It was already completely dark. The unfamiliar streets had an unfriendly look. I became sad that I was alone and had no one with whom to share my feelings and the tasty things. Tat’iana Ivanovna showed no warmth toward me whatsoever. I even wondered why she took me in. At that time I was far from comprehending her desire to make some money off me and have a free servant.
Entering the yard of the little house, which I could not possibly call my home, I saw that there were no lights in the windows. Feeling for the key on the nail, I walked into the house. I was very hungry. It would be good to eat my leftover bread with some condensed milk but I didn’t know what to use to open the can and went to my room. Having eaten my bread I sat down to do my lessons. Tat’iana Ivanovna still had not come. Removing the key from the keyhole of the front door so that she could enter with her key, I went to my room and lay down to sleep. I was exhausted from running around the
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streets, as well as from the cold and the agitation, and I fell asleep the moment my head touched the pillow.
Awakening suddenly because someone was touching my face, I opened my eyes. Light from the street lamp penetrated the room and I saw, standing next to the bed, a small person with a large head and protruding black hair. He touched my face again and I screamed wildly. A disheveled and sleepy Tat’iana Ivanovna ran in, took the person by the hand, and led him away. Returning to me, she explained: “That is my nephew. My sister died and it is a year now since he’s been living here. He’s a midget. He doesn’t do bad things but he looks so revolting that I have to hide him. He is locked up all day and sleeps but wanders around the house at night. This time, lock your door. In the morning, you’ll find cocoa ready with bread and butter.” For the first time in her tone a weak shadow of sincere warmth conveyed itself, addressed to this lonely trusting creature which had so simply followed her without hesitation or doubt.
Everything was going well at school. I did my lessons carefully and was attentive. The girls changed their attitude toward me from the moment that I began coming in a pretty woolen dress, black lacquered shoes and a quality coat. But they no longer existed for me. I almost never talked to them. I hurried to the small house to clean it, prepare my lessons and learn new steps. I liked dancing very much. Sometimes when thinking of my family and nanny and feeling the onset of tears, I would begin to invent numerous new movements.
Once Tat’iana Ivanovna said: “We have a chance to make some money. There’s going to be a big party with entertainment in a private home. You will come with me, sing to my accompaniment, and then dance. You are doing this quite well already.” She carefully unwound the pink tights, ironed the tutu, and straightened the silk rose on the little garland. “Everything is in order. I’ll put some makeup on you and you’ll be a dear.”
Saturday evening came and we set out for the Kreshchatik [main thoroughfare of Kiev] with two round cartons and our dresses. “This is the apartment where we’re going,” pointed Tat’iana Ivanovna to a series of large illuminated windows. We went up through the back entrance and the housemaid took us to a small room next to the kitchen where we changed. Tat’iana Ivanovna put on a long black evening dress, combed her hair very deftly, fastened artificial diamonds to her breast and hair, and became unrecognizable. She also combed my thick hair, binding it into a large knot at the back of my head, fastened the little charm of roses, stretched out the tights evenly, and touched up my cheeks, eyes, and lips. Glancing in the mirror, I barely recognized myself.
We entered the living room. I was carrying Tat’iana Ivanovna’s guitar. The large hall was awash in light from the crystal chandelier suspended from the
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ceiling and a series of lamps with crystal pendants along the walls. The guests were already sitting on the sofas, easy chairs, and armchairs, Tat’iana Ivanovna fawningly greeted the lady of the house, a tall fat woman in an expensive dress. “Good evening, Iuliia Petrovna!” “Good evening, Tat’iana Ivanovna. And this is your orphan?” “Yes.” I curtsied. “Hello little girl.” When all the guests had gathered, Tat’iana Ivanovna gave me a signal and I walked to the center of the hall, having handed her the guitar.
I was scared and uncomfortable, but the feeling of responsibility and being yoked, having become habitual in my solitary existence, forced me to assume the ballet pose I had learned. After the introduction, I sang Glinka’s “The Lark.” When I finished, everyone applauded very loudly. Bowing, I sang another romance. When all was sung, I bowed again, and after an introduction danced a number arranged by Tat’iana Ivanovna. They again applauded enthusiastically. I was surrounded, people smiled, the ladies kissed me. A friendly fat girl approximately my own age brought me a basket decorated with ribbons that was full of money. I thanked everybody again and curtsied ballet-style to all sides. Everyone smiled benevolently again. They then went to eat. The girl took me by the hand and sat me next to her. Tat’iana Ivanovna came over, took the basket from my hands, and transferred the entire contents to her purse. Nina, the girl, the niece of the lady of the house, warned me, telling me that Tat’iana Ivanovna liked money very much and would always take all of it away from me. “She dresses up her midget nephew as a freak and shows him off for money at carnivals. Beware,” said Nina. A young man sitting across from me offered: “If you want, I’ll introduce you to the director of a terrific circus. You’ll make a lot more money there.”
