The House by the Dvina (20 page)

I hurried away to the foot of the hillock on top of which stood the main summer house dominating the garden. It was this mysterious “Fairy Castle”

that had fired my imagination and aroused a determination to get inside it, but on drawing closer I discovered that the steps leading from the base of the hillock were completely snowed up. It was beyond my puny strength to reach the platform. The surrounding trees had the closed look of stern sentinels on watch. Perhaps they were guarding their castle and resented this curious interloper and perhaps, who knows, inside there was a sleeping princess who would awaken with the first kiss of spring when she and all around her would come to life again.

When I returned to the house, I discovered that there had been another arrival at the house. My cousin Marina had come from St Petersburg.

Marina was my Aunt OlgaТs second daughter who had contracted an illness which destroyed her hearing. She had spent seven years in a special boarding school in St Petersburg and still had two years to go before she was finished, but recently a very clever and enterprising lady had opened a small private school for deaf children in Archangel. Babushka had suggested to my aunt that Marina should come to her and join this school as a day pupil and, in this way, have the security and happiness of a family life. And so Marina arrived and, like myself, crept under BabushkaТs ever protective wings. Marina was seven years older than me, but in spite of the disparity in our ages and her sad handicap, she and I became great friends. She was blessed with a very keen brain and an observant eye. She wrote and read fluently and was an amazing lip-reader as well. I learned very quickly the language of the hands, but Marina never permitted anyone to use their hands in front of strangers or outside, and would brush any movement aside saying one short sentence: “Rukamie ne nado” … “Hands are not necessary.”

She was given a little room all to herself and, being well trained in St Petersburg, kept herself and her room in immaculate order, allowing no servant to do anything for her. Unlike my young Aunt Marga, who devoted a lot of time to keeping her beautiful hands perfect Ч and a great deal of patience and energy embroidering handkerchiefs or taking care of her numerous ornaments Ч Marina followed Babushka like a faithful little puppy, always eager to help, to mend, to sew and in the summer months assist Babushka in every way in the garden. At times Babushka, seeing her engrossed in some task, would exclaim, “My Marinochka has golden hands.”

With the approach of Christmas a great activity commenced in the house.

The floor polishers came and skated over the parquet floors in their inimitable style. Mirrors and furniture were rubbed until they shone, the chandelier was dismantled and each sparkling piece cleaned and hung back in its place. The same kind of activity went on in the kitchen. On the table, piled high, lay capercailzies, geese and white partridges, waiting to be plucked and prepared for the oven. A special dough, sitting in a crock for a month slowly fermenting and absorbing spices, was now ready to be rolled out and cut into stars, crescents and hearts and finally baked in the oven. Baskets were filled with these biscuits and, along with sweets and other delicacies, despatched to my Aunt Olga in Finland. Every day Babushka set off into town and came back laden with parcels. Presents were sent to each of her numerous granddaughters and all the other members of the family including the nannies and mamkas. No one was forgotten.

Christmas, as well as BabushkaТs and my own nameday of St Evgeniya, was to be celebrated as usual on Christmas Eve. As the day grew nearer, other more interesting, and for me, exciting and even mysterious preparations began upstairs. One evening immediately after dinner, Babushka produced a big bag of walnuts and placed it on the round table. Saucers of sweetened milk, lighted candles, sealing-wax and strands of green wool were laid out. Then each one of us was handed a small book of gold leaf attached to tissue pages. Marga and the boys knew the procedure. Marina, once she discovered what was wanted, worked faster than any of us. I tried to follow the best way I could. A single leaf, attached to the tissue paper, was held in the palm of the hand. The walnut was dipped in the sweetened milk and immediately enveloped in gold. The two ends of the cut wool were placed on the flat end of the nut and sealed with a drop of sizzling wax.

The nut, now ready for hanging, was placed on a tray.

Apples grown specially for the Christmas trade came next. These little apples, crimson and white, almost pear-shaped, were the type often depicted in fairy tales. The stalks on them were long enough to have attached to them the same green loops for hanging.

