and
Corporate Social Responsibility
9. 14. Communication, Meaningful Work, and Personal Identity
6. Glossary
7. References
8. Index
9. About the Authors
Detailed Contents
Preface
Acknowledgments
PART I. STUDYING ORGANIZATIONS CRITICALLY
1. What Is Organizational Communication?
Time, Space, and the Emergence of the Modern
Organization
Organizations as Communicative Structures of Power
Defining Organizational Communication
The Communication–Organization Relationship
Communication in Organizations
Organizations as Communication
Interdependence
Differentiation of Tasks and Functions
Goal Orientation
Control Processes
Direct Control
Technological Control
Bureaucratic Control
Ideological Control
Biocratic Control
Summarizing the Five Forms of Control
Communication, Organizations, and Work
Critical Research 1.1: Lucas, “The Working Class
Promise”
Critical Case Study 1.1: A Conduit Model of Education
Conclusion
Critical Applications
Key Terms
Student Study Site
2. Developing a Critical Approach to Organizational
Communication
Understanding Theory in the Critical Analysis of
Organizational Communication
Unpacking the Critical Approach
Karl Marx
 Marx’s Key Issues
Critiquing Marx
The Institute for Social Research (the Frankfurt
School)
Critical Theory and the Critique of Capitalism
Critical Theory and the Critique of
Enlightenment Thought
Critiquing the Frankfurt School
Cultural Studies
Critical Research 2.1: Collinson, “Engineering Humor”
Critiquing Cultural Studies
Critical Case Study 2.1: Making Sense of Traffic Lights
Understanding Organizational Communication From a
Critical Perspective
Organizations Are Socially Constructed Through
Communication Processes
Organizations Are Political Sites of Power
Organizations Are Key Sites of Human Identity
Formation in Modern Society
Organizations Are Important Sites of Collective
Decision Making and Democracy
Conclusion
Critical Applications
Key Terms
Student Study Site
PART II. STUDYING ORGANIZATIONAL
COMMUNICATION HISTORICALLY
3. Fordism and Organizational Communication
The Fordist Organization
Fordism as a Technical-Rational System
A Divided, Deskilled Labor Process
Direct, Technological, and Bureaucratic Forms
of Control
Production-Oriented, With Large Economies of
Scale
Fordism as a Sociopolitical System
Stable, Lifetime Employment
Internal Labor Market
Clear Work-Life Separation
The Emergence of a Consumer Society
 Fordism and Scientific Management
Frederick Taylor’s Principles of Scientific
Management
A Critical Assessment of Scientific Management
Fordism and Bureaucracy
Weber’s Types of Authority
Charismatic Authority
Traditional Authority
Rational–Legal Authority
A Critical Assessment of Bureaucracy
Critical Case Study 3.1: Rationalizing Emotions
Fordism and the Human Relations School
Elton Mayo and the Hawthorne Studies
The Hawthorne Studies
The Illumination Studies (1924–1927)
The Relay Assembly Test Room (RATR)
Studies (April 1927–February 1933)
The Interview Program (September 1928–
January 1931)
The Bank Wiring Observation Room Study
(November 1931–May 1932)
Critical Research 3.1: Hassard, “Rethinking the
Hawthorne Studies”
Implications of the Hawthorne Studies
A Critical Assessment of the Human Relations
School
Fordism and Human Resources Management
Douglas McGregor’s Theory X and Theory Y
Rensis Likert’s Four Systems Approach
Critically Assessing Human Resource Management
Conclusion
Critical Applications
Key Terms
Student Study Site
4. Organizations as Communication Systems
Situating the Systems Perspective
The Principles of the Systems Perspective
Interdependence
Holism
 Input, Transformation (Throughput), and Output of
Energy
Negative Entropy
Equilibrium, Homeostasis, and Feedback
Hierarchy
Goals
Equifinality
The “New Science” of Systems Theory: Complexity and
Chaos
Complexity
Chaos
Self-Organizing Systems
Critical Research 4.1: Orlikowski, “Improving
Organizational Transformation Over Time”
Karl Weick: Organizing and Communicating
Weick’s Model of Organizing: Enactment, Selection,
and Retention
A Critical Perspective on Weick
Critical Case Study 4.1: Airlines and Equivocality
Conclusion
Critical Applications
Key Terms
Student Study Site
5. Communication, Culture, and Organizing
The Emergence of the Cultural Approach
Two Perspectives on Organizational Culture
The Pragmatist Approach: Organizational Culture as
a Variable
The Purist Approach: Organizational Culture as a
Root Metaphor
Critical Research 5.1: Riad, “The power of
“organizational culture” as a discursive formation in
merger integration”
A Broader Conception of “Organization”
The Use of Interpretive, Ethnographic Methods
The Study of Organizational Symbols, Talk, and
Artifacts
Critical Case Study 5.1: Organizational Culture and
Metaphors
Organizational Stories and Power
 Summarizing the Two Perspectives
Conclusion
Critical Applications
Key Terms
Student Study Site
PART III. CRITICAL PERSPECTIVES ON
ORGANIZATIONAL COMMUNICATION AND THE NEW
WORKPLACE
6. Post-Fordism and Organizational Communication
The Fall of Fordism and the Rise of Post-Fordism
Neoliberalism as an Economic System
Neoliberalism as a Hegemonic Discourse
The Enterprise Self
Critical Research 6.1: Sullivan & Delaney, “A Femininity
