The House by the Dvina (10 page)

Stepan, gathering the reins, made a clicking sound. The horses, accompanied by jingling bells, began to run towards the gates. There the servants had gathered to watch the kibitka drive through and turn down to the river. There had been a lot of talking amongst themselves. “God is too high and the Tsar too far away” goes the Russian saying, but here was their barynya setting off to see His Great Majesty to plead for her husband, and her so young and heavy with child. They wished her well and prayed for her.

From the windows, the troika was seen emerging on to the river. Running lightly in a wide arc, it turned to the left and halted. And then as if sensing the freedom of this boundless highway, the three horses fanned out in great style and, galloping at top speed, flashed away to the south.

Many years later, in 1920, during the troubled aftermath of the revolution, one autumn evening my grandmother asked me to spend the night with her in her room. I remember that dark night. The wind beating against the trembling window panes, the stormy river. Babushka drew the curtains and, sitting down beside me, began to brush her hair. She talked of many things. I lay curled up on the edge of the big empty bed and listened. A crimson light from the bedside lamp cast a warm glow in our corner and lit up my grandmotherТs face. She had aged during that terrible year. Grief and anxiety had left their mark, but she still possessed the capacity to ignore the unhappy present and travel back to happier distant scenes of her childhood Ч youth, marriage, and on the momentous journey to St Petersburg. “Tomorrow,” she said, “I have to leave you all and go to Dedushka, who needs me. It is strange, but forty years ago almost to a day, your own grandfather was also sent away and later, in the depth of the winter, I had to travel to St Petersburg and beg the Tsar himself to allow him to return. It was a difficult and at times a frightening journey, especially as I was expecting your father. My mamushka travelled with me and in front beside the driver sat Pavel Mikhailovich. As for Stepan, the driver, there was just no one like him. We raced up the river and through the woods. No one was allowed to overtake us and to those who were in front he would call out, СDoloi Ч Doloi5 Ч СOut of my roadТ. They would wave us on and laugh as we rushed by. Stepan was a bit of a devil, a joker, and known to be a great singer as well as the best driver in our parts. He joked and he sang and my mamushka, who knew all the songs, joined in. I could never sing like her. As for the baby, he just lay quietly inside his own special travelling case and never bothered me at all.” She laughed a little at her own description. “He was always a patient child even then,” she added quietly and fell silent for a moment.

“You canТt imagine,” she went on again, “how beautiful were our woods when there were only the horses running along the roads and nothing was spoiled. The snowdrifts sparkled in the sun, slowly turning to a pale rose as the short day closed in. How enchanting were the encrusted trees, and the branches of the birches like fine silver lace, shimmering in the pale sunlight! In those days there were no thundering trains in our parts to frighten the wild animals. We saw so many of them Ч foxes, mink, the black-tailed little ermine scampering across the road. The blue-grey squirrels came out of their hiding places when the sun shone brightly and danced on the heavy laden branches of the pines, scattering the powdery snow around them.”

These were the bright patches that sustained them as they journeyed on in their kibitka across the frozen marshes, rivers, woods and bare plains in conditions that would have tried the most hardened traveller, let alone a young, pregnant woman. Only those who have experienced such a journey by sledge can possibly conceive the discomfort of the restricted space inside the kibitka, to be endured for hours on end between the stations scattered far and wide, the lack of sanitationї the primitive conditions in the stations and above all the bitter onslaught of the elements. Anna Dimitrievna, who had seen the ravages caused by frostbite, was constantly scanning her daughterТs face for the white tell-tale spots and rubbing her cheeks. The food in the baskets becarnЃ frozen and between each station they had to take out the roasted partridges which they had brought with them, and hold them under their arms to thaw them out. Once they reached a station, the partridges were cut up and heated in the stove. There was always a boiling samovar, tea and bread provided. They would rest for a short time while the horses were being changed and then take to the road again. Time was precious and could not be wasted, for they never knew what might be in front of them.

The Russian is born to snow and frost. It is part of his being, especially in the north, but even to him there is a limit of endurance. One day the troika set off in brilliant sunshine for a station a long way off. As they travelled, the temperature began to drop until it fell to such a level that a crow, frozen in mid-flight, dropped like a stone from the sky.