I was not comfortable with Tat’iana Ivanovna from the very start and there were moments when I wanted to leave her and return to the center. But there—again the unknown. Where would I be sent? My goal remained to make my way to Leningrad, the St. Petersburg of my early childhood, to Varia, my older sister. What if I could really make more money in the circus and go to her? We arranged it with the young man that he would meet me in front of the school on Wednesday and take me to the circus director.
Tat’iana Ivanovna, having praised me for the concert, said nothing about the money. She said nothing about it the following day as well. On Monday, when I returned from school in the rain with wet books, I got up some courage and asked her to buy me a bag for my books and notebooks. She looked at me sideways but, nevertheless, bought me a large oilskin briefcase. On Tuesday evening I put my good dress in it, my books, and my white canvas shoes in case I would not return.
My heart, once tender in infancy, had acquired a defensive shield from the shocks and calamities. Not yet in a condition to comprehend life’s
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fundamental dangers, I began to learn how to parry its small jolts and stings. Having finished lunch in school, I walked out into the street with my briefcase. My new acquaintance was waiting for me on the corner. He took me by the hand and we went along the streets. He told me about the circus and said that I would learn much there and make excellent money. We arrived at a small, fairly rundown hotel and knocked on the door of the room occupied by the director. This was a tall, fat man who looked unpleasant. My guide began to talk quietly in German. I could only distinguish the individual words: “Waisenkind” (orphan) and “sehr begabt” (very able). (In my early childhood, Kätchen, my governess, who was to have trained me to be a mademoiselle, had taught me to speak German.) This person instilled such fear in me that I decided immediately to return to Tat’iana Ivanovna. But, after talking for another two to three minutes, the young man, whose name I did not even know, quickly left the room. I jumped after him but the German grabbed me by the shoulder.
“You will remain here. I will teach you acrobatics and you will make good money.”
“I don’t want to stay here! I want to go home!”
“You don’t have a home. Don’t be stupid. If you protest, I’ll give you a flogging.”
And so, a difficult life began. It seemed that nothing worse than this had yet happened. From early morning, training in acrobatics took place. Handstands, faults, somersaults. Falling o
n one arm and then the other, and depicting a circle with the body and extended legs, one had to get on one’s feet for one second and, again with palms on the floor, make another circle and so on around the whole arena. Each exercise was repeated countless times. My muscles hurt. All of this was done under the hostile gaze of Master Kurt. Unsuccessful movements drew a whip to my rear. Forget about school. I decided to run away at the first opportunity. But such an opportunity did not present itself. I was always under observation. I, of course, did not show that I understood his conversations with his daughter. I slept in the same room with his daughter Irma. The rest of the time was spent in the circus. There was not even a suggestion of my innocent dances. I had to become an acrobat. “She is like rubber,” said Kurt to his daughter once. “She will work wonderfully.”
Irma was lazy, quite dumb but not mean. She did not let me away from her even for a stride during the time that I spent with her. I was always well fed, but the words “Man does not live by bread alone” were especially applicable here. There wasn’t even a hint of any warmth, friendly attitude, or joyous approach to matters at hand. All the circus people, as if specially chosen, were rude, dismal, and jealous of another’s success. And everything was valued strictly in terms of money. Conditions were unpleasant, even oppressive. The
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animals were treated badly also. Everything was based on fear. I was full of compassion for my silent four-legged brothers.
Once I overheard Kurt say: “Two more performances—then out of this swinish country.” My situation was bad. No matter what, I had to try and run away. Irma was going on her regular shopping and I implored her to take me with her. “I’ll carry your packages. I never get to go outside!” She thought about it and agreed. “All right, you’ll carry the goods. But be careful, father whips one very painfully!” We walked along the Kiev streets. Irma stopped in shops, bought the required produce, and loaded me with it. We proceeded. “Walk in step with me,” she ordered sternly. At one spot in the street, at the very entrance to the vegetable market, a truck stood on the sidewalk. Some boxes and bags were being unloaded from it. Throwing the produce on the ground, I slid through the narrow space between the wall and the truck, leaving fat Irma on the other side, and raced up the stairs having jumped into the entrance of the very first building. Screened by the truck, my actions escaped Irma’s eyes.
Reaching the third floor, I read the name V. Volkonskaia on the bronze plate. The first letter of my name, my last name, could these be close relatives of some sort? I rang. A tall woman of about forty opened the door. “Can I come in for a few minutes? I am Vera Volkonskaia.” Down the street I heard Irma’s shrill voice. “Come in.” She let me into the room and closed the door. “Wait here a little. I will ask if Vera Andreevna can see you.” Rapidly, gasping, I began to describe what had occurred, that I ran away from the Germans, that they were probably searching for me that very moment, and that I was very scared. For a long moment, attentively, the lady looked me in the eyes and then said: “All right. We will look after you.”