that ‘Giveth and Taketh Away’”
Work Insecurity
Identity Insecurity
Critical Case Study 6.1: Is Oprah a Neoliberal?
The Post-Fordist Workplace: A New Organizational
Model
The “Fissured” Workplace
A Flexible Organizational Structure
A High Trust, “Dedifferentiated” Labor Process
Communication, the “Social Factory,” and
Immaterial Labor
Conclusion
Critical Applications
Key Terms
Student Study Site
7. Power and Resistance at Work
The Community Power Debate
The One-Dimensional Model of Power
The Two-Dimensional Model of Power
The Three-Dimensional Model of Power
Power, Ideology, and Organizational Communication
Critical Research 7.1: Michel, “Transcending
Socialization”
Resisting Workplace Control
The Hidden Resistance of Flight Attendants
Critical Case Study 7.1: Steven Slater, Folk Hero?
 Biopower and Organizational Communication
Conclusion
Critical Applications
Key Terms
Student Study Site
8. Communicating Gender at Work
Feminist Perspectives on Organizational Communication
Liberal Feminism: Creating a Level Playing Field
Radical Feminism: Constructing Alternative
Organizational Forms
Critical Feminism: Viewing Organizations as
Gendered
Masculinity and Organizational Communication
Critical Research 8.1: Barber, “The Well-Coiffed Man”
Critical Case Study 8.1: Performing Working-Class
Masculinity
Sexual Harassment in the Workplace
Conclusion
Critical Applications
Key Terms
Student Study Site
9. Communicating Difference at Work
Defining Difference at Work
Race and Organizational Communication
Putting Race and Organization in Historical Context
Race and the Contemporary Workplace
Interrogating Whiteness and Organizational
Communication
Critical Research 9.1: Trethewey, “Reproducing and
Resisting the Master Narrative of Decline”
Sexuality and Organizational Communication
Gay Workers and Heteronormativity
Instrumental Uses of the Body and Sexuality
Critical Case Study 9.1: Sexualizing and Racializing the
Retail Experience
Conclusion
Critical Applications
Key Terms
Student Study Site
10. Branding, Work, and Consumption
 Branding and Capitalism in the 20th Century
Critical Case Study 10.1: Diamonds Are Forever?
The Evolution of Branding: Three Models
Fordism and Mass Marketing (Approx. 1945–1980)
Niche Marketing and Authenticity (1980s–Late
1990s)
The Brand as Institution (Late 1990s–Present)
Critical Case Study 10.2: Alex From Target
Work, Branding, and the Entrepreneurial Self
Critical Research 10.1: Cova, Pace & Skålén, “Marketing
With Working Consumers”
The Ethics of Branding
Conclusion
Critical Applications
Key Terms
Student Study Site
11. Leadership Communication in the New Workplace
Traditional Perspectives on Leadership
The Trait Approach
The Style Approach
The Situational Approach
Summary
New Approaches to Leadership
Leadership as Symbolic Action
Transformational Leadership
Followership
Critical Case Study 11.1: Leadership Lessons from
“Dancing Guy”
A Critical Communication Perspective on Leadership
Leadership and Disciplinary Power
Resistance Leadership
Narrative Leadership
Critical Research 11.1: Holm & Fairhurst, “Configuring
Shared and Hierarchical Leadership Through Authoring”
Critical Case Study 11.2: Re-Imagining Leadership:
Diversity Training at Starbucks
Conclusion
Critical Applications
Key Terms
Student Study Site
12. Information and Communication Technologies in/at Work
Understanding Technology
New Technologies, New Challenges
Platform Capitalism
Algorithmic Management
Critical Research 12.1: Barbour, Treem, & Kolar,
“Analytics and Expert Collaboration”
Mobile Communication and the Extension of the
Workplace
Managing Knowledge and Monitoring Workers
Storing Knowledge: KM Repositories
Distributed Knowledge Creation: Crowdsourcing
Transparency and Surveillance
Critical Case Study 12.1: Working at Amazon
Conclusion
Critical Applications
Key Terms
Student Study Site
13. Organizational Communication, Globalization, and
Corporate Social Responsibility
Defining Globalization
Spheres of Globalization
Globalization and Economics
Gender, Work, and Globalization
Critical Case Study 13.1: Work, Technology, and
Globalization in the Call Center
Globalization and Politics
Organizing Against Globalization
Globalization and Corporate Social Responsibility
Forms of CSR
Critical Research 13.1: Haack, Schoeneborn & Wickert,
“Talking the Talk, Moral Entrapment, Creeping
Commitment?”
CSR as Communication
Conclusion
Critical Applications
Key Terms
Student Study Site
14. Communication, Meaningful Work, and Personal Identity
Meaningful Work
 Enables a Sense of Agency
Enhances Belonging or Relationships
Creates Opportunities for Influence
Permits Use and Development of Talents
Offers a Sense of Contribution to a Greater Good
Critical Research 14.1: Dempsey & Sanders, “Meaningful
Work?”
Provides Income Adequate for a Decent Living
Managing Work Identity: Some Historical Context
Creating and Managing Work Identities
Identity, Identification, and Disidentification
Conformist Selves
Dramaturgical Selves
Resistant Selves
No Collar, No Life
Critical Case Study 14.1: The Politics of Personal
Branding
Conclusion
Critical Applications
Key Terms
Student Study Site
Glossary
References
Index
About the Authors
Preface

