The Russians Collection

by Michael Phillips

  Anna offered a smile. The woman shared her aunt’s name; she hoped it signaled a fortuitous beginning to her time in St. Petersburg. The sad-looking Polya returned Anna’s smile with a quick flickering of her lips in a brief attempt at upward motion, then returned her eyes to the chopping block in front of her.

  In the meantime, Moskalev had disappeared back into the passage. Anna did not have to stand observing the kitchen work for long. In a moment or two he returned with Olga Stephanovna.

  The overseer of this portion of the house was in her forties or fifties—nearer fifty than forty if the graying hair pinned neatly under a white cap gave any indication. Stout and round-faced, she might have been taken for a motherly sort, except for the firm set of her ample jaw and the cold glint in her small brown eyes. Her thin, taut lips seemed unaccustomed to smiling. Her jowls, heavy and stiff, did not often shake with mirth. Apparently humor was absent from this woman’s creed. She had charge of the kitchens of a great Russian prince and took her duty seriously, expecting the same of the minions under her. Unlike the coachman’s dour exterior, which served merely as a facade to cover unmanly tenderness, Olga Stephanovna’s hardness extended throughout every fiber of her being.

  Anna gained a hasty impression as the two emerged from the passageway into the room where she stood. But even a simple country girl could tell at a glance that this was a woman to be wary of. She felt her face going white.

  “Look at her!” exclaimed the housekeeper. “They send us a sick one! A pale face like that won’t last the winter, probably not even till Christmas.”

  “Give the girl a chance, Olga,” said Moskalev.

  “Don’t tell me how to run my kitchens, coachman! You’ve done your job, now go back to your horses and carriages and sleighs.”

  “Bah!” growled Moskalev. Then turning to Anna, he leaned down and whispered, “See, what did I tell you?” Just as quickly he turned and was gone. Suddenly Anna felt very alone and helpless.

  “What is your name?” demanded Stephanovna, her voice sharp and harsh.

  Anna curtsied politely as she had been taught, and answered, “Anna Yevnovna Burenin.”

  “Another Anna, that is all we need!” the cook exclaimed in disgust. “Polya,” she said to the woman at the chopping block, “take her up to the servant’s quarters and find her a bed.” Then turning back to Anna, she added, “Be back quickly—no loitering about. There is work to be done.”

  Polya laid down the huge knife, and motioned silently for Anna to follow. Anna did not hesitate but hurried after her out of the kitchen. They proceeded in silence down the same dark, narrow hallway, then turned into another passage which led a short distance to a back staircase, steep stone steps only dimly lit by candles placed at intervals too far apart to do their job thoroughly. They climbed past several landings and around two or three corners, until at last, Polya stopped abruptly and pushed open a door on her right.

  “This is it,” she said, “what I suppose you must call home now.”

  The opening of the door revealed nothing to Anna’s curious eyes. The short winter’s day was already giving way to an early dusk.

  Anna waited at the door. Polya went inside, lit a lamp, and then Anna followed. Even in broad daylight the two high, narrow windows would have let few of the sun’s rays in. Anna saw four small iron-railed beds in a tight row against the far wall. At the foot of each bed sat a chest. The only other furniture in the room consisted of a coarse deal table in the center with three chairs around it. A small fireplace occupied the far corner. As Anna glanced toward the grate, an involuntary shiver trembled through her slight frame. The hearth was black and cold.

  “Olga keeps a close watch on wood for the fireplaces,” explained Polya. “She doesn’t want anyone to become sluggish at their duties.”

  “It is a little chilly,” admitted Anna timidly.

  “Don’t worry,” said Polya, “even Olga will not let her servants freeze. Is there anything you would like to know?”

  The question took Anna off-guard.

  “Oh—thank you for your kindness,” she replied. “My aunt, my mother’s sister, is also named Polya. She has always been very dear to me, and I hoped when I first heard your name that—”

  She broke off suddenly, flustered at her forwardness, and looked down at the floor.

  “I hope I am not old enough to be your mother’s sister,” said Polya, in a slightly teasing tone. “Perhaps her very young sister, do you think?”

