The House by the Dvina (9 page)

She kept her promise. At least part of it. It was not within her power to see too far into the future.

Helped by books, workmen, clever joiners and painters, there gradually appeared out of a wilderness a unique garden which was the true realisation of her dream.

All walls were rebuilt. A leafy hedge, spangled with golden flowers, separated the courtyard from the garden. The pond was enlarged and stocked with carp which bred and multiplied. Irises, daffodils, bullrushes grouped themselves around the grassy edge. Two white piers complete with railings jutted out over the water. On the west bank behind one of them, was built a rustic summer house nestling against a clump of birches.

Dominating the whole garden, on top of what was now a small hill, stood a miniature replica of a fairy castle. Steps between flowering bushes led to a room furnished with table and chairs. The diamond-shaped multi-coloured panes of the Gothic-style windows were a great source of delight to us children when we gazed through them and saw the garden immediately transformed into a strange, mysterious place, dark and haunting, or in turn golden and bright.

From this room was a door to an outside stair leading to a flat roof, enclosed by low crenellated walls. In the corner was a tower, through which a steep stair came out on to a small platform with a flagpole. From this high point one had a fine view of the surrounding district and the river.

Looking down on to the garden below were lawns, flower beds, unusual trees and bushes. They came from many parts. The blue spruce and stately dark-green pines from our own district, the balsam poplar with crimson, scented catkins from Siberia. Plants and bulbs from the steppes. The surrounding shores of the great Lake Baikal provided a source of many rare and beautiful flowers. Lilac bushes in all shades grew in great profusion, for they could stand up against the destructive frosts. Throughout my childhood bundles wrapped in straw and sacking kept arriving at the house.

From the north of Scotland came roses and, on one exciting day, an apple tree.

Perhaps nowadays apple trees can flourish in the distant north, but seventy years ago our apple tree was the only one in the whole of Archangel, if not in the district. In the early summer, groups of schoolchildren were often brought round to see this great rarity blossoming in our garden.

The garden was a living monument to a great achievement. She who created it could have stood alongside many of the greatest gardeners, for it has to be remembered that everything had to be coaxed out of earth frozen for eight months in the year. Many years later, after everything was destroyed, they came to her, to the small room where she and Dedushka were living some distance away from the plundered house and garden. In beguiling tones of flattery they asked her to rebuild the garden all over again. They would assist her in every way, they added grandly. My grandmother looked at them coldly. She was now an old woman whose life was drawing to a close. She walked over to a corner of the room where were kept her few remaining precious books. Placing them in their hand she said with fine irony: “You have destroyed. You can rebuild.” The garden remained untouched. Aleksandr, infected by his young wifeТs fervour, assisted her in every way, sparing no expenses to carry out all her ideas.

The vegetable garden flourished. The fruit bushes growing in orderly rows promised a rich crop of berries in the early autumn. The tender green of the young grass pushed through in the lawns. Their little daughter, Olga, was growing and running along the newly gravelled paths or playing in the little spinney where her father had erected a swing between the trees.

They were now expecting their second child. Both hoped that it might be a son. They had so much to look forward to.

One long, hot summer day in late June 1880, my grandparents were invited to attend a christening in the northern outskirts of the city. The young father had chosen Aleksandr to be godfather. There was no doubt that this was going to be a lively gathering with a plentiful supply of food and drink. In the morning, Yenya, having spent a restless night and suffering more than usual from the symptoms of an early pregnancy, reluctantly decided to remain at home. She was afraid that the long drive over rough and cobbled roads combined with the heat would only aggravate her condition. Aleksandr, who always preferred to drive himself when travelling alone, set off with his horse and trap promising to return early in the evening. After the ceremony, they gathered round the laden table. There were the usual repetitive toasts for the health of the new young citizen, the happy parents, all the babushkas, dedushkas, the godfather and godmother, the priest, the deacon and all the other important guests.