It’s been quite a while (decades, in fact) since we were students, taking
the sort of course you’re in now. And though our memories of those days
may be a little fuzzy, we recall never really liking the textbooks we were
assigned. They were dry and uninteresting attempts to capture large
bodies of theory and research, which reduced the complex scholarly
literature into lists that we had to regurgitate on exams. As professors,
those frustrations grew only stronger. Although there are several terrific
organizational communication textbooks (a few of them written by
scholars we deeply respect), finding a textbook that fits with the way we
approach this course proved challenging. Specifically, the typical
textbook is written as if from nowhere. It’s hard to tell from reading the
book if the author has a particular perspective or set of assumptions that
he or she brings to the study of the topic. In other words, most textbooks
read as though they’re offering an objective, authoritative account of a
particular body of knowledge; the author’s voice almost never appears.
But the truth is that every theory and every program of research you’ve
ever read about in your college career operates according to a set of
principles—a perspective, if you like—that shapes the very nature of the
knowledge claims made by that research.

Now this does not mean that all research is biased in the sense of simply
being the expression of a researcher’s opinions and prejudices; all good
research is rigorous and systematic in its exploration of the world around
us. Rather, all researchers are trained according to the principles and
assumptions of a particular academic community (of which there are
many), and academic communities differ in their beliefs about what
makes good research. That’s why there are debates in all fields of
research. Sometimes those debates are over facts (this or that is or isn’t
true), but more often those debates are really about what assumptions
and theoretical perspectives provide the most useful and insightful way
to study a particular phenomenon.

Certainly, the field of organizational communication is no different. In

the 1980s, our field went through paradigm debates in which a lot of
time was spent arguing over the “best” perspective from which to study
organizations—a debate in which Dennis was a key participant (Corman
& Poole, 2000; Mumby, 1997, 2000). Fortunately, the result of these
debates was a richer and more interesting field of study; some disciplines
are not so lucky and end up divided into oppositional camps, sometimes
for many decades.

As you can probably see, we’re not going to try to overview, in objective
fashion, the many perspectives and stances characterizing the
organizational communication field over its history. Our interpretation of
the literature, as well as our selection of which literature to include, is
shaped by our shared critical orientation. We describe what that means in
Chapter 2, but here we should position ourselves: We should address
what brought us to this field and how our experiences shape the critical
stance from which this book is written. How we got here matters.

For the past 30 years or so Dennis has been writing about organizations
from what can broadly be described as a critical perspective. But he
didn’t start out as an organizational communication scholar. In the late
1970s as an undergraduate at Sheffield Hallam University, Dennis
pursued a BA in communication studies—the first such degree of its kind
in the United Kingdom. There, exposed to the cultural studies
perspective that we’ll discuss in Chapter 2, Dennis developed a strong
interest in how communication and power work in the context of
everyday life. How does communication shape people’s realities, and
how do some people or groups have more influence over the shaping of
reality than others? As an undergraduate, Dennis had never heard of
organizational communication, but when he moved to the United States
to pursue a PhD, he discovered that some scholars were beginning to
think about how we could study organizations as important sites of
power and control that shape societal meanings and human identities in
significant ways. Thus, he realized that he could apply his broad-based
interest in communication and power to an important social context—the
organization. Over 35 years later, he still finds organizations endlessly
fascinating as communication contexts for examining how people’s
social realities of identities are shaped. Thus, Dennis is less interested in
things such as how efficient organizations are (a perspective that some
researchers would take) and more interested in how they function as
communication phenomena that have a profound—sometimes good,
sometimes bad—impact on who we are as people. We spend almost all
our time in organizations of one kind or another, and certainly our entire
work lives are spent as members of organizations, so it’s extremely
important to understand the implications of our organizational society of
various kinds for who we are as people.

For Tim, the path was a little different. He traces his early interest in
organizational communication to conversations around his family’s
dinner table, when his father would regale the family with stories of the
workplace that day. As a mid-level manager in charge of juice production
for a well-known health products company, he regularly complained
about the managers above him, who were inevitably shortsighted and
petty. During Tim’s senior year of high school, his father was fired from
that job, and the conversations around the dinner table made it clear that
Dad’s strong distrust of (and lack of respect for) authority was at the root
of his firing. When the same thing happened at two similar positions
over the next few years, questions of power and identity in the workplace
became fascinating. Around the same time that his father lost his job, his
mother resumed her career as a kindergarten teacher (until then, Tim’s
mother was a homemaker—an occupation that, sadly, rarely registers as
“work”). The amount of effort she devoted to her classroom was
astounding. She worked late into the evening, almost every evening,
commenting on students’ work, creating lesson plans, and producing
materials for the classroom. She earned a fraction of the salary Tim’s
father did for work that seemed even more important and didn’t seem to
deal with the same shortsighted managers as her husband did, and her
passion extended the workday well past when he had finished. A
different set of questions about power, identity, and the workplace
entered Tim’s mind. He didn’t know it then, but the seeds were planted
for understanding organizations, and organizing processes, as shot
through with power; he also started wondering about how workers’ (i.e.,
his parents’) identities were constructed so differently and how those
identities produced rather different outcomes. He eventually came
around to seeing communication processes as key to establishing (and
displaying and modifying) identities, coordinating with others,
negotiating authority, and enacting resistance—and his research has
revolved around how communication constitutes the very organizations
in which those processes are accomplished.
Overview of the Book
But what does this have to do with writing a textbook? We believe that a
textbook should not only adequately reflect the breadth of different
perspectives in a field, but it should also adopt its own perspective from
which a field is studied. It makes no sense that an author should have to
check his or her theoretical perspective at the door when he or she
becomes a textbook author—the pretense of neutrality and objectivity we
mentioned above. In fact, from a student perspective, reading a textbook
that’s explicit about its theoretical orientation makes for a much richer
educational experience. It’s hard to engage in an argument with someone
when that person refuses to state his or her position; when you know
where someone is coming from, you are better able to engage with his or
her reasoning, as well as articulate your own perspective. Dialogue is
possible!

So it’s important to us that you know up front who you’re dealing with
here.

Furthermore, the way we’ve structured this textbook does not mean that
it is only about the critical perspective. In some ways it is a “traditional”
textbook in its coverage of the major research traditions that have
developed in the field over the past 100 years. The difference from other
textbooks lies in our use of the critical perspective as the lens through
which we examine these traditions. Thus, the critical perspective gives us
a particular—and powerful—way of understanding both organizational
life and the theories and research programs that have been developed to
understand it. So as you are reading this book, keep reminding yourself
“These guys are working from the perspective of critical theory—how
does that shape the way they think about organizations? What
conclusions does it lead them to, and how might other assumptions lead
in different directions?” Also ask yourself “When do I agree with Dennis
and Tim, and when do I disagree with them? Why do I agree or disagree,
where did my own beliefs come from, and what does that tell me about
my own view of the world?”

