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.