The House by the Dvina (7 page)

A short distance before their final destination the train halted at a small wayside station. A young woman came aboard and joined my parents.

She was my fatherТs cousin, Tanya, whose husband held a position connected with the railway. Tanya had been commissioned by my grandmother to assist my parents with their luggage and make certain it was delivered safely to the house. Tanya embraced and kissed my mother and her cousin. Of a bright and friendly disposition, she presented an extraordinary spectacle, being completely enveloped in black diaphanous material stitched round her fur hat and falling in folds down to her ankles. Nelly was astonished and overawed. “Is she some kind of nun?” she enquired. “No,” my father explained shortly. “She is in deep mourning for our dear grandmother.”

Nelly felt chastened. For the next few minutes they kept up a friendly conversation interpreted by my father and accompanied by smiles, gestures and nodding of heads. The train steamed into Issakagorka Station. On the opposite side of the river lay Archangel.

Two sledges awaited them. Tanya immediately took charge of the luggage.

She briskly commandeered all the porters and in no time had all the boxes placed on her sledge. My parents walked over to their sledge. Gherman embraced the old coachman fondly and introduced him to his young wife. The old man glanced at Nelly, smiled broadly and said something that appeared to please my father. Tucking the bearskin round them while addressing my father by the familiar “thou” and first name, he fussed for a little and clambered onto his seat. He raised the knout and off went the horses.

Behind them on her sledge, perched high on top of all the luggage, sat Tanya, her black draperies flapping behind like the wings of a gigantic bird.

Faster and faster flew the horses. They had now turned into Olonetskaya Street. As they ran through the gates the high turret of the summer house dominating the garden caught NellyТs eyes. “Look,” she suddenly said to my father and pointed to the sky. There fluttering high against the arctic sky, welcoming the Scottish bride, was the gold and scarlet of the Lion Rampant. She always told me that as she gazed up at this proud symbol of Scotland she knew that this was something that was her very own, something that was part of her being, and it seemed to be saying, “You must never be afraid, for I shall always be with you.”

The horses drew up sharply at the front entrance. My father helped Nelly down and they walked together up the crimson-carpeted staircase. Through the open inner doors could be seen standing in the hall a tall woman dressed in black who bore a strong resemblance to the photograph Nelly had of her mother-in- law. For a ^ moment she thought that it might be her, but my father, introducing her, explained this was his Aunt Ludmilla, his motherТs sister. “You must hurry,” Ludmilla told them anxiously, “they are all standing waiting for you in the ballroom.” As a young servant girl hurriedly removed her heavy shuba and fur hat, Nelly had wondered if she could be allowed to tidy herself a little and comb her hair, but that, it seemed, was not possible. Gherman took her hand and led her into the ballroom just as she was, her hair untidy and her dress all crumpled after the long journey. In the middle of the room stood her mother-in- law, a tall, resplendent figure in a golden brocade dress with a long train. In her hands was a large ikon of the Virgin and Child. She made no sign of welcome or movement towards them. Beside her stood her husband, my fatherТs stepfather. He was holding on a silver tray a large round loaf of black bread topped by a salt cellar Ч the traditional Russian symbol of welcome. In the background grouped around them were all the friends and members of the family. Still holding NellyТs hand, Gherman walked up to his mother and knelt in front of her. Standing beside him, bewildered, not knowing what was expected of her, Nelly hesitated. “Down, Nelly, down on your knees,” her husband urgently whispered as he pulled her down beside him. My grandmother stepped forward. Holding the ikon, she slowly and reverently made the sign of the cross over their bowed heads and then stepped back. My stepgrandfather took her place and gave his blessing with the bread and salt. That was all. The brief traditional ceremony was over.

My grandmother laid down the ikon, opened wide her arms and holding Nelly close to herself, smiled and kissed her on both cheeks. She tried to tell her in her broken English that she now had another daughter. All the other relatives gathered round kissing them both in turn. All except old Nanny Shalovchikha, now in her hundred and fifth year, a small shrivelled old woman, who stood aloof and glanced coldly at my mother. When my father called to see her during his short leave from Scotland, she had asked him if he did not think there were enough good-looking girls of his own kind to choose from. “Do you have to marry a foreigner?” she had demanded bitterly, “and an СAnglichanka5 at that?” A subject of a country where had reigned that other “Anglichanka”, the detested Queen responsible for the Crimean war and the death of her only son.

