Russian Portraits

In Short

This diary chronicles the 1920 journey of a British artist who traveled to Moscow to sculpt the leaders of the new Soviet government. Eschewing political dogma for the sake of human observation, she records the daily realities of life in a requisitioned mansion, the difficulties of finding supplies for her work, and her direct interactions with figures like Lenin and Trotsky. By focusing on the faces and spirits of those she encountered, she provides an unusual, immediate perspective on a society in the throes of radical, often painful, transformation.

The Story

The journey begins in London, where the narrator, a sculptor accustomed to the circles of British high society, secures an invitation to Moscow under the auspices of Soviet representatives Krassin and Kameneff. Despite warnings from friends about the dangers of traveling to a revolutionary state, she is driven by a professional curiosity to capture the likenesses of the men shaping the era. Her departure is marked by the chaos of shifting diplomatic tides, but she successfully secures passage, traveling on a special train formerly reserved for ministers.

Upon arriving in Moscow, she is installed in a requisitioned "guest-house" once belonging to a sugar merchant, a space filled with the lingering ghosts of the old aristocracy. Her daily life involves navigating the bureaucracy of a nascent regime while suffering the physical privations of a country under blockade: constant cold, fuel shortages, and uncertainty. She is frequently accompanied by guides and minders, and her interactions are defined by a mix of genuine hospitality and the underlying tension of a country at war.

The narrative arc centers on her relentless efforts to secure sittings with the most powerful men in the Soviet state. She succeeds in sculpting Krassin, Kameneff, and eventually, the formidable Lenin and Trotsky. Her descriptions of these encounters are remarkably humanizing; she portrays Lenin as a man who is genial and surprisingly accessible, and Trotsky as a man of intense focus who engages her in conversations about his own history of exile and imprisonment. Throughout these sessions, she balances the technical struggles of sculpting in unheated rooms with the emotional weight of her surroundings.

As her time in Moscow progresses, she begins to view the revolution not as a series of political maneuvers, but as a vast, inevitable force of historical evolution. She contrasts the artistic and cultural vitality she observes—masses of people attending opera and visiting galleries—with the numbing, exhausted silence of a populace simply desperate for peace. By the time she prepares to depart, her initial objective of creating bronze busts has transformed into a profound internal shift. She leaves Russia in a state of exhaustion, carrying her finished works and a new, unsettling perspective on the "obsolete class tradition" of her own upbringing. She concludes that the revolution was not merely the result of plots or propaganda, but an inevitable consequence of historical forces that the outside world is too blinded by prejudice to understand.

How It Unfolds

The voyage begins The narrator receives an unexpected invitation to Moscow after meeting with Soviet officials in London. She overcomes bureaucratic hurdles and warnings from acquaintances, setting off on a train to Sweden and eventually entering Russia on a privileged government transport.

Arrival in Moscow She moves into a former merchant's mansion, now a government guest-house, where she navigates the strange blend of luxury and decay. She begins the arduous process of setting up a studio, struggling against the harsh cold and the lack of proper materials.

Capturing the leaders She secures and executes sittings with Krassin, Kameneff, Lenin, and Trotsky. These sessions are marked by her focus on their physical presence and the unintended intimacy of their private conversations in offices and cars.

Observing the people Between sittings, she wanders the city, observing the culture and the plight of the common citizen. She notes the stark contrast between the religious fervor in the cathedrals and the cold, often blank expressions of the people in the streets.

A permanent departure The narrator finalizes her work, packing her busts for transport out of the country. She concludes her journey by reflecting on her time in Russia, feeling fundamentally detached from the world she left behind in England.

The People

The narrator acts as the lens through which we view a cast of historical figures. Kameneff serves as her primary link to the Soviet authorities, acting as a protector and, at times, a target for her sharp questions about the reality of the regime. Krassin is portrayed with profound admiration, noted for his moral strength and scientific precision. Lenin is rendered not as a caricature of power, but as a man of surprising warmth who possesses a "genial manner" that puts the sculptor at ease during the difficult hours of sitting. Trotsky is depicted as a figure of intense, restless intellect, deeply sensitive to the perception of his role, yet capable of showing personal concern for the artist’s safety. Finally, Michael Borodin emerges as a crucial, helpful figure who provides comfort when the narrator’s frustration with the harsh, freezing conditions of Moscow reaches a breaking point.

In Its Own Voice

"I have always kept a diary, in monotonous as in eventful days."

In the foreword, the author explains the informal, unvarnished nature of the record she kept throughout her stay.

"I have nothing to do with politics; it is humanity that interests me, humanity with its force and its weakness, its ambitions and fears."

The author defends her choice to sculpt Soviet leaders against the criticism she faced from her peers in England.

"The richness of the church with its golden and crimson robed priests seemed to throw into relief the poverty of the people with their faces so full of sadness."

She reflects on the stark visual contrast between the enduring religious institutions and the daily suffering of the citizens.

What It's Really About

The central theme is the search for objective reality amidst a landscape dominated by propaganda and entrenched ideological hatred. The author challenges the reader to look beyond labels, arguing that the "anti-Bolshevik" and the "Bolshevik" both misunderstand the nature of historical change. She questions why the Western world views the Russian people with such hostility, suggesting that the suffering of the population is an inevitable consequence of external isolation rather than internal choice. The book interrogates the value of tradition, suggesting that the "obsolete class" to which she belongs is incapable of seeing the profound, if messy, human reality of the revolution taking place before its eyes.

Why Read It Today

This book is a rare, unmediated glimpse into the 1920s that will appeal to anyone interested in the human texture of history rather than its dry dates. It is written with the observational eye of an artist; the prose is crisp, immediate, and refreshingly devoid of the jargon that defines most political retrospectives. Readers will appreciate the honesty of the narrator, who does not shy away from her own moments of depression, physical shivering, or the frustration of being a woman in a male-dominated political sphere.

The narrative can feel disjointed at times, reflecting the "divinely vague" nature of life in Moscow, where plans changed at a moment's notice and logistics were often a struggle. While the author’s perspective is that of a privileged guest, her ability to step outside her own class—to question the "futile view-point" of her upbringing—remains compelling. What stays with the reader is the image of a sculptor, fingers numbed by the cold, attempting to capture the humanity of men who were currently being branded as monsters by the rest of the world. It is a quiet, thoughtful, and deeply evocative piece of travel literature that serves as a reminder that history is, above all, a human endeavor.