by E. P. Clark
There was a murmur of approbation over this, which was silenced as soon as Slava’s sister flashed her eyes over the crowd.
“Under the sure guidance of Yevdoksiya Anastasiyevna, Olga Vasilisovna set off for the Midnight Land, accompanied by her brave men and myself. We traveled many days, until we left the taiga behind and entered the tundra, where trees do not grow and the sun never rises the whole winter long.”
There was a chorus of indrawn breaths at this, but everyone was too enthralled with Slava’s story by now to interrupt her with any conversation.
“There we divided our party, half to stay in camp, and half to go exploring. Olga Vasilisovna and Yevdoksiya Anastasiyevna led the exploring party, while I stayed in the camp. Guarded by Olga Vasilisovna’s brave men,” Slava added, seeing that that last bit had not won the approval of the crowd—why should a couple of Northerners stand to gain all the glory? At her words, though, everyone nodded and smiled. Of course the Tsarinovna would remain in camp and under guard.
“We…We encountered many strange things in that unending midnight,” said Slava. “And so we decided in the end to carry on to Lesnograd, hoping that the sorceresses there would be able to enlighten us. On our way to Lesnograd, we met with much trouble and misfortune, but in the end we arrived, only to find more trouble.” Slava stopped, momentarily unsure how to proceed. The crowd shifted restlessly, and she quickly started up again. “Princess Severnolesnaya was gravely ill, and all Lesnograd was stricken with concern and grief,” she said. “We were obliged to stay there some time as a support to Vasilisa Vasilisovna, the princess’s heir. While I was there, I developed a great fondness for Vladislava Vasilisovna, the princess’s granddaughter and Vasilisa Vasilisovna’s heir, and have brought her to Krasnograd as my ward.”
There were some inadvertent exclamations of “Oh, how wonderful!” and “The Tsarinovna! So kind-hearted!”
“I am very glad to hear this, dear sister,” said Slava’s sister. “I look forward to making her acquaintance. And what transpired then?”
“We traveled from Lesnograd to Krasnograd, hampered by the onset of spring but without meeting any untoward difficulties,” said Slava. “And as you see, we arrived today in safety.”
“For which we are inexpressibly grateful,” said Slava’s sister. Her initial unfeigned joy at Slava’s return was already sinking down beneath her Empress’s mask, and her words, while more elegantly expressed, no longer contained the ring of genuine feeling that had so surprised Slava at first. “Dear sister,” she continued, “you speak of encountering many strange things in the Midnight Land, things that obliged you to seek out sorceresses. What kind of strange things did you encounter? We are not poor in sorceresses in Krasnograd either, you know: perhaps they can be of some assistance. And my princesses and I thirst to hear more of your adventures, if you still have the strength to tell us.”
“I had…strange dreams and visions,” said Slava reluctantly. “Strange dreams and visions, that seemed also to have substance in the waking world. And when we returned to the taiga, we were pursued by leshiye, the leshiye I had seen previously in my dreams, and we barely escaped from them with our lives. And then…we encountered much magic, and those touched by the gods themselves.”
“You say that you had strange dreams and visions?” asked Slava’s sister, turning from the princesses, whom she had been watching with her imperial gaze, and looking at her intently. “You were the one who had these strange dreams and visions?”
“Yes,” said Slava with a nod. “It was I.”
“You and no one else?”
“Not that I am aware of,” said Slava. “I was the only one who spoke of them, at least.”
“The Tsarinovna was the only one,” said Olga, speaking up for the first time. “And she has given a very brief description of all she saw and did. Truly, Tsarina, esteemed princesses, the Tsarinovna’s gifts are strange and strong, so much so that the gods themselves desired her for their partner and ally.”
“I see,” said Slava’s sister, continuing to stare at her intently. She had the same look that Olga had worn so many times when looking at Slava, the look of someone who had placed a bet on an unknown horse and was surprised to see the results of her boldness, only her look was tinged with a bit of fear, as well. Fear that she refused to face, so that it haunted her all the more. “I see we must speak of this further. But it will have to wait until after you are bathed, rested, and fed. Please, refresh yourselves, and this evening there will be a great feast to celebrate your safe return. Princesses, welcome your Tsarinovna back to Krasnograd, and we shall see each other again this evening!”