I had no idea for what purpose all these loops had to be fixed, nor yet did it occur to me to enquire. This coming Christmas was to be the first one I would remember. There was a vague memory of another one in Scotland, when in the morning I found a stocking full of little presents followed by other gifts and later by a Christmas party. In my early days in Scotland there were no Christmas trees.

In the mornings, rosy-cheeked peasant women, carrying baskets, came to the house offering their home-baked “kazoolies” laid out in rows between layers of white linen. The “kazoolies” were delicious spiced cakes formed into shapes of people and animals typifying the north. There were Eskimos, polar bears, reindeer, all decorated in white and pink sugar. The doors leading into the ballroom were locked for some reason. Yura, Seryozha and Marga kept darting in and out, but gave vague answers or ignored completely all my enquiries. It was all very mysterious.

One morning a troika accompanied by the gay jingling of bells rushed through the gates and halted at the front entrance. Troikas, with the advent of the railways, were not seen so often. We ran to the windows and watched two plump ladies scramble out of their kibitka. They were BabushkaТs cousins who lived in the depth of the country far from any railway station. For years they had always stayed with us over the festive season. They were not married and both were alike, poured into identical black-lustre dresses, trimmed at the neck and wrists with lace frills.

Their sweet faces expressed cheerfulness and undisguised delight at being once again in our midst. Adelya and Verochka were welcomed in the usual Russian fashion, hugged and kissed on each cheek. They were the only two survivors of what was once a big and happy family who often exchanged visits with BabushkaТs people in Maimaksa. That was long ago when they were all young, but now, living alone in the depth of the wooded countryside, they were inclined, like many elderly people, to dwell in the past. After handing over their many presents to Babushka, who in turn put them behind the locked doors of the ballroom, the three ladies retreated to the peace of the corner room where they sat reminiscing.

A little later a portly gentleman known as Pavel Petrovich arrived from Vologda. A great friend of Dedushka, he was a bachelor and, like Dedushka, passionately interested in bees. No sooner was he in the house than he and Dedushka retreated to the study to talk on their favourite subject. I may add that both gentlemen in due course received a special recognition from the government for the joint invention of a method which enabled bees to survive arctic conditions.

The house by now was rather full, but everyone was happy for in those days people still covered long distances, braving frosts and snowstorms to join family gatherings and above all to enjoy the gladness and warmth of an old-fashioned Russian Christmas.

In the early afternoon of Christmas Eve more guests arrived. Aunt Peeka and Uncle Kolya came with Lidochka, her husband and their little daughter, Polya. Also from Solombala came Ludmilushka, her husband and their young son, Modist. The third sister, Tanya, the three children and her husband, driving their old horse, crossed the river from their house near the Issakagorka Station. Tanya, always willing to help everyone, was very poor so that this yearly Christmas gathering was a special treat and a source of great excitement to her children. My fatherТs Uncle Adolf, a very imposing gentleman, who was my godfather and the brother of my late grandfather, arrived with his smart wife, Aunt Fanny. There were also young cousins from that side of the family. And then there was DedushkaТs only relative, known, strange to say, by her surname of Auntie Doodkina, a sweet and shy old lady who brought some of her lovely baking. Also Aunt Emma, BabushkaТs dearest and oldest friend from her childhood. Auntie Emma lived alone, but no gathering or celebration ever took place without her.

When Babushka was surrounded by many people or was occupied, Aunt Emma liked to sit alone in some quiet corner with a little glass of something in her hand.

As was the custom, Babushka and I received the usual congratulations on the day of our Saint. The presents that everyone brought vanished behind the locked doors of the ballroom. It was not usual for children to be running around between the feet of their elders, but later, it being Christmas, an exception was made. Meanwhile, the grown-ups adjourned to the corner room while all the children, under MarinaТs and YuraТs supervision, were banished to the nursery. There we played games and amused ourselves, but I, full of curiosity, kept opening the door and peeping through to the dining-room where Babushka, with a preoccupied air, kept rearranging the hanging grapes on the epergnes and putting finishing touches to the table. I saw Irisha, the young tablemaid, carrying through to the dining-room a tray loaded with hot pirozshkis which would be served with the soup. I passed on the glad news to the others and sure enough we were soon trooping into the dining-room to take our places with our elders.