In addition to the critical perspective we adopt in this book, we’re also

bringing a particular communication approach. Rather than thinking of
Exploring the Variety of Random
Documents with Different Content
The Project Gutenberg eBook of Russian Portraits
This ebook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States
and most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no
restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it
under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this
ebook or online at www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the
United States, you will have to check the laws of the country where
you are located before using this eBook.

Title: Russian Portraits

Author: Clare Sheridan

Release date: October 2, 2018 [eBook #58009]

Most recently updated: January 24, 2021

Language: English

Credits: Produced by Chuck Greif, ellinora and the Online Distributed

Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was
produced from images generously made available by The
Internet Archive/Canadian Libraries)

*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK RUSSIAN

PORTRAITS ***
 RUSSIAN PORTRAITS

Bertram Park.
CLARE SHERIDAN IN THE RUSSIAN SHEEPSKIN
HAT GIVEN TO HER BY KAMENEFF IN MOSCOW.
Frontispiece p. 184.
 R U S S IAN
PORTRAITS
By CLARE SHERIDAN

J O NAT HAN CAPE

11 GOWER STREET, LONDON, W.C.1
MCMXXI
 ILLUSTRATIONS
(In certain versions of this etext [in
certain browsers] clicking on the
image will bring up a larger
version.) (etext transcriber's note)

PAGE
Clare Sheridan Frontispiece
“Victory, 1918” 13
Krassin (bust) 21
Kameneff (bust) 24
Litvinoff and his son Misha at Kristiania 49
Bridge Blown up by Yudenitch 60
Gukovski, his Daughter, Kameneff and
Marinashky 63
Marinashky and the Ministerial Rolls-
Royce 65
The Kremlin, showing Entrance to the
Kameneffs’ Apartments 67
Big Bell, Kremlin 70
Colonnades of the Alexander Memorial 71
Serge Trotsky and Alexandre Kameneff 74
Bronze Eagle at the Musée Alexandre III. 76
Big Gun at the Kremlin 78
Rothstein 81
St. Saviour’s 83
Zinoviev (bust) 85
Dzhirjinsky (bust) 88
Margaret and Richard Brinsley Sheridan 90
Church of St. Basil 92
Spassky entrance to the Kremlin 113
Lenin (from a photograph) 118
Lenin (bust) 119
Trotsky (from a drawing) 124
Nicholas Andrev 129
Trotsky at the Front 140
Trotsky (bust) 143
Sentry Outside the Guest-House 158
Litvinoff at Moscow 181
Statue of Dostoievsky 182
Statue, “The Thinker” 183
The Sukharefski Market 184
 FOREWORD

I T is with deep apology that I venture to swell the ranks of those people
who write their little books after their little visits to Russia.
In defence I can only say that this was not written for publication. I
have always kept a diary, in monotonous as in eventful days. In publishing a
record of my stay in Moscow I am submitting to pressure without which I
would not venture upon such a line. Mine is not the business of writing, nor
are politics my concern: I went to Moscow where some portrait work was
offered me.
There are people in England who are indignant at my doing Lenin and
Trotsky. There were people in Moscow who were horrified because I had
done Churchill, and expressed a desire to do d’Annunzio, but as a
portraitist I have nothing to do with politics; it is humanity that interests
me, humanity with its force and its weakness, its ambitions and fears, its
honesty and lack of scruples, its perfection and deformities.
There are of course people who are pleasanter to work for than others,
people in whose environment one feels happier and more at ease.
In this diary are written freely the impressions of a guest among people
who have been much talked about.
From this point of view, and without any political pretentions, I offer it to
whomsoever it may interest.

RUSSIAN PORTRAITS

August 14th, 1920. London.

According to Mr. Fisher’s instructions, I called on Mr. M—at his office
at 10.30 and introduced myself.
He took me in a taxi to Bond Street to the office of Messrs. Kameneff
and Krassin. We waited for about twenty minutes in an anti-chamber, and I
had a certain melodramatic feeling. 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 us! This movement 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.
Meanwhile the clerks in the office occupied my attention, they interested
me as types, and I wondered about them, about exactly what in their lives
had made them into Bolsheviks, and what sort of mentality it was, and
whether the scheme which they upheld was a workable concern.
At the same time Mr. M—put me straight on a few points, and all the
inaccuracies about Bolshevism that people like myself have gleaned, so that
I was fairly prepared and protected against appearing too ignorant and
foolish.
At last the word came and we were ushered into the office of Mr.
Kameneff 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 non! 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 decided that the bust had better be started soon, as one never knew
what might happen 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 the following Tuesday at 10 a.m. Mr.
Kameneff then took us downstairs to Krassin’s office. Mr. Krassin seemed
very busy and pre-occupied, had someone in the room, and
 “VICTORY 1918.”
p. 13.

didn’t quite know what I had come about, but he agreed to sit to me on the
following Wednesday at 10 a.m.