  Anna laughed sheepishly, and glanced back up.

  “But I understand your meaning, Anna. I agree that it is a good omen, and I should like to be your friend. You will find that kindness is not such a rare occurrence around here as you might think.” Polya’s face bore traces of pain from a difficult life. Her smile, although not bright, was sincere and came from a depth of caring for those around her. “You’ll get used to Olga Stephanovna,” she went on. “Mind you, she’ll not become any nicer, and you’ll never enjoy her tongue-lashings. But you will become accustomed to her ways.”

  “I hope so.” Anna smiled, although Polya’s words sounded far from heartening.

  “We try to avoid her as much as possible—not an easy task since she dominates every inch of the kitchens. But staying out of her way makes life a little more endurable.”

  “There are four beds here,” asked Anna. “Are they all occupied?”

  “Yes, but don’t worry, Olga has a room all to herself! I occupy one of these beds, and you’ll meet the other two girls shortly.”

  Anna looked relieved.

  “There are nearly a hundred servants in the Fedorcenko household. We are very lucky to have a room with only four beds.”

  “A hundred servants!” repeated Anna. “I thought the prince had only his wife and two children!”

  “And no doubt they think they live as peasants because they have only twenty-five servants each!” Polya laughed. “Besides the family,” she went on, “there are any number of visitors about the place, and a party or entertainment or great dinner nearly every week. Even the tsar occasionally attends the prince’s affairs.”

  Anna nodded mutely. The light was beginning to dawn as to the vastness of this place.

  “But more than the people and the entertaining, it is the house itself that requires tending. That’s what most of the work involves. You should see all, Anna!”

  “Do you really mean I might be able to?” she said brightly.

  “Oh no, that would never do. I was only speaking in terms of what if you could. I’ve never seen the half of it.”

  The light left Anna’s face.

  “You have never worked as a servant before, have you?”

  Anna shook her head. “I have always lived in my parent’s home.”

  “The first lesson you must learn is that servants never mingle with masters. They never will, they never can. Should you encounter the princess or the prince’s son by accident when walking to or from the garden, or on some errand of Olga’s, you must keep your eyes to the ground, and never, never look them in the face. They cannot tolerate a servant who dares to presume upon their position.”

  Anna nodded gravely.

  “The master and the rest of the family have their own personal servants, of course,” Polya went on, “but they are different from us. They might as well be from another class altogether. None of them came from a peasant village. There are class distinctions even among the staff of servants, Anna, and you must learn your place quickly, or make enemies. I made that mistake soon after I came, of being too familiar, as she called it, with Olga. My life was miserable for the next year. I think she takes her grievances out on us who are under her thumb, because of the disdain those in the main house have for her.”

  “The main house?”

  “Didn’t you see it as you came? We are in a whole separate wing here. The best bred of the servant staff are chosen to work in the main house—polishing silver, cleaning, serving at meals and entertainments. But if they ar
e at the top of the ladder, so to speak, the kitchen servants are nearest the bottom . . . and the stablemen. We who boil cabbage and scrub pots, and the men who feed the horses and clean their stalls, are unimportant and replaceable. You will doubtless never lay eyes on your masters or any part of the main house. You must keep in your place. The Fedorcenkos are said to be liberal, fair-minded people, but not that liberal.” She paused. “Perhaps I should not have told you this. But you have more to worry about from Olga than anyone over in the main house.”

  Anna sighed, then set her wicker case on the bed Polya indicated would be hers. She opened the case and began to unpack her few belongings.

  “Once they were short-handed, Anna,” Polya went on in a dreamy tone, “and I served at a party. I think they told Olga to bring two or three of her best girls, and she must have decided that my appearance wasn’t too hideous to present to the public. Such sights I saw that night!”

  “What was it like?”

