Mothers & Daughters: The Black Sea

THE BLACK SEA

Spring 1842.[1]

The snow had not completely melted. It was a grey, cold, wet spring when Helena Andreevna, the children, both governesses, Annushka, Masha, and the cook Aksentiy, all left for Odessa. Vasily Nikolaevich Benzingir, the military doctor, accompanied them.[2] Colonel Hahn was again left alone with his mustachioed orderly Voronov and his fat wife Marya. Vera, rejoicing that she was going to see the sea again, was too excited to feel sorry for him. She was especially interested in seeing the house where she was born! It seemed to her that this house could not possibly be an ordinary house. It was certainly a special house, different from all others.

“Why do you think so?” asked Antonia in surprise.

“Of course it is!” said Vera. “I was born in it!”

“Well, so what?” laughed Antonia (much to Vera’s embarrassment and annoyance.) “What kind of miracle are you? Every person was born in some house, but the houses remained ordinary houses and did not change at all.”

This way of looking at things puzzled Vera, and she stopped talking about this house (but she was still very much interested in it.)

When they had to part, everyone was very sad. Helena Andreevna was pale and sickly looking. Tears rolled down Colonel Hahn’s worried face, one after another, and no matter how hard he tried to shake them off unnoticed, they trickled down his long mustache and onto his chest.

For many days they trudged through the cold and mud. Helena Andreevna was sad and sick, and the children were all very bored. Vera was very surprised and upset when she saw the sea for the first time. According to the stories of her family, more than from her own memories, she imagined the sea as something light, shiny, and wonderfully beautiful. When it suddenly appeared through the fog and rain, she instead saw something gray and murky that stretched far away in angry, white waves that merged with the same dark sky, agitated by clouds.

“What is this?” she exclaimed in a distressed voice, standing at the raised window of the carriage, into which the wind and rain whipped. “Is the sea really like that? No! The sea is blue, and light! It shimmers and glitters in the sun. What is this? This is some kind of dirty jelly!”

Helena Andreevna laughed, quietly patting Vera’s puffy cheek.

“You’re telling me! I also wanted light and sparkles!” she said, sighing. “Oh, you have a poetic soul! Just wait. Baby, you cannot have bright days without gray ones! May God grant you fewer gray ones in your lifetime.”

Although Vera did not understand her mother’s words, did not dare ask her. Antonia immediately leaned over to her and quietly began to explain that the sea was not always the same.

“On the first clear, sunny day you won’t recognize it,” said Antonia. “It will be so bright and beautiful.”

“Look!” said Lelya, tugging at Vera’s sleeve. “Odessa! Do you see? Churches, houses!”

They took in the sight of the crowded streets and beautiful tall buildings of their new city. Helena Andreevna was so tired from the journey that she stayed in bed for several days upon arrival. Soon, however, she felt much better and more cheerful. (She and Vera sometimes walked and went for a ride to the seashore.)

Helena Andreevna had many good friends in Odessa, like the Shemiot family, old, friends of the family. The Shemiots consisted of an old mother (Domitsela) and three already adult daughters: Elizaveta, Evgenia, and Eulalia. They were amazingly nice, cheerful and hospitable hostesses (and also made wonderful jams, which greatly contributed to Vera’s personal affection.

There was also a tall old man with a very long mustache, named General Grave who called often. He was kind and told Vera various entertaining stories while she sat on his lap and braided his mustache. The General promised to cut off his whiskers by Easter and have them made into a wig for her nose-less doll, “Miss Dolly.” Antonia once entered the room and saw Vera sitting on the general’s knees, braiding his mustache and pinning it with a hairpin, dying of laughter at his hairstyle. The General also laughed at her merriment, but Antonia did not laugh.

“What are you doing, Vera?” she cried indignantly. “A big seven-year-old girl sits on the laps of guests? Get up now and let this never happen again!”