In a quarter of an hour I was led into a room where an old lady with an elongated stern face, and all in white, was sitting on a bed. She pointed to a chair standing next to the bed, looked at me and smiled. Her smile lit up her face like the sun coming out from behind clouds. Her face immediately became warm and attractive. We were left alone. “Well, tell me everything from the beginning!” I told her everything beginning with my grandmother, my nanny and the estate, and ending with the Germans. It turned out that Vera Andereevna knew my aunt Vera Vladimirovna well. The latter had a model gimnazium in Moscow. We were very distant relatives of their family. “You will stay here for awhile and go to school. It is in the same building. It is our former gimnazium. One of my daughters is its head, another teaches there. You will receive a school lunch from the state. I will write to Vera Vladimirovna and find out about your sister from her. Go now; my daughter Anastasia Mikhailovna, will take care of you.” I thanked her awkwardly and exited.
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At a desk in the neighboring room sat a woman with the same elongated, stern face. I stopped, not daring to interrupt her work. She indicated the chair with her eyes and continued to write. I probably felt the way that village children did, godchildren of grandmother Vera, who were brought in by their mothers to pay their respects. Grandmother would call the child to come closer and affectionately give a pat on the cheek, as he covered his face. “Why is he hiding?” she would ask in amazement. “He don’t dare” [look up], the child’s mother would explain.
In this large, cold apartment with its severe imperial furniture I too “did not dare” after the less than respectable conditions to which I had become accustomed over the past period. Finally, Anastasia Mikhailovna completed her work and, knocking, entered her mother’s bedroom. After a few minutes she came out smiling with the same unexpected, sunny smile as her mother. “Hi Vera, do you want to take a bath before supper? We will be eating in three quarters of an hour.”
I became bewildered in the large, snow-white bathroom. Everything glistened with the surgical cleanliness of an operating room. Could I dry myself with one of the fluffy towels neatly folded in a pile on a stool? Painstakingly I rinsed the bath after using it. For the potential flight from Master Kurt, I had put on my best dress over the dirty tights, sweated through from training. I washed them in the sink, wrung them out thoroughly, and hung them on the radiator. I put the dress on over my naked body. I smoothed out my hair and, looking carefully at everything, checking to see that I had not left any dirty tracks, I walked out of the bathroom. A table was set for four in the large dining room, but nobody was in the room yet. Perhaps I’ll be eating in the kitchen? I’d better get there ahead of time. Entering, I saw Vera Andreevna’s other daughter, Ekaterina Mikhailovna, who had opened the door to my salvation. In a robe and a white kerchief on her head, she was preparing a supper tray for her mother. “May I help you with anything?” I asked. “No, thank you. Go to the dining room, we’ll be eating right away.”
We sat down at the table as soon as Ekaterina Mikhailovna finished with her mother’s supper. There were two sisters, Anastasia Mikhailovna’s husband, and me. The husband was cut from completely different cloth than the Volkonskii ladies. It seemed to me that he did not feel particularly at ease in this situation. Later I found out that he had been a teacher in the former gim-nazium; that he and Anastasia had fallen in love and married after the revolution. They were totally different in terms of their background and upbringing.
Their model gimnazium was transferred to the state but they were left in charge to teach and, by the way, were greatly respected. Their graduates received a good and well-rounded education. Nothing had changed in the apartment or in their unfailingly strict and modest routine.
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After supper I offered to wash the dishes, saying that I had learned to do this properly at the orphanage. While washing the dishes, and alone in the kitchen, I partially shook off my feelings of confusion and restraint. “A real village girl at the lords’,” I thought.
I slept on a small folding bed which was kept in a closet in the living room during the day. In school, I felt that I was way behind the others. I began to be very attentive trying to get at least a reasonable hold on the subject at hand. After lessons, there was a free dinner, simple but filling. Then, we did our homework right in school. It was hard for me, but everyone around me was so busy that I could not ask anyone to explain things. I would see how things would proceed. I did not go outside even once. I was afraid of running into somebody from the circus.
Vera Andreevna found out that aunt Vera had died, but Varia was living in a students’ dormitory. Soon a letter addressed to the Volkonskiis arrived from her in which she thanked them for helping me and informed me that she would come to Kiev for a few days during vacation.
Finally it came, the long awaited day of her arrival. I answered the doorbell and flung myself on her neck. “How you’ve grown,” exclaimed Varia.
The Volkonskiis greeted her very warmly. She spent quite a long time with Vera Adreevna, and came out smiling. In the morning, she and I went to the orphanage to see our brothers. This was a row of small, new wooden houses built next to the dairy farm. On one side were meadows, on the other a pine forest. The boys looked good and, evidently, were not unhappy. The lady in charge, with whom Varia spoke, fully understood how important it was for her to graduate from college before taking the responsibility for us upon herself. “It would be good for the boys if their sister could work in our laundry. If she is sensible, she could work and go to school. And we would pay her a little.” “For the trip to Leningrad,” I thought. We discussed this and decided that this was not bad at all. I would see my brothers and would not be dependent on anyone except for the head of the orphanage, who appeared to be a sincere and kind person. She offered that Varia and I live there for a few days of Varia’s vacation. “There is enough milk and porridge for everybody. Your sister will learn what to do in the laundry.” Varia and I checked the clothes as well as the income and expense books. “When you give out clothes—get a receipt. Keep everything in order and all will be clear.”
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