August 17th.
Kameneff arrived almost punctually at 10 a.m. for an hour, but he stayed
till 1 o’clock, and we talked for the whole three hours almost without
stopping. I do not know how I managed to work and talk so much. My mind
was really more focussed 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 modelling in his face, it is a perfect oval, and his nose
is straight with the line of his forehead, but turns up slightly 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 represented the Victory of the Allies, and he exclaimed: “But no!
It is the Victory of all the ages. What pain! What suffering! What
exhaustion!” He then added that it was the best bit of Peace propaganda that
he had seen.
We had wonderful conversations. 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,
harbour and educate them until fourteen 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), and 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 organise for their workmen, and of their appreciation of Bach
and Wagner.
They have had to abandon (already!) the idea that all should be paid
alike. Admitting that some are physically able to work longer and better
than others, therefore there have to be grades of payment, and when great
talent shows itself, “cela merite d’être recompensé.”
Chaliapin, who used to have the title of “Artist to the Court,” is now
called “The Artist of the People.” Chaliapin, I gathered, was a very popular
figure.
After awhile, Kameneff let drop a suggestion which did not fall on
barren ground—he threw it out apparently casually, but in order, I believe,
to see how I reacted to it. I had just been telling him that I had all my life
had a love of Russian literature, Russian music, Russian dancing, Russian
art, and he said, “You should come to Russia.”
I said that I had always dreamed it—and that perhaps—who knows—
someday....
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 moment, then I said: “Let me
know when you are going to start, and I will be ready in half an hour.”
He offered to telegraph immediately to Moscow for permission.
August 18th.
Krassin arrived at 10 a.m., and found me reading the papers, sitting on
the seat outside the door. Like Kameneff, he stayed till 1 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
Kameneff’s, and we broke into occasional German—it was a good mix-up,
but we said all we wanted to say.
Kameneff had talked to him about me, and had told him of the project of
my going to Moscow. I said nothing about it until he mentioned it.
What impresses me about these two men is their impassive
imperturbability, their calm, and their patience. I suppose it is the race, or
else that they learnt calm when they were prisoners in Siberia. It is such a
contrast to almost every other sitter, who is restless, hurried and fidgety.
Krassin 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 Kameneff, and his piercing eyes just looked at me impassively
while I worked. It was rather uncanny.
Krassin is a Siberian. He explained to me that his father was a
Government local official when he married his mother who was a peasant,
and one of twenty-two children. He himself was the eldest of seven, and
was brought up in Siberia.
At 1 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 Rigamonti who
abandoned his marble chisel and carried my suit-case and hurled in some
last things to me. I just caught the 1.50 at Waterloo, for Godalming, to stay
two days with the Midletons.[1]

August 21st.
I got back to the studio about midday to find a huge bunch of roses and
the following note from Kameneff:—
London, 21 Août.
 Chère Madame,
Je vous prie la permission de mettre ces roses rouges aux
pieds de votre belle statue de la Victoire.
Bien à vous,
L. K.

I did so, and when he came at about 4 o’clock to sit, I thanked him, but
said that they were not red and that it was a pity. He looked as if he didn’t
quite understand, and said: “Yes, they are red—red for the blood of
Victory.” The sentiment was right, but he is colour blind, the roses were
pink! I did not argue.
At about 5 o’clock S—— L——, walked in unexpectedly, and was very
surprised and interested to find Kameneff, who was no less interested at
hearing from S—— L—— that Archbishop Mannix is his guest, and I got a
good innings at my work while these two talked together.
Kameneff and I dined later at the Café Royal, and then went on to a
Revue, which was very bad, but the audience laughed a good deal, and
Kameneff wondered at their childish appreciation of rubbish.

August 22nd.
Twelve hours with Kameneff!!!
He arrived at 11 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
then lunched at Claridges’. After lunch we went for a taxi drive along the
Embankment, and passing the Tate Gallery, went in. It is being re-arranged,
but we found the Burne-Jones’ that Kameneff was looking for. He stood for
a long time before “The King and the Beggar-maid.” I suppose that in the
new system all the beggar-maids are queens, and that 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. Kameneff assured me that he
must not go near the platform, or be recognised by his friends, as he was
under promise to the Government to take no part in demonstrations, 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 Kameneff, there was a hitch as we
approached the platform. The crowd thought that a policeman was
favouring us unduly, and getting us to the platform, and a youngish man
said: “Stop that, policeman, this is a democratic meeting” and tried to
prevent us going any farther. For awhile I felt the hostility of the people
around me.
One of the speakers, referring to the spirit of 1914, said that we had
given our husbands and sons then, but that we did not mean ever to give
them again, and, I, thinking of 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 acclaimed 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 when saying, “What we have to do, is to stop——” I
filled in the gap with “Mesopotamia.” Whereupon the crowd shouted “Here,
here!” and “God bless you!” After that I was one of them. Then someone
recognised Kameneff, and the whisper went round and spread like wildfire.
The men on either side of him asked if they might announce that 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 were the pennies of the poor. Lansbury buried his face in his
hat for protection.
After that we went away, and a gangway was made for us, and all along
the whisper went of “Kameneff,” 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 went into the park, to
get away from the Sunday crowd. We sat on Kameneff’s coat on the grass
in the middle of an open space, and the air was heavy and the sun fitful, as
though a storm impended. The distant elms were heavy green, and there
was a great stillness and calm.
We talked about the meeting, and of the magnetism of a crowd. He
noticed my suppressed excitement, for I had blood to the head! If we had
been rushed to the platform, I could have
 BUST OF KRASSIN.
p. 23.

spoken to the people, I am sure that I could. He said that he had been
terribly moved to speak, and that 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 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 Kameneff hummed Volga boatman-songs.
Or else we broke back into discussions, and then he forgot that he was
steering, and we had several slight collisions, and narrow escapes from
more serious ones!
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.
 I felt ill, but got up early, expecting Krassin at 10 o’clock, but at 10
o’clock I got a telephone message to the effect that neither Krassin nor
Kameneff 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 demanding 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 is the Polish success over the Red Army
that has caused this diplomatic volte-face. However, that is too long to go
into here.
At dinner time Kameneff telephoned to me that he at last had time to
spare, 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 11, and said that 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 Friday. Great excitement, as I shall
go with them.