The princesses broke out into more cheering, and making way for her (and Olga, who was following in her wake) with the greatest apparent respect, bowed her out of the room. She must have been very tired, Slava thought, for tears prickled behind her eyes, and she was glad to escape the hall without giving them further cause to accuse her of hysteria.
But after she was out of their sight and was no longer so overwhelmed by the multitude of stares, it occurred to her that some of them, at least, had been genuine in their joy to see her home, and she had behaved most churlishly in half-running out of the room like that, looking neither right nor left.
“I should have paid them more attention,” she said despondently to Olga as they were shephered down the corridor by Boleslav Vlasiyevich, Yarmila Kseniyevna, and an ever-growing collection of servants and guards.
“Whom?” asked Olga, looking around in surprise.
“The princesses,” said Slava. “I hardly even looked at them…And I think they were actually glad to see me safely returned…”
“Yes…” said Olga, puzzled. “Of course they were. And it’s not as if you slighted them—you came straight to them from the sleigh, without even stopping in the bathhouse.”
“But I didn’t even look at most of them,” said Slava. “And I think they were actually glad to see me.”
Olga gave Slava a long sideways look. “You say that as if it’s a surprise,” she said.
“Well, I always assumed they couldn’t wait to to see the back of me. I never thought they’d be glad to see my face again.”
“You’re the Tsarinovna! Of course they were overjoyed!”
“Yes, but I think some of them, at least, really were overjoyed. I mean, they weren’t merely pretending. They really were glad to see me.”
“And this is normally not the case?”
“No, normally they can’t seem to stand the sight of me.”
“Well, they’ve had a while to forget what you look like,” said Olga bracingly. “People are always glad to see someone after a long absence. You can be fond of anyone if they’re not around to annoy you. But in a day or two you start remembering all the things you hated about them, and in a week you’re right back to quarrelling like bored cats.”
“True,” said Slava, and tried to look—and feel—more cheerful. It was all because she was tired, she told herself, but she had to admit that she was astonished at how much she had assumed the princesses disliked her, and how touched she was that today, at least, they appeared to like her very much. To have a hall full of people who were kindly disposed to her was almost more than she could bear. She really did need to toughen herself up, she told herself, if she had been back in Krasnograd less than an hour and she was already growing weepy. Of course, they said that women in her presumed happy condition could also be very weepy sometimes, but Slava knew that had very little to do with it. She was simply not used to having people like her or show her kindness, and she was still starving for it, just as she had told Andrey Vladislavovich, and all the kindness and even affection she had been shown on her journey had been no more than a crumb to whet her appetite. She started to fear that her hunger had gone unfed for so long that now it could never be slaked, and that if she gave it free rein even for a moment it would overpower her like a raging fire…She remembered how easily she had parted with Oleg, and it occurred
to her that maybe it would have been better not to have been so brave and cheerful, but to have clung to him and demanded to know when she would see him again…Perhaps she had been wrong in walking away from him so boldly…
“Have you caught a chill, Tsarinovna?” asked Boleslav Vlasiyevich, who had somehow ended up walking at her side. “You’re shivering!”
“No…I’m fine, Boleslav Vlasiyevich, though I am grateful for your concern.”
“Of course you’ve caught a chill,” he said, giving her a stern look. “Yarmila Kseniyevna! Is the bathhouse ready for the Tsarinovna!”
“Why are you still hanging about, Boleslav Vlasiyevich?” Yarmila Kseniyevna said by way of reply, giving him a very sour look. “Don’t you have duties to attend to in the barracks or something? The Tsarinovna doesn’t need you pestering her, and I doubt the Tsarina would think this a good use of your time, either! Shouldn’t you be…guarding something?”
“I am,” said Boleslav Vlasiyevich, with a little bow. Slava could tell that Olga was struggling not to laugh. “I’m guarding the Tsarinovna from taking a chill, which is more than anyone else can say.”