  “I will tell you later, tonight. There isn’t time now, for we must be back soon or Olga will send the bloodhounds after us. But, oh! The dresses alone would take an hour to describe. And the hall—two dozen pillars of marble, and a dozen or more chandeliers. They must have people who do nothing but keep the hundreds of tiny crystals polished! They were magnificent. The hall was as big as a church, maybe bigger. But—” She broke off the pleasant memories with a tone of urgency. “We must hurry. Olga’s nose is probably already in the air in search of us.”

  Anna turned to follow her from the room.

  “Leave your coat,” Polya said back to her. “You won’t need it. In a few minutes Olga will find plenty of work to keep you warm.”

  Anna took off the heavy ragged overcoat, threw it on the bed, and hastened after Polya back down the narrow stairs to the kitchen.

  Polya was right. Anna did not need her coat; she was soon very warm indeed. When she again climbed the stairs to her room, it was with tired, heavy steps. Her day had begun before dawn with a two-hour walk in the snow to Pskov, then the exertion of the train ride, the fears, the uncertainties. Her arrival, the new faces, and six hours of strenuous work under Olga’s command had exhausted her. In all that time she had taken only a short break for a bowl of cabbage soup with a few chunks of pale meat in it.

  Some time after ten o’clock Anna finally pulled the boots off her aching feet and tumbled into bed. She was far too weary to ask for Polya’s wonderful description of the grand party. That would have to wait. Her eyes closed the moment her head touched the mattress. Only one fragment of a thought flitted through her drowsy mind before sleep engulfed her.

  She had never before in her life slept in a bed like this, alone, without the comforting warmth and closeness of her mother and father and the rest of the family. Her feet and legs were cold.

  14

  During the days that followed, Anna scarcely had time to think about the cold—or anything else, for that matter. Every waking moment was filled with work. As expected, Olga Stephanovna was a taskmaster sterner than any promieshik over a multitude of serfs.

  Brief conversations with Polya and the other girls offered the sole bright spot throughout the dreary hours. Polya was a good ten years older than Anna, yet the two quickly became friends. Warmed by Anna’s pleasant disposition, Polya did all she could to instruct the innocent country girl in the ways of life at the Fedorcenko estate.

  With welcome heart Anna learned that each servant of the household was allowed half a day free each week. Olga disapproved of the practice, fearing that the scourge of laziness would inflict her laborers, but the liberal-minded prince insisted that the rule be maintained. Anna’s half-holiday fell on Thursday, and by happy chance—or perhaps sly maneuvering on the part of her friend—so did Polya’s.

  They slipped out the back door together shortly after midday on the Thursday following Anna’s arrival. Polya intended to show her new young friend some of the nearby city. The sun, already low in the sky, played with light and shadows on the snow. So delighted was Anna to be out of the house and into the fresh air that she ran gleefully through the drifts looking all about with pleasure.

  “The grounds and woods are so huge!” she exclaimed. “Do you really mean we can walk to the city from here?”

  “We are right in the middle of the city,” laughed Polya. “But you must watch where you go. We are only allowed to take this road that leads straight out through the main gates. You must have come in this way. But that other one—” She pointed behind them. “You mustn’t walk along that road.”

  “Where does it go?”

  “Out into the park and lawns and horse path. The park extends all the way to the Neva River. The prince rides his horses there, and I hear the family has a special place in one of the gardens alongside the river where they sit and watch the troika races when the Neva’s ice is thick enough.”

  “What is a troika?”

  “Oh, we’re sure to see some today. They are the grandest, swiftest sleighs in all of St. Petersburg. Even Moskalev doesn’t pretend to have the skill to race one, though I am certain he dreams of it. The prince has his own troika that his head coachman races. But I think Moskalev could do as well.”

  “I should like to see such a sleigh, and a race too,” said Anna. “But what are these?” she added, as they passed by two enormous marble columns. Their whiteness blended so well with the background of snow that she had almost walked right past them.

  “That is the entrance to the Promenade Garden. How I would like to walk inside—just once! They say they are the finest gardens in all of St. Petersburg, renowned throughout all Russia.”

  “Oh, I would love to see it,” Anna said. She missed her walks through the quiet beauty of the countryside.

  “Such sights are not for servants like us, Anna. Satisfy yourself with the Haymarket.”