August 25th.
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, never have I done a head that I
admired more. He seems to be strong morally, to a degree of adamant. He is
calm, sincere, dignified, proud, without self-consciousness and without
vanity, and scientific in his analysis of things and people. Eyes that are
unflinching and bewilderingly direct, nostrils that dilate with sensitiveness,
a mouth that looks hard until it smiles, and a chin full of determination.

August 26th.
Krassin offered me a third sitting, and came again at 5.0 and stayed till
after 7.0. War is averted, and he assures me that Kameneff under no excuse
can possibly leave for Russia for a fortnight. I did not sleep much, waking
up with the exclamation “Partons! Partons!” for if we do not get away for a
fortnight, I shall have to keep my engagement on September 10th at Oxford
with 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 good. Sydney[2]
came to see me after dinner, and we talked fantastically about Russia, and
what it might or might not lead to.
He is terribly interested.

August 27th.
Kameneff came at 11.0 to give me a last sitting. He was in a much
happier frame of mind, chuckling over Tchicherin’s reply to Lloyd George,
which is an impudent bit of propaganda work, and all the papers have to
publish it because it is official.
I awakened this morning with an excited and tired feeling, my hands
trembling, which I have never known before. Kameneff arrived in much the
same condition. He talked politics and got excited and worked up and
produced the quizzical frown that I wanted. I worked well, and absolutely
changed the whole personality of his bust, which I think he liked.
He promised, incidentally, not to wait here two weeks, but says that he
will start not later than next Friday. I wonder if he keeps his promises.
Peter[3] 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 knowing
that it was the last sitting, and feeling dead beat, and having finally to stop
for lunch.
We lunched with Sydney Cooke at Claridges’. I introduced them to each
other, and we are going to stay with Sydney at his house in the Isle of
Wight, for the week-end. Like all good foreigners, Kameneff expressed a
desire, some days ago, to see the Isle of Wight. So we arranged to go—I
 BUST OF KAMENEFF.
p. 24.

could not therefore go to my beloved Dick,[4] but I sent him a crocodile by

Peter, to compensate for my absence.
Dined with Aunt Jennie,[5] she has laryngitis, and looked very ill. She
asked me what new work I was engaged on, but I took good care not to
mention either Russians or Russia.
In the course of conversation, she told me that I was being criticised as
having too much freedom. I chuckled over this, as I visualised to myself the
great band of people who grudge one that freedom, because they have not
got it, and because they know that freedom counts above rubies.
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 earn 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 it, of ending
everything, liberty, work, and my happiness, which is dependent on my
work.

August 28th.
I left the studio in a state of chaos, Smith being in the midst of casting
the busts of Kameneff 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?
Kameneff picked me up at 12.15 and we caught the 12.50 from Waterloo
to Portsmouth. Sydney met us at the harbour and escorted us to his house on
the Isle of Wight, near Newport. A 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, Kameneff 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
amazingly forceful and eloquent.
We sat silent and spellbound. He began as far back as twenty years ago,
with the first efforts of himself and Lenin, Trotsky and Krassin. He
described their secret organisations, their discoveries, their secrets, his
months and years of prison, first in cells, then in Siberia—but long before
he had finished, our dinner was announced, and we went in just as we were,
to eat. The spell for the moment was broken, and though Kameneff 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 individuality and psychology
of Lenin. There were others also whose names I cannot recall. One I
remember was Dzhirjinsky, the President of the Extraordinary Commission,
a man turned to stone through years of traveaux forcés, an ascetic and a
fanatic, whom the Soviet selected as organiser and head of “La Terreur.”
This is the man of whom Maxim Gorky wrote, that one could see
martyrdom crystallised 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, towards which end every means is justified. This man
sleeps in a narrow bed behind a curtain in his “bureau,” has few friends, and
cares for no women, but he is kind to children, and considerate towards his
fellow-workers when they are overworked or ill.
It is useless to try to tell any of Kameneff’s stories, they require his
individuality, and would lose in repeating. I only felt that it was a great
waste that his audience should consist only of us two, when so many might
have been enthralled.

August 29th.
When I came down from breakfast I found the two men sitting over a
fire. I accused them of “frowsting,” and carried them out to the garden,
where Kameneff restarted his unconcluded tale of the Revolution, until we
could bear the cold no more, so he finished it indoors in front of the fire. It
is a marvellous 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 arduous descent. It was heavenly on the
undulating beach of tiny rounded pebbles by the sea edge. Sydney and I
paddled and Kameneff, who watched us, became thoroughly laughing and
happy. When Sydney and I sat down on the beach and buried our feet in the
pebbles, Kameneff 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 Kameneff wrote four
lines, and Sydney the other four, in French. Kameneff likened me to Venus,
but Sydney was flippant, and said that the part of me that he liked best was
my feet!
The scenery and the climb recalled Capri, but a faded Capri, without
colour. Nevertheless, one recalled the feeling of joy that one had at Capri,
and Kameneff 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 only for a tea-picnic on a
common by a lonely road.

September 2nd. Brede Place.

I have been here since Monday. Papa is away in Ireland fishing, Mamma
is here and believes that I am still going yachting and that a telegram will
call me away at any minute. As no wire has yet come and I cannot bear the
suspense, I have decided to go up to London for the day, and shall go
straight to Kameneff’s office from the station so that I shall 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 him, Dick
clung to me more even than usual, and we talked together for a long time.
He held me tight. I was kneeling on the ground beside his bed with my arms
round him. He said that he could not bear to let me go to-morrow, and that
he would tie me up to a wall. He was so very sweet, and I felt a great
reluctance at leaving him.