In the drawing-room were the gifts from the Russian side of the family.

With the expansive generosity of the merchant class they had presented gifts of pure silver that overwhelmed my mother. There, on a separate table, were the pieces of jewellery long since laid aside by my grandmother for the wife of the eldest son. There was no time to ponder and admire. Babushka, who had missed her sonТs wedding, was now determined that she also would have a wedding reception worthy of her son and daughter-in-law. Already the table was set and the hungry guests were eagerly waiting to sit down.

They had to hurry and join the party. Nelly, remembering that her mother-in-law was wearing a gold brocade gown, changed into what she thought was suitable for the party, but when she entered the dining-room she discovered to her dismay that Babushka had changed into mourning dress. The gold brocade gown was only worn for the ceremony of the blessing. Glancing round, Nelly found that with a few exceptions, everyone was dressed in black. Even the two little boys, aged four and six, were wearing mourning bands on their sleeves. For a fleeting moment she felt a strange, almost uncanny sensation. It was a time when mournings were taken seriously and by none more so than the Russians, especially in the depths of the north. It may not have looked like a wedding reception, but that did not deter all the guests from enjoying what was now to Nelly and Gherman the third wedding celebration and proved to be the gayest gathering of them all.

Some eighty guests had gathered round the table which stretched from the dining-room into the hall. There were again the endless courses, vodka, champagne, toasts and the traditional Russian wedding customs. A custom that seemed strange to Nelly was one that was usually followed at the table of newly-weds, and although my parents had been married for more than three weeks it did not stop the guests from following it now. One of the guests remarks casually to another that the food or drink has a slightly bitter taste. The other guest immediately agrees. “Decidedly it is bitter,” he says and the message is passed on to the next one who in turn repeats the same word until the chanting of “GorТko, gorТko” …

“Bitter, bitter” Ч forms a chorus from all parts of the table. At this point the only way to sweeten everything is for the young couple to turn and kiss each other. This was repeated several times. Odd as it must have been to Nelly, she obediently complied each time.

One by one the guests dispersed in their sledges to their own homes. It was a gay and exhaustive party, but along with all the drinking and eating, the toasts, the jokes and the old customs was the realisation that they had all done their best to make this young, foreign bride happy and were accepting her into what was a close community. Perhaps I should now say something about the background of the Russian family. All that I was told during my impressionable years when I listened, enthralled, to the tales of a bygone age.

When Tsar Peter the Grealt, that mighty and pitiless reformer, arrived in Archangel in 1693, he began to build a shipyard on the island of Solombala. To assist him in this enterprise, Peter imported from Holland designers, craftsmen and shipbuilders. Among them was a Dutchman named Rutger Van Brienen. In spite of the harsh climate and the backward conditions of the town, Van Brienen settled down in Archangel and never went back to his native land. A little more than a century later his descendant, Margaretha Caroline, was born and in 1818, at the tender age of seventeen, married a merchant, Ivan Gernet. They were my great-great-grandparents.

Margaretha Van Brienen was a proud woman. Proud of her name and distant associations with Peter the Great. As in St Petersburg, so in Archangel, Peter was fond of holding his famous “assemblies”. On one occasion he was supposed to have asked the wife of Van Brienen to dance with him, but she being large with child was forced to refuse this great honour and begged to be excused. Having read a great deal about Peter and his habits, I find it difficult to believe that a mere pregnancy would have deterred him from having a canter around the ballroom had he wished to do so. This story, however, has persisted throughout the generations. Ivan and his wife Margaretha had several children, but I am only concerned with two of them.

Their son Evgeny, or Eugene, and their daughter Amelia.