  On they walked, past the two columns, until they came to the black iron gates, where Polya spoke a few words of greeting with the gateman. In another three minutes Anna found herself emerging from the tree-lined drive onto a broad, busy avenue that eventually intersected Nevsky Prospect. She followed Polya to the right, and on toward the middle of the city.

  15

  Anna had been part of the household staff for about a month when a rarity of epic proportions struck the kitchen, plunging all the servants into a spirit of holiday gaiety. Olga Stephanovna’s sister died.

  “I love Olga’s sister!” exclaimed one of the cook’s assistants.

  “You knew her?” asked another.

  “No! I love her because she died and gave us a few days of rest away from the Iron Mistress. Surely she will warrant a place with the saints for that!”

  “As much as I hate to rejoice in someone else’s grief,” said Polya softly to Anna a few minutes later, “I can’t say I’m sorry Olga will be in Novrogod for several days.” Her normally melancholic eyes glowed with enthusiasm as she spoke. “Especially since that means I’ll be in charge! And the first thing I’m going to do, Anna Yevnovna, is to insist that you take the rest of this day off.”

  “Why, Polya? I’m feeling fine,” asked Anna.

  “You have been working hard, and this is new for you. And I’m giving you no choice. For a day or two, I’m your master, Anna, and I insist that you spend this day as you would like to spend it.”

  Thus Anna found herself, as if compelled by old habit, wandering out the back door, bundled in coat and gloves and hat, with a book in her hand, hoping to find some quiet place to read that might remind her of the old willow tree at home.

  Before she realized it, Anna had passed the marble columns and was strolling dreamily into the depths of the Promenade Garden. Perhaps Olga’s absence contributed to her carefree inattentiveness, but whatever the reason, Polya’s earlier warning could not have been further from her consciousness. All at once she was back in Katyk, meandering out to her favorite reading spot to be alone for an hour with her book.

  The morning sunlight cast reflections of ora
nge and yellow on the snowy ground. The ornamental trees were now bare, and the rows of tidily trimmed evergreen hedges—some short, some so tall she could not see over them—stood out as an intricate geometric pattern, a maze leading away from the mansion and deeper into the garden.

  Further and further Anna roamed, caught up in the fairy-like unreality of the place. She had never seen anything like it! The wintry quiet, the white blanket of snow, and the stillness of the air all enhanced her sense of awe, as if she were walking into a huge, domeless cathedral. Though vastly different than it would have been in springtime, or in the middle of a hot summer, even in winter the innate beauty of the place could not be obscured. Leafless oaks and birches—and willows too, much to Anna’s delight—lined the winding paths. Anna had all but forgotten the volume in her hand, nor was she aware of the icy numbness of her toes. On she slowly walked, making a turn, changing directions to follow some different hedge-lined trail or path, heedless of her steps. The thought of sitting down to read had left her utterly.

  Anna found herself imagining what the garden must be like in spring, with all the trees in full delicate leaf, flowers blooming in the bare beds, with roses and chrysanthemums and petunias flourishing where now the beds lay covered with snow. Small leaves of bright green ivy would burst out where the tentacles entwined the stone columns and encircled the trunks of the larger trees. Birds would flit among the lush canopy of leaves overhead, and the fragrance from the roses and sweet peas and the blossoms on the cherry trees would pervade all.

  It was no less lovely now, although the smells spoke not of spring blossoms, but of wetness and decay and black fertile earth, teeming with the potency of life regathering its strength in slumber. The artist who had conceived this magnificent, sprawling outdoor arboretum had planned well for St. Petersburg’s long, engulfing winter. Evergreens, both tall-standing trees and low-lying shrubbery, filled the landscape between the deciduous plants. Despite the bare branches of birch and willow, the landscape wore a rich, living, healthy texture. Anna came into a more open area where the path she had been following gave way to a snow-covered expanse of meadow. She spied in the distance a large glass-enclosed greenhouse. Beyond this winter garden she caught a faint glimpse of a line of black winding through the whiteness—the Neva River, she assumed from her conversation with Polya.