Yarmila Kseniyevna began swelling dangerously, her normal reaction to anything Boleslav Vlasiyevich said, at those words, so that Slava decided she needed to intervene again before Yarmila Kseniyevna gave Boleslav Vlasiyevich the smack she was obviously minded to give him. That, Slava thought, would not end well at all.
“I thank you for your concern,” she told him, putting a hand on his arm. His muscles twitched like those of a restless horse, but he didn’t try to break away. “Truly, Boleslav Vlasiyevich, your devotion to the wellbeing of my family does you great credit, but I assure you, we can make our way to the bathhouse from here. Please, do not let us detain you from attending to the press of your many duties.”
He gave her a look that, as far as she could tell, since as usual she could read very little of him, was equal parts exasperation and despair at her own inability to take care of herself, with that other feeling, that inexplicable sense that they shared a secret understanding, one that was so secret not even Slava could guess what it was, mixed in. Something about it made Slava pull back from him, just as it always did.
“Very well, Tsarinovna,” he said with another bow, this one rather more sincere than the one he had tendered Yarmila Kseniyevna. “I am very glad you are back in one piece.”
Yarmila Kseniyevna sniffed at this, and sniffed again at his retreating back. “What a thing to concern himself with!” she said disapprovingly. “The Tsarinovna’s bathing! Has he no sense of propriety? I tell you, it’s high time someone took that young man in hand.” She sniffed again. “I wish you would do it yourself, Tsarinovna”—Olga began choking on her own laughter at this, much to Slava’s discomfort, but Yarmila Kseniyevna didn’t seem to notice—“except that I’m sure you’ll have more than enough on your mind, with your young ward and all. Such a good thing of you to do!” And she carried on in that vein the rest of the way to the bathhouse, while Slava dwelt unhappily on the strange behavior of everyone they had encountered so far upon their arrival in Krasnograd—her sister’s unexpected joy at their return, the princesses’ glad greetings, Boleslav Vlasiyevich, bolder than ever in his treatment of her…all this gladness, coming at her from every side, made her want to throw herself in someone’s, anyone’s, arms in order to make it feel real, made her even more desperate for affection than she already was… she must be constantly on her guard here, constantly on her guard against trusting anyone in Krasnograd, she knew that, especially against those who should be the most trustworthy…
“Fresh clothing is being brought to you as we speak, Tsarinovna,” said Yarmila Kseniyevna, bowing Slava into the bathhouse. Her words snapped Slava out of her melancholy reverie, and made her smile at her ability to sink into unhappy reflection at every opportunity…She hoped Darya, little Dasha, would have a bolder, happier temperament than her mother…She hoped she was not bringing bad luck down on herself by indulging already in such daydreams… Darya, if she should have the good fortune to be born, would surely be strong and brave, not weak and anxious as Slava was…Slava remembered her dream, how the baby had gazed up at her with adoring eyes…Perhaps this would be the love she was hungering for so desperately…No, certainly not, Slava told herself, children took rather than gave love, she mustn’t give way to any foolish fancies there…She was going to have to be doubly strong soon, because she would be doubly hungry…But perhaps it was better that way…Perhaps it was better to give love than it was to receive it…That way she would always carry it around inside her, a self-sustaining source that would never desert her…Yes, perhaps that was how it would be…
“Aren’t you going to take off your clothes?” demanded Olga.
“What?” said Slava.
“You’re just standing there like a block. Aren’t you going to take off your clothes? It’s time to steam.”
“Oh,” said Slava. “Yes. I was thinking.”
“That’s a bad habit,” said Olga, shaking her head. “Especially if it gets in the way of steaming. Do you need help with your gown?”
“No…No, I can do it. I learned at least that much while we were traveling.”
“Oh good,” said Olga. “It’s very important to be able to undress yourself. Almost as important as dressing yourself.”
“Yes,” said Slava. “Only I fear I will fall out of practice, now that I’m back at the kremlin.”
