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I visited the Polytechnic and found Professor Matzneff back in charge. This, at least, was something. I told him of my problem. He assured me that he knew of my case and would do all he could to see I was properly looked after. Many records had become lost. He suspected some of the academics of destroying them. It would probably be better if I went home for a while until things became normal. Eventually the Institute would be functioning as usual. I could return and he would help me sort everything out.

‘I was promised a Special Diploma,’ I explained. ‘Can I still expect it?’

‘Of course. But the times are so uncertain. With the paper shortages it’s hard to get things printed.’

‘It is important to me. I had a letter from Professor Vorsin. He assured me the Diploma was being prepared. I had hoped to show it to my mother.’

‘Well, the letter will do, eh, for the moment?’

I agreed the letter was absolute confirmation. I would leave my address with him (I gave him my proper name) and would wait until I heard from him. I would be prepared to make a special visit to Petrograd to collect the Diploma. It would be unsafe to trust the mails in the present crisis. I had heard of postmen, for instance, dumping their bags into the snow or the garbage at the announcement of the Tsar’s abdication. I think my old friend Matzneff also had some intimation of the difficulties lying ahead and was trying to save me from the worst. Within a few months the Bolsheviks would be in control. Civil War would be laying our vast country waste, wreaking far more damage than anything the Germans might have done.

I shook hands with Matzneff, wished him luck, hoped he would be able to run the Polytechnic through what he termed the ‘interim confusion’. I repeated my offer, as I felt I should, to help teach if necessary. He said he appreciated this but that teachers of routine experience were what were currently needed. He was trying to attract Vorsin and a few of the others back. They had lost some of their nervousness and might return.

I am glad I decided to take his advice. If I had not, I should almost certainly, like Vorsin, have become a victim of the Cheka. I bade him an affectionate farewell. I returned to the apartment to say goodbye to Kolya. He promised to send for me as soon as things were stable. He had acquired sudden political influence. When he was Prime Minister, he said, he would appoint me Minister of Science. It was a consolation. Even if the revolutionaries had taken over, it was as well to have well-placed friends. Things might not be so difficult in the long term.

I went to The Harlequinade and asked after Mrs Cornelius. The place was packed. Some mixture of poetry-reading and political meeting was taking place. Red bunting was stuck everywhere. It was a madhouse. I pressed through the crowd (I had already learned to address all and sundry as ‘comrade’). I searched for Mrs Cornelius. She was not there. I left a message with a mutual acquaintance. My English trip was delayed. I would try to contact her soon. In the streets there, were groups of students waving huge red flags. The Marseillaise was being played on every sort of instrument, on gramophones, by military bands. Trams and buses trundled by, full of yelling students and drunken soldiers. It reminded me of the Paris Commune. I remembered what had happened to that particular ‘social experiment’. I prayed Kolya would have the sense to moderate his views and policies.

I stayed the night in Kolya’s apartment. There were political newspapers and posters, all the junk of Revolution littered about. My friend was attending a meeting of the Duma and did not return. In the morning I packed my bags, borrowed Kolya’s supply of cocaine, two bottles of Polish vodka and a few silver roubles, and walked to Mr Green’s. I found the office in complete confusion. Everyone was leaving. Only Mr Parrot was to remain. He looked unhappy. I told Mr Green I needed some money. He was evidently reluctant to part with what he had, but gave me some paper roubles. He said they would be enough to get me to Kiev. I must write direct to Uncle Semya if I needed any more. I thanked him for his help. I still had my passport and would be glad to act as his courier if he needed someone in the future. He nodded and said he would remember my offer.