getting a room. I found him at the Metropole, still smoking
as it were the cigar of six months ago. Karakhan, a
handsome Armenian, elegantly bearded and moustached,
once irreverently described by Radek as "a donkey of
classical beauty," who has consistently used such influence
as he has in favour of moderation and agreement with the
Allies, greeted me very cordially, and told me that the
foreign visitors were to be housed in the Kremlin. I told him
I should much prefer to live in an hotel in the ordinary way,
and he at once set about getting a room for me. This was no
easy business, though he obtained an authorization from
Sverdlov, president of the executive committee, for me to
live where I wished, in the Metropole or the National, which
are mostly reserved for Soviet delegates, officials and
members of the Executive Committee. Both were full, and
he finally got me a room in the old Loskutnaya Hotel, now
the Red Fleet, partially reserved for sailor delegates and
members of the Naval College.


Rooms are distributed on much the same plan as clothes.
Housing is considered a State monopoly, and a general
census of housing accommodation has taken place. In every
district there are housing committees to whom people
wanting rooms apply. They work on the rough and ready
theory that until every man has one room no one has a right
to two. An Englishman acting as manager of works near
Moscow told me that part of his house had been allotted to
workers in his factory, who, however, were living with him
amicably, and had, I think, allowed him to choose which