The Christmas dinner bore a resemblance to the one that I remembered in Scotland except that instead of roast turkey there were geese stuffed with apples accompanied by partridges cooked in sour cream. At the end as a special gesture to her half-Scottish granddaughter, Babushka served a plum pudding. Inside were the usual trinkets, which surprised and delighted young and old. During the dinner, there were pauses when someone would stand up and offer a toast to Babushka and myself in recognition of our nameday, which gave me a delightful sense of importance.

Towards the end of dinner Yura and Seryozha excused themselves and disappeared into the ballroom. Soon after, Babushka suggested we should leave the table and move towards the closed doors. There we stood waiting.

There was an air of expectation. Then, at the tinkling of a bell, all the lights went out, plunging the rooms in darkness. The double-doors were flung wide open.

And there, against the background of total darkness stood this glorious thing, stretching up to the ceiling, ablaze with lights. I had not seen before a Christmas tree of any kind. The sudden impact of this amazing sight overwhelmed me.

Everything shimmered and trembled. The beautiful fairy standing on tiptoes, the snow queen on the sledge driving the silver reindeer to her ice castle with the little boy behind her, Red Riding Hood with her basket setting off to visit her grandma, the little mermaid swaying gently on the edge of a branch, the princess in her gown and diamond coronet, the evil witch standing beside the cottage which is slowly circling on hensТ feet, the gnomes and the little winged angels, the tinkling crystal icicles and the sparkling scattered frost. And over all the glitter, the characters out of fairy tales, the apples, sweets and golden walnuts, there was the brilliance of candles, each pointed flame surrounded by a golden halo encircling the tree, layer upon layer of them, and fusing together into one cascading light of dazzling splendour.

I still remember saying to myself, “This must be like the heaven about which Babushka told me Ч the place where little children sometimes went to, where they were always happy and never scolded, where everything was bright and golden apples grew on trees.”

Happiness is relative Ч in my days I have had my share, but nothing has ever surpassed those few rare moments of sheer rapture when I stood gazing up at the wondrous sight of my first Christmas tree.

I could have stood for ever. Finally, I turned and walked over to my table. The presents for each member of the family were laid out on small individual tables. On mine there were many gifts. Babushka was distributing presents to all our friends and to every servant. The children were running round eating mandarin oranges and pulling nuts, apples and sweets from the tree. Later there were slides displayed by a magic lantern on to a sheet hung over the wall of the hall. The scenes portrayed, from fairy tales and nursery rhymes, were accompanied by a running commentary by Seryozha and although we were to see these same pictures year after year they never failed to delight. In the late evening the sledges of the guests began to glide back to their homes. After the last one left, Yura and Seryozha carried the high steps into the ballroom and began to put out the candles. One by one the lights went out until the tree was left in darkness. On Christmas morning all members of the family and guests attended the Christmas service. Our church Ч the Church of the Assumption Ч lay a short distance from the house. With the exception of Babushka and her plump cousins, who went by sledge, we all walked along the river front. The morning, bright as silver, was filled with the sound of all the church bells ringing in joyful unison. Ploughing through the deep snow, which crunched pleasantly under our boots, we reached the church. In the entrance a row of poor people, dressed in miserable rags, stood begging in the name of the new-born Saviour. Inside, the church was packed. Masses of candles burned in front of each ikon. The smell of beeswax, humanity and incense mingled together. The glorious voices of the unseen choir sang loud and clear.

Two days later Babushka and I set off to the house of my godfather, where we were invited to a family gathering of those related to my late grandfather. We were driven by Mikhailo, who had returned to BabushkaТs household when my parents went away.

The adults adjourned to the dining-room for their dinner while we children ate at a big round table in the nursery where a young governess took charge and saw that we all behaved ourselves. When dinner was over we were allowed to join the grown-ups in the drawing-room. There we all played drawing-room games. In the corner stood a Christmas tree never to be compared with our own. Over-decorated, it lacked the artistic touch of Babushka5 s hands. Instead of the soft candlelights, small coloured electric bulbs were scattered over the tree Ч no doubt infinitely safer, but lacking in atmosphere.