MARINASHKY AND THE MINISTERIAL ROLLS-ROYCE.
palace, some other palaces, convents, 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. Everywhere one looked there were domes and towers.
We drove up to a side entrance under an archway, and then made our way, a solemn procession, carrying luggage up endless stone stairs and along stone corridors to the Kameneff apartments. A little peasant maid with a yellow handkerchief tied over her head ran out to greet us, and kissed Kameneff on the mouth. Then ensued the awkward moment of being shown to no room. After eleven days travelling 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 Kameneff I asked him what was to become of me and begged him to send me to an hotel. But there are no hotels; everything belongs to the Government. There are however, guest-houses, but he was averse to my going to one, as he said that I should 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 photographs. 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 Kameneff 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 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 colours. I thought of Dick and that to-day is his birthday. I knew he must be asking, “Where is ‘Meema’; why doesn’t she come? How long will she be?”
When it was dark I was still looking out, and Anna Anrevna, 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.