The white nights can be deceptive. By the time Aleksandr decided to take the road it was much later than he thought. He had raised and emptied too many glasses and was now highly elevated. The night was cool and fresh. He felt cheerful and happy at the prospect of soon being back in his own house and bed. The horse, sensing it was going back to its stable, playfully trotted along the road between the wooden houses and grey, weathered walls enclosing leafy gardens.

For the past two years, Aleksandr had used the road through the barracks as a short-cut to his house. The men and officers knew him. Now, as he turned to go in, he was astonished to find the sentry barring his way.

Aleksandr drew up. He had never seen this soldier before. It was obvious the soldier had never seen him and was unaware that Aleksandr had permission to use the road through the barracks. The sentry merely said, “It is forbidden.”

Had Aleksandr been sober, common sense would have prevailed, or if Yenya had been with him, she would have persuaded him to take the longer road to avoid all arguments. But there was no Yenya and Aleksandr wasnТt sober.

Frustration and anger welled up inside him. The sentryТs manner of insolent self-importance was offensive. Throwing down the reins, he walked across to him.

No one ever knew the full details of the altercation. The fact remains that the sentry raised his gun and aimed at Aleksandr. Aleksandr, casting aside all sense and caution, threw himself at the soldier and snatched the gun. There was a short struggle, culminating in a shattering report that echoed all over the barracks. The soldier slumped to the ground.

The sudden realisation of what he had done shocked Aleksandr into sobriety. He stood unable to move, not knowing if the soldier lying at his feet was dead or alive. The boyТs young face was deathly white. A small crimson pool was slowly spreading over the ground.

From all ends of the barracks men were running towards the gate.

In the cool of the late evening, Yenya went out into the garden. The sun, sliding slowly to the west, was shedding a soft and tender light. The white night was spreading her mystery over a sleepy garden. Not a leaf stirred and the birds were long since silent.

Time moved slowly. She strolled along the paths between the sweet-scented flower beds, through the silver avenue of the birch trees and on to the pond where she circled around until, tiring, she stood leaning against the white railings of the small jetty, gazing down into the dark, mysterious depth.

A nagging resentment was building up. Aleksandr had promised to return in the early evening. It was now almost midnight. She turned away and began to walk slowly back. It was then she heard coming from the courtyard the sound of voices and the crunching of wheels over the gravel. In the centre of the courtyard stood AleksandrТs horse and trap. Men in uniforms were beside it. Nanny Shalovchikha, in her night cap and with her shawl thrown over her shoulders, was talking to them. Yenya saw no sign of Aleksandr.

Fear, ice cold, began to churn inside her.

At first, stunned and horrified as she was, Yenya did not realise the full implications of what had occurred. It was a blessed relief to learn the soldier was not killed and not even seriously wounded. Also, she reasoned naively, Aleksandr after all did not mean to hurt the sentry, but only intended to remove his gun. The terrible impact of the truth came later.

The barracks and soldiers represented the defence of the realm. The young sentry defending the gates of the barracks was the TsarТs soldier. To attack him in any way was tantamount to treason. Treason demanded a heavy price.

The news spread quickly. All through the night relatives kept arriving at the house. The first to arrive were YenyaТs parents Anna and Eugene. Franz and Amelia followed. Through the day brothers, sisters and friends continued to call. Like small birds, huddled together, weathering a storm, YenyaТs parents and all who were close to her rallied round her. All wheels were set in motion to engage the best legal aid. Those who held important positions were approached and others who had friends in high places, even in distant towns, were assigned to use their influence. No money was spared. The best known advocate in St Petersburg was commissioned to defend Aleksandr.

Throughout that summer of anxiety, when the days alternated between hope and despair, Yenya still travelled every week to the market to buy all the provisions, bought berries and made jam. Salted cucumbers and cabbage.

Dried mushrooms and herbs. Planned for the winter and supervised the house and garden. She kept herself occupied, but anxiety never left her. It was her constant grim companion throughout her waking hours. Sleep brought forgetfulness, awakening the anguish of reality. The trial took place in the late autumn. Aleksandr was sentenced to Siberia.