September 3rd.
I went up to London and drove straight to the Bolshevik office in Bond
Street, and left my luggage waiting outside in the taxi. Unlike the previous
occasion, I was not shown straight in to Kameneff. 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 was, I am sure, a great failure as a Bolshevik. All
my English conventional breeding took hold of me. Then later Peter came
to fetch me, thinking that I had finished my interview, and then, having him
to talk to, I felt better. Later an eighth man appeared with a number of
papers and the garrulous crowd became of a sudden serious, placed
themselves round a table, and seemed to hold a sort of council.
At this moment Klyschko passed by the open door, and espying me
called Peter and me into his room to wait. I asked him why there were so
many people in the other room, but he only shrugged his shoulders.
At last I was told that both Kameneff and 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 moment, 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 Kameneff took me up to his office. He held out real hopes
of starting next week.
As soon as Krassin and his very attractive family, but slightly alarming
wife, had left, I went to see X—— whom I thought was in a position to get
the visa I want for Reval. My passport is all in order to Stockholm, but
Klyschko has failed to get the Esthonian visa, because it is necessary to get
the Foreign Office approval to do so.
After three-quarters of an hour’s talk with X—— I realised that it was
hopeless; he merely shared the general prejudice. It confirms me in my
decision not to take any one else into my confidence, except Sydney and S
—— L——. They are the only two who have got the spirit to understand.
But how I want that Esthonian visa—it is worth an effort to get it,
instead of starting with an uncertainty.
X—— explained to me at great 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, and
moreover that I should 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 Kameneff 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 a bust of
Lenin and to 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 difficult 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.”
 He was surprised 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 clever enough to take me in!
At the end of it all I said to him: “You have seen 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 assented 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 Kameneff 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, whilst
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 beautiful. 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 Kameneff about my conversation
with a friend, who was a serious, intelligent man, and told him of his
opinion that I should be in danger of my life. I added that I was prepared to
take the risk, but that I should regret my children being orphans. Kameneff
answered me half amused, half irritated.
He said it was such nonsense that he felt 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 for Lloyd George to do anything at any moment), it
would not affect me. I should be regarded purely as an artist, international
and non-political.
Then laughing, he said that he would have me put against a wall, arms
crossed on breast (not blindfolded, that was a convention of the aristocrats),
with a firing party before me, and then he would save me at the last
moment. Then I should have lived through every thrill, and my friends
would not be disappointed.
 He told me, incidentally, that Wrangel is defeated and discredited. (X
——, having just told me that Wrangel had won the peasants over to him,
and that he had a scheme of moderate Government, and was likely to rouse
a counter-Revolution and depose the present lot).
So I said to Kameneff: “Where is truth?”
And he answered: “There is no truth in the world, the only truth is in
one’s own heart.”

September 9th.
My birthday, and the most hectic day 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 mould.
Rigamonti, under my direction was punching the block 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 Fiorini turned up.
He was terribly hurt because I have given the heads of Kameneff and
Krassin to Parlanti to cast. He had dreamed of doing them—he had a
Bolshevik 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
honour and glory of doing them. I felt terribly badly about it. The little
Italian man is such an enthusiast, and he met Kameneff here, who shook
hands with him, and Fiorini felt about it as most other people would about
their King.
Moreover, on that occasion, he hid behind a pedestal, and remained so
quiet for a quarter of an hour, watching me and my sitter, that I forgot that
he was there. But because I understood from him 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 that I comforted him by promising to give him duplicates to cast,
as presents for Kameneff 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 announced to me that it was all
decided—Kameneff is starting on Saturday morning, has reserved places,
and I have nothing to do but get my ticket. I said that I was having
difficulties over my passport, and he explained to me that all I need is the
visa 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 home
with me; he it was who originally brought me into this wonderful new
world.

September 10th.
Kameneff telephoned at breakfast. He is really starting to-morrow.
At 10.15, a wire from Sydney to say that he is arriving from Scotland, at
5 o’clock.
11.30, to Barclays Bank, cashed £100.
11.40, to Cooks’, bought my ticket.
12 o’clock, to Bond Street Office, saw Kameneff. 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 Moulton Street.
2 o’clock, back at studio. Wrote letters all afternoon.
4.30, hair washed and cut.
7 o’clock, back to studio, packed and dined.
10.30, Sydney came, and while we were talking Kameneff rang up to say
he had a few short hours ago had his interview with Lloyd George, and that
he gathered from the interview that he, Kameneff, leaves to-morrow, not to
return—this was to warn me—but he told me to come all the same.
I rang up S—— L——, who could hardly believe that I am really
starting. He came round to see me, and we talked far into the night.

September 11th.
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 conspicuous group on the
platform, and I feared every second to meet someone whom I knew
travelling, possibly to York, on the same train.
 S—— L—— was there to wish me God-speed, and Sydney, who is
staying with friends near Newcastle, and came down yesterday to spend my
last evening with me, travelled back to Newcastle with us. Rigamonti
turned up unexpectedly, which touched me very much.
Sydney, fulfilling his reputation as an organiser, discovered that there
were two trains going to Newcastle, and that the next one which left a little
later had a restaurant car, so we transferred our luggage from the one to the
other, and in the process I lost my handbag, which had a hundred pounds in
it in bank notes, all I possess in the world. It caused me some agitation, but
Kameneff 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, Sydney found the case at Newcastle, in
the lost property office, it travelled ahead of us on the other train.
Sydney 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 slipping
away without anyone knowing.
For some time Kameneff and I stood on deck to see the last of England,
with her Turner sky. The sunset was golden haze, and Kameneff said: “It
looks mysterious, that land, doesn’t it?” But to me it was just the old world
wrapped in a shroud. Mystery lay ahead of us in the new world that is our
destination.
Now for the first time I had 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 unlikely that Kameneff would invite me
to go to his country if I were likely to be either unhappy or in danger there.
He must know what he is doing, and what he is taking me to. There are
moments in life when it is necessary to have blind faith.