Vera stood up very embarrassed. General Grave was also embarrassed, not knowing whether to laugh or unbraid his mustache. He finally did both and said: “You, Antonia Christianovna, are too strict. I have granddaughters like Verochka.”

Vera I hurriedly left the living room and heard Antonia laugh, and answer in a not at all angry voice: “Excuse me, please, General! This, of course, does not concern you. She is a child and will not understand the difference in how people are treated. Yet, it is at this age that habits are most easily instilled. She should not be allowed such familiarity.”

From that day on, Vera never again sat on a man’s lap. It was also at this time that Vera was once again “hit hard” by Antonia.[3]

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SOURCES:

[1] Fadeev writes: “I was planning to go with my whole family to Odessa for the summer. I felt the need to rest from many years of hard work; I wanted to inform my elderly mother, who lived in Ekaterinoslav, and to see my eldest, sick daughter Elena (Mrs. Hahn,) who also intended to spend the summer in Odessa. I mentioned above that she came to visit us in Saratov at the beginning of 1840, and that her health was very bad. This was attributed to the state of pregnancy, and it was hoped that everything would pass after it passed. But in July of the same year, after the birth of her son Leonid, despite all precautions, Elena somehow caught a cold and fell ill with pneumonia, which recurred several times. She was dying, we had no hope, but by the grace of God and the efforts of Doctor Troitsky she gradually recovered so much that in June of 1841 she was able to return with the children to her husband, who commanded an artillery battery in Little Russia. However, her daughter’s health, badly shaken, did not fully recover, and she decided in the spring of 1842 to go to Odessa to consult with doctors and to be treated by sea bathing. We had also long intended to visit Odessa, where we had a small village, abandoned almost to the mercy of fate, and we had agreed with my daughter to all come together in Odessa to live together for some time again. All these reasons prompted me to ask Perovsky for permission to go on leave for several months to Odessa. When reporting this to the Emperor, he asked for two thousand silver rubles for my travel expenses […] On the 21st of May 1842, I set out with my family for Odessa, via Voronezh, Kursk, etc. In Ekaterinoslav we stayed for a few days with my old mother, whom I saw for the last time. I had intended to stay longer with her, but had to hurry to leave, having learned of the worsening illness of my poor eldest daughter Elena, who, despite the lime we had received, was in danger and was impatiently awaiting us in Odessa. She was not so much threatened by the disease as by the pernicious, then generally accepted method of treating bloodletting; such a weak woman, exhausted by a long illness, as she was, was bled eight times in two weeks and given more than a hundred leeches, which of course brought her to complete exhaustion. She was treated by a doctor who was considered the best in the city. We arrived in Odessa on the 7th of June and found our daughter, although seriously ill, not in such a bad condition as we had expected – she seemed better, she was on her feet and felt relief compared to before, which did not last long. Soon my son Rostislav, promoted from the cadets to an officer in the horse artillery, also came to us. Not foreseeing a change for the worse in my daughter’s condition, my wife and I went to our village for a few days. On our return, we found our daughter again dangerously ill and in extreme weakness. On the 24th of June she died at the age of 28, leaving two young daughters and one son, a two-year-old child, in our care. Her husband was serving in Poland. This unfortunate event caused us much grief. Our daughter Elena was a woman like few others in every respect. Sensing her untimely death, she left us a suicide letter, a beautiful reflection of her beautiful soul.” [Fadeyev, Andrei Mikhailovich. Vospominaniia: 1790-1867. Vysochaishe Utverzhd. Yuzhno-Russkago. Odessa, Ukraine. [Russian Empire.] (1897): Part I: 167, 170-171.]

[2] Zhelihovskaya, Vera Petrovna. My Childhood. A. F. Devrien. St. Petersburg, Russia. (1893): 76.

[3] Zhelihovskaya, Vera Petrovna. How I Was Little. A. F. Devrien. St. Petersburg, Russia. (1898): 247-252.