the fire, and we went together into the citadel of the
republic.


A meeting of the People's Commissars was going on in the
Kremlin, and on an open space under the ancient churches
were a number of motors black on the snow. We turned to
the right down the Dvortzovaya street, between the old
Cavalier House and the Potyeshny Palace, and went in
through a door under the archway that crosses the road, and
up some dark flights of stairs to a part of the building that
used, I think, to be called the Pleasure Palace. Here, in a
wonderful old room, hung with Gobelins tapestries
absolutely undamaged by the revolution, and furnished with
carved chairs, we found the most incongruous figure of
the old Swiss internationalist, Karl Moor, who talked with
affection of Keir Hardie and of Hyndman, "in the days
when he was a socialist," and was disappointed to find that I
knew so little about them. Madame Radek asked, of course,
for the latest news of Radek, and I told her that I had read in
the Stockholm papers that he had gone to Brunswick, and
was said to be living in the palace there.* [(*)It was not
till later that we learned he had returned to Berlin, been
arrested, and put in prison.] She feared he might have been
in Bremen when that town was taken by the Government
troops, and did not believe he would ever get back to Russia.
She asked me, did I not feel already (as indeed I did) the
enormous difference which the last six months had made in
strengthening the revolution. I asked after old
acquaintances, and learnt that Pyatakov, who, when I last