“Well, in that case, you should use it while you can,” said Olga, shrugging out of her clothes and dashing into the steam before Slava could hinder them even more with her indecisiveness. Slava shed her own clothes with rather more effort, and followed her.
Sitting in the choking clouds of steam until she thought she would faint, and then retiring to her room to be dressed by Manya and Masha, who greeted her with cries of delight, cleared Slava’s mind of all the foolish fancies that had overcome it on her way to the bathhouse. In fact, after her steam she was so drained and weak that she didn’t have the strength for any thoughts or feelings at all, and she allowed Manya and Masha to put her into extravagant gowns and brush and braid her hair into an extravagant style in complete indifference. It was as if all the exertions of her journey had caught up with her at once, and she desired nothing more than to collapse somewhere out of the way and sleep for days. Even her chambers, with which she had assumed she would be reunited with sensations of inexpressible joy, seemed to her to be no more than chambers. She would have looked upon her rooms in Lesnograd or even Malolesnograd with the same feelings of disinterest. She couldn’t even work up the energy to smile at herself over her lack of excitement at the momentous occasion of her return to Krasnograd. She couldn’t even work up the energy to marvel at how comfortable the chair in front of her dressing table was. She had never appreciated the luxury of a chair, and a chair with cushions at that, until she had had to do without one, so she supposed—almost managing to smile at this thought, at least—that this was yet another important lesson she had learned on her journey.
She was roused from her comfort and her lethargy by the arrival of Anna Avdotyevna. Slava had forgotten how terrifying Anna Avdotyevna could be, and how her presence tended to have the effect on those beneath her of a pot of boiling water in the face.
This time was no different. Masha and Manya leapt away from Slava’s hair on Anna Avdotyevna’s entrance into the room as if they had been scalded, and stood there bowing repeatedly even after she had stopped paying them any attention. She preferred to speak to Slava directly, and the height of her eyebrows and the upward tilt of her nose suggested, as usual, that she was a direct extension of the Empress, and as such considered conversing with a mere Tsarinovna to be beneath her. To Slava’s surprise, this did not make her feel small and unworthy as it always had before. She wasn’t sure if it was because of her extreme exhaustion, or because, compared with an angry gathering of leshiye, Anna Avdotyevna wasn’t really that terrifying.
&n
bsp; “The Tsarina wishes to speak to you,” she said to Slava, making it sound as if Slava were a naughty child about to be called in and scolded by her mother.
“Right now?” Slava asked. “Before the feast?”
“There will most likely be no good opportunity to speak privately at the feast,” said Anna Avdotyevna, giving Slava a look that seemed to say that even an idiot should have been able to understand that.
“I’ll go as soon as my maids have finished dressing me,” said Slava. “I wouldn’t want to shame them by appearing at the feast ill-attired.”
Masha and Manya wriggled in a way that suggested they were inexpressibly honored at her consideration, and inexpressibly horrified that she had drawn Anna Avdotyevna’s attention to their existence.
“Be quick,” Anna Avdotyevna ordered them, giving them the kind of look that made faint hearts flinch and run the other way. Masha and Manya flinched and tried to edge surreptitiously out of her range of vision, although that was a doomed enterprise, and only drew even more attention to them.
“I see you’ve grown slack in the Tsarinovna’s absence,” Anna Avdotyevna told them, fixing them with an even more piercing gaze. “No doubt some of the fault is my own. I have neglected you, seeing as you had no real duties to attend to for months on end. But idleness is a servant’s worst enemy. I shall have to work it out of you.”
Masha and Manya both bowed miserably.
“I fear I shall have too great a need of their services for there to be any time left over for their training,” said Slava.
“They have grown slack,” said Anna Avdotyevna impressively. “They must be taken in hand.”
“And I shall do so, if I deem it necessary,” said Slava. “Please go and inform my sister that I shall wait upon her when I am ready.”
After staring at Slava for a moment as she might have stared at a sword-wielding sheep, Anna Avdotyevna opened her mouth to argue about something, but Slava forestalled her by rising—unwilling as she was to leave her current restful position—from her comfortable chair.