That kind of frost was rare even in our parts. Everything became very still. The two hooded figures in front barely moved. No one spoke. It was difficult to breathe. Nostrils and eyelids kept sticking and breath turned to ice on the shawls pulled over their faces. The two women clung to each other for warmth. A thick rime like a shroud came down enveloping them all and obscuring the signposts. Only StepanТs intuition kept them on the road. The horses also were suffering. Snorting and throwing their heads, they were fighting for breath. Stepan was forced to climb down and clear their nostrils of ice. The intense cold can dull the mind and just as they were reaching the dangerous stage when a somnolent indifference to their fate was setting in, the dark mass of the station came out of the mist.

It was impossible to thaw out quickly the food frozen into a solid mass, but the woman in the cottage brought out of the stove a big earthenware pot of baked buckwheat and warm milk. She placed a boiling samovar and a newly baked loaf of black bread on the table.

The cottage boasted a “gornitza” Ч a bedroom-cum-sitting room, reserved only for special guests and rarely used by the family. It was clean and humbly furnished. There was an ikon hanging in a corner and a lampada Ч

the small perpetual light, in front of it. On the painted floor was a hand-made rug, but pride of place was given to a large bed piled high with feather mattresses and a pyramid of pillows.

Exhausted by their ordeal, Yenya and her mother dragged off their heavy shubas and felt boots and scrambling up the small steps beside the bed fell into the depth of warm softness and sweet oblivion. In the same room, on a mattress on the floor, slept Pavel Mikhailovich, but to Stepan was allotted the warmest corner in the cottage. He slept beside the children on top of the stove.

During the early hours of the morning, a wild blizzard followed the frost.

It was impossible to go on. For three days, tormented by anxiety, they remained stranded in the cottage, but on the fourth day the weather cleared. The kibitka went off again, the horses struggling through deep snowdrifts on to the next post house.

The weather continued to improve. There were clear nights and the frost was bearable. One evening the troika set off for a village that was nearby and boasted better conditions than most stations. It was a peaceful starry night. The fresh, sturdy horses ran cheerfully along the moonlit path when suddenly for no apparent reason they bolted at great speed.

“Derzhites Ч Voiki Ч Hold on. There are wolves,” Stepan called out. The horses had sensed before the passengers that there were wolves nearby.

None were seen at first but as they peered into the darkness they saw the small green lights of eyes weaving through the trees and moving in the same direction as the sledge. Anna Dimitrievna, who had a superstitious fear of wolves and firmly believed they were possessed by some evil power, crossed herself. “The power of the Cross protect us,” she said, using the prayer that wards off all evil.

The horses, maddened by fear, now out of control, raced on. The kibitka bumped and swayed over the frozen ruts. Any moment it could turn over and they would be thrown out and perhaps killed. There was the added fear that the wolves would run to where the road and the wood met and cut them off from the village. Then in the dip of the road, there came into view the row of orange lights from the cottages. There, the villagers had heard the urgent ringing of the bells. A loud chorus of dogs, barking and howling, shattered the stillness of the night. The troika rushed through the open gates of the station and stopped inside the safety of its walls. The horses stood trembling in clouds of steam, foam dripping from their muzzles. On the eleventh day after leaving Archangel, the troika entered the streets of St Petersburg. There were only three days to Christmas.

They drove slowly along the Nevsky Prospect, watching in silence the activity around them. The lit-up shops, small booths selling brightly coloured toys, sledges and carriages rushing by, people carrying parcels, the bustling on the streets, all told them that they had arrived in the midst of Christmas preparations. All were too tired to absorb the beauty of the palaces, fine buildings and streets, and were thankful when the troika drew up beside the entrance of their hotel, where everything had been arranged, near the Winter Palace. There they stayed and waited. A week went by. Pavel Mikhailovich was preparing for the return journey. It was imperative that they should leave as soon as the interview with the Tsar was over. Yenya was determined that her child would be born in Archangel and refused to contemplate any other place.