Like many mothers, Margaretha was ambitious for her family and especially for her son Eugene. Some time during the summer of 1842, Eugene was commissioned by his father to go to the district of Kaluga, a thousand miles away, to buy merchandise required for their business. Every year an important fair took place and merchants from many parts of Russia gathered to buy or sell the produce of that rich and prosperous country. When he arrived in Kaluga, he put up in the house of the local landowner who was a business associate and friend of the family.

The landowner was a widower. The whole running of the house lay in the hands of an able housekeeper named Feodosiya who was assisted by her young daughter Anna.

Somehow from the very first day Eugene became aware of this girl. He saw her busily engaged in her various tasks, bringing the steaming samovar and the food to the table or hurrying across the courtyard on her way to the village. He heard her talking and laughing or singing to herself like some happy bird on a spring morning. There was no contact of any kind. She remained in the background, for she was only the servant and he the guest.

One evening in the village there was a “goolyanie”, meaning a stroll or a “walkabout”. Joining the younger members of the family, Eugene went along to the village. It was a warm summer evening. The girls in their fresh cotton dresses and bright sarafans were strolling arm in arm up and down the street. The youths in their clean embroidered shirts and hair plastered close to their heads, strutted like cockerels in groups meeting and passing the girls. Someone produced an accordion, another strummed on a balalaika. There was dancing and singing to be followed by the Khorovod Ч the great circle when everyone joined hands and chanted as they circled faster and faster round a figure in the centre. Eugene and his friends were drawn into the ring and joined hands. In the centre, dancing with great style and abandon, was Anna. She was gliding around in that inimitable manner in which the flick of the hand, the shrug of the shoulder, the tilt of the head conveyed something that was elusive, truly Russian, and is second nature to every peasant girl. She was following the various commands of the chanting, “Bow to us all Ч Ai Lullie, Ai Lullie.

Bow to us all Ч Ai Lullie.” She stopped and bowed, touching the ground with the tips of her fingers and danced on to the next bidding and finally on to the last command when the circling halts and she is told, “Kiss the one that you love best Ч Ai Lullie, Ai Lullie.” For a moment she hesitated, then danced across to Eugene, kissed him lightly, pushed him inside the circle, and, taking his place, joined hands with the others.

The circling and chanting commenced again, this time around Eugene. That is what the Khorovod is all about and that was how the romance began between a simple peasant girl and a cultured young man from a privileged background.

Anna was not only attractive, but also highly intelligent. Brought up in the big house where there were books and having been taught to read and write by the local priest, she avidly read everything she could possibly find. Likewise she was influenced by a deeply religious mother whose moral standards were high. Eugene had known many girls, had many flirtations, if not affairs, in far off Archangel, but now this was something different.

They fell sincerely in love, yet both knew that between them there lay a great gulf, impossible to be bridged. She was a peasant and a serf as well. Both she and her mother belonged to the landowner. The days when Aleksandr II would free all serfs were still in the future. Anna was resigned to saying goodbye when the time came for Eugene to go back to the north. Eugene, a determined young man, had other ideas. He had decided to marry Anna. Knowing that the only way was to buy her, he approached his host, who was horrified and adamant in his refusal to sell the girl. He warned Eugene of the wrath to come if he agreed to his proposition, and that he himself as a friend of the family would be placed in a position where EugeneТs parents, with every justification, would accuse him of betraying their trust in him. Yet in the end, after prolonged arguments and discussion, perhaps because of some spark of humanity, or a romantic streak in his nature, or even possibly a profitable offer, he agreed to sell Anna.

Now there came a second formidable barrier, this time from Anna herself.

Her mother was a widow. There were no other brothers or sisters to take her place if she left her. She and her mother, having only each other, were very close, and, as much as this golden future beckoned, she utterly refused to leave her mother. The bargaining and cajoling began all over again. In the end the landowner, by now resigned to the inevitable, sold both, the mother and the daughter.

What was the price? I have at times wondered idly. It is a matter of interesting conjecture, but I shall never know the answer. They were married by the local priest in the little church in the village. The young sons of the landowner acted as sponsors and AnnaТs mother, Feodosiya, gave her blessing. From the church, accompanied by the villagers singing and chanting, they returned to the house where a table had been spread by their kind host for a few friends.