September 12th. S.S. “Jupiter,” Bergen, Norway.

It is 9.45 pm. We have just this moment come along the quay-side at
Bergen. We are not to land until 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 as comfortable as a yacht. The only fellow traveller with whom we
have spoken is an American, calling himself Comrade Costello. He reports
for the Federated Press. A very keen journalist, typically American, and one
who does not allow the grass to grew under his feet.
For an hour this afternoon I acted as interpreter between him and
Kameneff. 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 that I shall have a pretty good knowledge of all the
Revolutionary Leaders in all countries before long.
Kameneff had a cigarette in my cabin this evening, 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 nevertheless
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 passing through a
needle’s eye.

September 13th. Grand Hotel, Kristiania, Norway.

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 then
dwarf trees, and then shrubs, until finally there was only the little low
creeping juniper.
There were rocks and boulders, falling torrents and cold, still lakes, and
in the shadow of the mountain great patches of eternal snow that never
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 situation was exactly the same, and the
Lord Mayor of Cork not dead yet, and 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. Kameneff—yes?” and showed him a photograph of K. in
the morning’s paper, and the information that he had left England, and was
on his way to Russia. That settled it, Kameneff was recognised, 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 Kameneff 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. Kameneff told him that Russia had
changed considerably since then, and that he ought to go and see it. The
attendant with a deferential smile said that he would be afraid to.
At Finse, the highest point, where we were on a level with the mountain
summits, and where snow lay round us and below us, the train stopped for
ten minutes. We got out and walked about, and 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, engraved upon it were the
names of Captain Scott and all his party, with the date, and the
announcement that they had started from Norway for the South Pole. It was
rather émotionant finding it so unexpectedly, and so remote.
At 10 p.m., we steamed into Kristiania, 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 English: “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 characterises the Grand Hotels and Ritz-
Carltons of Europe, and suggests all that side of life with which we on this
trip are not quite in harmony. 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 London? I felt rather at a
disadvantage, having to explain that I was merely an artist who had done
portraits of Kameneff and Krassin (who, by the way, they spoke of as
Comrade), and that I hoped to get through to Russia with Kameneff 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, so I suggested bed, apologising at the same time for making use
of their room and necessitating their discomfort.
It being now 1 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
Kameneff and Litvinoff are still talking in the next room on my other side.

September 14th. Kristiania.

Slept very well, wrapped in my rug. Woke up at 9 o’clock, and had
breakfast in bed. Had looked forward to a bath, but the sour-faced hotel
maid says there are too many gentlemen who want it, and so I cannot have
one. This does not seem an adequate reason for denying it to me, and I
rather suspect it is part of a general boycott of Bolsheviks.
While I was breakfasting, Kameneff looked in with the morning papers,
which have come out with headlines and photographs of him. One describes
him as having arrived “with a lady, tall and elegant, who carried in one
hand a “Kodakaparat” and in the other a box of sweets—she does not look
Russian, and was heard to speak in French.”
At luncheon I met Mrs. Litvinoff, and was surprised 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 Kristiania to the wireless
station, which is on the top of a wooded hill from which there is a
magnificent 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 a Bolshevik?” 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 Litvinoff 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. Bolsheviks 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-byes all round. Litvinoff said that if I did
not get through from Stockholm, I must come back to Kristiania and he
would send someone with me to take me through Murmansk, but Mrs.
Litvinoff said that I should get through from Stockholm. “That sort of
person always gets what she wants” she said, but gave no further comment,
and I am wondering what sort of person I am.
The two secretaries gave me messages for friends in Moscow, and
seemed very envious of anyone going back. One of them (with most
beautiful chestnut hair), held forth to me on the great difference the
Revolution had brought in the position of women. She is an ardent
Communist, and works 10 hours a day with a willing 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. Stockholm, Sweden.

We arrived at 8.30 a.m., and were met at the station by Frederick Ström,
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 sadness as
I passed that old Palace, and the windows of Princess Margaret’s rooms
which 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
belonging to the Krassins, but which in their absence is inhabited by a
Comrade Juon.
There we were most courteously received, and given a splendid
breakfast.
Juon is about six feet and a half high, and broad in proportion, with a
black beard and a kindly expression. His eyes have exceptionally big pupils,
which give a curious gleam and keenness to his expression. His brother in
Russia is a well-known painter.
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 disposal, so we returned there, and the hotel authorities
were most civil.
From that moment there ensued a hectic period. Series of newspaper
reporters arrived, and had to be given interviews. Comrades came, and
stayed—there seemed to be people revolving perpetually. Some of them
only understood German, others struggled in bad English, yet others in
French; the whole conversation was 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 Rjasanoff, a man about seventy, with a Greek profile, a beard that
sticks out defiantly and hawk’s eyes. He has a dominating personality. He
has done five years of solitary confinement in a cell for the cause. He was
charming to me, and his expression lost some of its battle and became even
kindly when he looked at me.
Another man who stands out in my mind is a Communist poet called
Torré Norman, who has translated Rupert Brooke.
Mr. Ström accompanied me to the Esthonian Consulate to get my Reval
visa. There were, as I expected, endless difficulties, and nothing was
 LITVINOFF AND HIS SON MISHA AT KRISTIANIA.
p. 45.

settled, and to-morrow the boat leaves at 4 o’clock so that there is not much
time. I feel pretty confident that all will end well. It is not possible that there
can be any 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, Kameneff had to go out and keep an appointment, and
while he was away I wrestled on the telephone with reporters, trying to
ward off interviews until the morrow. At 10 p.m., Kameneff came back and
we dined in the sitting-room; he was pretty dead beat. Even then a reporter
came to the door and asked for an interview, but I insisted that he must be
put off until the next day, and Kameneff, rather willingly I think, gave in.
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