The sentence plunged the family into despair. Amelia wept incessantly.

Although the conditions in Siberia for political prisoners were almost benign when compared to the horrors that were to come four decades later, Amelia was convinced her son would never come back. Yenya, for the sake of her unborn child, hid her grief and remained calm.

No one expected the verdict to be so harsh. Yet it had to be recognised that during the reign of Aleksandr II, there had been a constant succession of revolutionary plots and so many attempts by the Nihilists to assassinate the Tsar who had freed the serfs, that it caused him to ask in despairing tones, “What have I done that they should hate me so?” It was not surprising therefore, that all laws and regulations were tightened and those who broke them were severely punished.

Once more all wheels were set in motion, this time to organise an appeal for clemency. They might have spared themselves the time and effort. The sentence stood.

The advocate who had worked untiringly on AleksandrТs behalf travelled from St Petersburg to Archangel. He still held one small trump, but found it was necessary to see the family before he could show it.

In those days there was no railway connecting Archangel to St Petersburg.

People still used the horse as a means of conveyance just as they did in the time oi Peter the Great. By now the whole of the north was i∞ the grip of winter. After a cold and hazardous journey he arrived in Archangel and was welcomed to the house by Yenya.

Shortly after his arrival, on a dark November eveningї there was a gathering round the dining-room table. All the nearest relatives where there. Margaretha, by now & widow of many years, came also. Her contemporaries, Feodosiya and the faithful retainer Nanny Shalovhikha sat together. Yenya sat between her parents.

The man who had done all he could briefly went over everything they knew already. He then quietly told then1 that there was still one avenue left.

There were certain days, he explained, during the sacred holidays of Christmas and Epiphany, when the Tsar exercised clemency to petitioners who made personal appeals to him. This could only be done by someone who was a close relative of the convicted person. Already enquiries had been made and the opportunity of presenting the appeal to the Tsar was possible. He turned to Yenya. “I am convinced,” he said, “that you are the only one who could do this and the only one who would perhaps arouse the TsarТs compassion. Yet, I have to remind you that this journey may prove to be very dangerous. There would be the terrible cold and frost. A snowstorm could cut you off from all habitation. There are also wolves. A journey such as this in the dead of winter is not a pleasant prospect for any traveller, and in your condition, I fear it would be well-nigh impossible. However,” he added, “I have no other solution to offer.” “I will go,” Yenya said quietly. “There is no other way.” “Yes, she will go,”

echoed Anna. She took her daughterТs hand between her own and held it firmly. “We shall travel together,” she added.

One day, in early December, when a faint light was breaking through the darkness, a troika harnessed to a kibitka Ч the hooded carriage placed on runners Ч stood waiting at the front entrance. In the half-light shadowy figures could be seen hurrying from the house to the kibitka, carrying valises, pillows and packages.

From the time the advocate had left there had been endless preparations for the journey. The best driver was engaged Ч Stepan, as he was called, was renowned for his expert knowledge of the highway to St Petersburg. The manager of the mill, Pavel Mikhailovich, a man of great integrity, was assigned to accompany the ladies. All provisions had to be carried. The cook was kept working for days on end roasting partridges, baking pirozohkis and cookies. For a journey such as this the traveller had to be prepared for any eventuality. Yenya was now almost eight months pregnant.

Anna hid her fears and prepared for the worst.

Now all the bustling was over. In the hall, relatives had gathered to see Yenya and her mother setting off on their memorable journey.

Yenya and her mother emerged, dressed in heavy shubas, fur hats and shawls. The moment of departure had arrived. Old Feodosiya moved over to her daughter. “Bogh Milostiv” Ч “God is merciful,” she said and blessed her. Eugene kissed and blessed his wife and daughter; the others followed.

“We must sit down now,” he said. According to the old tradition, everyone sat down and for a moment remained silent. They then stood up and moved towards the door. Yenya and Anna were helped into the depth of the kibitka and sat huddled under shawls and bearskins. In front were Pavel Mikhailovich and Stepan.