Petrograd is a singularly unpleasant town, where the sun never shines, and it rains or snows every day.  The river is full of ice, but it looks sullen and sad in the perpetual mist.  There are a good many English people there; but one is supposed to know the Russians, which means speaking French all the time.  Moscow is a far superior place, and is really most interesting and beautiful, and very Eastern, while Petrograd might be Liverpool.  I filled up my time there in the hospital and soup-kitchen.

The price of everything gets worse, I do believe!  Even a glass of filtered water costs one shilling and threepence!  I have just left an hotel for which my bill was L3 for one night, and I was sick nearly all the time!

[Page Heading:  “WHEN WILL THE WAR END?”]

Now, my dears, I wish you all the best Christmas you can have this year.  I am just longing for news of you, but I never knew such a cut-off place as this for letters.  Tell me about every one of the family.  Write lengthy letters.  When do people say the war will end?

Your loving
SARAH BROOM.

* * * * *

Tiflis. 12 December.—­It is evening, and I have only just remembered it is Sunday, a thing I can’t recollect ever having happened before.  I have been ill in my room all day, which no doubt accounts for it.

We stayed at Moscow for a few days, and my recollection of it is of a great deal of snow and frequent shopping expeditions in cold little sleighs.  I liked the place, and it was infinitely preferable to Petrograd.  Mr. Cazalet took us to the theatre one night, and there was rather a good ballet.  These poor dancers!  They, like others, have lost their nearest and dearest in the war, but they still have to dance.  Of course they call themselves “The Allies,” and one saw rather a stale ballet-girl in very sketchy clothes dancing with a red, yellow, and black flag draped across her.  Poor Belgium!  It was such a travesty of her sufferings.

Mr. Cazalet came to see us off at the station, and we began our long journey to Tiflis, but we changed our minds, and took the local train from ——­ to Vladikavkas, where we stayed one night rather enjoyably at a smelly hotel, and the following day we got a motor-car and started at 7 a.m. for the pass.  The drive did us all good.  The great snow peaks were so unlike Petrograd and gossip!  I had been rather ill on the train, and I got worse at the hotel and during the drive, so I was quite a poor Sarah when I reached Tiflis.  Still, the scenery had been lovely all the time, and we had funny little meals at rest houses.

When we got to Tiflis I went on being seedy for a while.  I finished Stephen Graham’s book on Russia which he gave me before I left home.  It is charmingly written.  The line he chooses is mine also, but his is a more important book than mine.

Batoum. 22 December.—­We have had a really delightful time since I last wrote up the old diary! (A dull book so far.) We saw a good many important people at Tiflis—­Gorlebeff, the head of the Russian Red Cross, Prince Orloff, Prince Galitzin (a charming man), General Bernoff, etc., etc.