The old year passed away and the fateful year of 1881 took over.

A few days later, Yenya crossed the great square on her way to the Winter Palace. Her mother and Pavel Mikhailovich accompanied her as far as the heavily guarded entrance. From there she was escorted into the Palace and led into a waiting room. Other people were sitting there. All were silent, lost in their own thoughts. One by one, as their names were called, they left the room. Yenya never saw them again. Then, at last she heard her own name. A fluttering, like the wings of some bird caught in a net, began inside her. She fought hard to appear calm as she was led to a room where on each side of the double doors stood the TsarТs own personal guards in resplendent uniforms. The doors opened and closed behind her. She was standing in the TsarТs study.

“As I entered the room,” Babushka said, “I saw at the far end two uniformed men sitting behind a large desk. Of course, in the past I had seen portraits of the Tsar, but now I suddenly panicked. Both men were handsome, both appeared to be alike, but as I stood rooted to the floor asking myself which was the Tsar, one of them rose and walked towards me.

I knew at once he was the Tsar. He was tall and possessed great majesty, yet that wasnТt what overwhelmed me … Never, never in all my life have I seen kinder or more compassionate eyes … I forgot all the instructions and advice, all that I had to do and not to do … I simply went down on my knees and wept.” She paused for a moment then continued. “He helped me to my feet. СNye-nado, nye-nadoТ… Сthis isnТt necessary,5 he chided me gently. СI know of your case,Т he went on. СI understand that you have come all the way from Archangel?Т I nodded dumbly. He began to ask me all about the journey, Archangel, my family, and as he spoke simply, kindly Ч

it came to me that after all the Tsar was just another human being like all his subjects with the same griefs, joys and frailties.

“At first I answered timidly, but gradually with more confidence. I sensed his genuine interest in our town, where once his illustrious ancestor Peter the Great built his first sea-going ship and sailed it across the White Sea. He mentioned our ancient Solovetsky Monastery on the islands in the White Sea. Had I ever been there? СOh yes, your Majesty,Т I said. СWe go there almost every summer. It is beautiful. Your Majesty should see it.

The Tsar smiled. СPerhaps one day I shall visit these places.Т He fell silent for a moment. Then, looking down from his great height, he placed his hand on my shoulder and said the words which were to remain in my mind and heart for all time. СYour husband is very fortunate to have you for his wife. Go back to Archangel. I give you my word that your child will have his father and you can tell his mother that her son will return. Go with God.Т He said no more. The interview was over.” The following morning, after despatching a telegram to Archangel proclaiming the good news, they left St Petersburg. Fate, always capricious, now favoured them.

There was no fog, and the clear crisp frost, although intensely cold, was not followed by blinding blizzards. The troika kept up speed on the highways and skimmed over lakes and rivers. Villages, churches, woods and fields flashed by. Fresh horses available in all the post houses avoided any delay. They halted only for the barest necessities, refreshed themselves, drank some hot tea and drove on. A sense of achievement and of great exaltation spurred them on. Yenya herself, now in the last stages of pregnancy, and suffering acute discomfort in the confined space of the kibitka, was sustained by the TsarТs promise. “The Tsar has promised Ч the Tsar will keep his word,” she kept repeating to herself like the words of some happy song. On the other hand, Anna, always calm and an inspiration to them all, now became worried and agitated. Her experienced eye had told her that the position of the child had changed and that the birth could be imminent. Stepan, who drove with his usual skill and sang happily at the prospect of being well rewarded for his achievement and of returning to his own young wife and his children, had to bear the brunt of AnnaТs impatience. “Faster, faster,” she would command him and when he complied and the kibitka rolled and leaped over ruts, she would call out in anger, “Do you wish to kill my daughter?” It was impossible to please her. She worried when in the heat of the post houses YenyaТs face became flushed and she worried when Yenya was cold. Exasperated, Yenya turned on her mother. “What is all this fuss about, Mamushka? We could always reach a village and a midwife if need be, and if the worst came to the worst you would know what to do.” Anna was horrified. Before leaving Archangel she had listened to some instructions on what to do in case of an emergency.