ANNA EVAUOVNAA STUDY OF RUSSIAN LIFEBy Margaret Sutton BriscoeAnd M.A.R.
A STUDY OF RUSSIAN LIFE
By Margaret Sutton BriscoeAnd M.A.R.
They stood in the village street talking together, two little Russian peasant girls, dressed in rough carpet skirts, thick leather boots, with hair plaited in two long plaits and heads covered with bright kerchiefs as became unmarried girls.
Grusha was larger and taller than Masha, and her coloring stronger, in fact, she was stronger in all respects, and good-naturedly conscious of her superiority. She stood looking down on Masha with a mischievous smile on her red lips and in her black eyes.
“Is it that you mean to marry Ivan when he comes from the war, Grusha?” Masha was asking.
Grusha laughed.
“Perhaps,” she replied lightly.
“Then you are a bad girl, Grusha. Why do you keep Alioscha dancing after you?”
Grusha laughed again.
“What if he likes it? Alioscha would be more unhappy if I did not let him do his dancing. And besides, I like him.”
“Do you mean to marry him then, Grusha?”
“Perhaps.”
Grusha caught Masha’s hand as she turned from her with a gesture of anger.
“Come back, Masha, listen to me. Ask Anna Evauovna what I mean to do. She knows all things, the old witch!”
Masha crossed herself, glancing over her shoulder.
“And she will know you have said that,” she answered.
Grusha’s face wore a reflected uneasiness for a moment.
“Bah!” she replied, shaking herself. “What harm can she do me!”
Masha nodded her head gravely.
“That was what Marusa said, and how did the Njania punish her? Has she a child to call hers? And look at poor Julina. She defied the Njania also, and has had children showered on her faster than she can breathe. Her isba is like a beehive. Anna Evauovna can give you a draught that will cure any sickness if she will, and oh! what fortunes she can tell, Grusha! And what do we here in the village that she does not know of at once?”
“Who teaches her and who tells her? Answer me that, Masha. Oh, you may well cross yourself! Ask her if you want to know anything and if you are not afraid of her teacher. Have done then. What are you after?”
While the girls talked, two of the young men of the village had crept behind Grusha unseen. Each held one of her plaits in his hand as a rein, and they began shouting as to a restive horse, when she struggled to escape. Grusha’s heavy plaits were favorite playthings, never safe from attack; for she was a belle in the village. In the confusion of the romp, Masha turned away and walked off.
“I will go to Anna Evauovna,” she said to herself.
It is easy to state the positions of Grusha and Masha. They were only two little Russian peasant girls, who worked in the garden of the Prince in Summer, and about his great house in winter.
But for Anna Evauovna, the Prince himself could hardly have defined her position. She had been Njania (nurse) to his children, and was now housekeeper. Anna Evauovna was the only peasant on the estate who wore a cap, who spoke a pure Russian, and wore dresses and shoes. She was older by years than her actual days numbered, capable, resolute, silent and invaluable to her employers. The peasants spoke to her with deference, calling her Anna Evauovna.Behind her back they called her the old witch, and the Princess had been appealed to for protection from her more than once.
Anna Evauovna was in the housekeeping room assorting the house linen from the wash, when Masha came to her and humbly proffered her request to know the future.
The old woman looked up at the girl keenly.
“He who wants to know too much grows old too soon, Masha,” she said.
“Tell me only a little then, Anna Evauovna, but tell me that.”
“Have it your own way then, Masha. Open the drawer of the table and look in the left hand corner, and you will find a pack of cards under a wooden box that has a strange smell about it. Bring them to me, but no, I forgot—the box has something lying open in it which you might touch and find harmful.”
As Anna Evauovna opened the drawer herself, Masha made the sign of the cross furtively.
The old woman turning sharply, caught the gesture, and the girl’s head drooped in confusion.
Anna Evauovna’s eyes twinkled. She shuffled the cards and began to deal them out on the table, glancing now and then at Masha, who sat opposite, the light of the lamp falling on her round good-natured face, fair hair, and solemn blue eyes.
“Ah! there you are,” said Anna Evauovna, as the queen of hearts fell. “And there is a dark man near you—the king of clubs. Now mark, you are nearer to him in thought than he to you. Ah! ah! ah! I thought so. Here she comes, there lies the cause. The queen of clubs, a dark woman, lies between you and him. She separates you.”
Masha bent forward breathless.
“And will she succeed, Njania?”
“We shall see. Who comes here? The king of diamonds—and near the queen of clubs. Here is one who is away, very far away, but coming nearer. He is thinking of the queen of clubs. ‘Is she waiting for me, is she waiting for me,’ he is thinking. Look for yourself, Masha. The queen of spades, emblem of all that is bad, lies across him, and thus it is easy to see that he is worrying about the darkwoman, your rival. Once more I will lay the cards. Now see; the king of diamonds is thinking of a journey and of home. The dark woman is restless, she thinks of the king of diamonds, and then of the king of clubs. But how is this? The king of diamonds is close to your dark rival, and the nine and ten of diamonds on either side. A marriage!”
Masha clasped her hands.
“And does that leave the king of clubs to me, Anna Evauovna?”
Anna Evauovna swept the cards into a heap.
“God knows,” she answered. “Would you seek to know as much as He, Masha?”
“May the saints forbid!”
Anna Evauovna returned to her interrupted occupation, and Masha still sat gazing at her, awestruck.
“Njania,” she said timidly, “is it right that a girl should keep a man dangling after her, as a lash to a whip, if she means nothing by it?”
“You mean Grusha and Alioscha,” said Anna Evauovna shortly. “Is it not her own affair?”
Masha blushed and hung her head.
“It was Grusha I thought of,” she stammered. “You know the very hairs on our heads, Anna Evauovna.”
The Njania nodded, not ill pleased.
“I know what I know. Grusha thinks Ivan will marry her when he comes back from the war.”
“Then why does she keep Alioscha waiting and sticking to her like a wet leaf?” cried Masha passionately. “It is wicked, Njania, if she loves Ivan.”
“Who said she loved Ivan!” answered Anna Evauovna drily. “Do all girls love some one?”
“Did not you say that she loved him?” stammered Masha.
“I did not, my child. Njania is not to be fooled by a Grusha. Ah, but she is a girl of wits, is Grusha, and so smooth to see. In still waters, devils thrive, remember that, Masha.”
Masha’s lip quivered.
“But if she does not love Ivan, Njania, she may marry Alioscha.”
“Perhaps, who knows! It takes a wise man to tell the future, and a wiser yet to tell a girl’s mind.”
“And she will surely marry Alioscha if Ivan has forgotten her by the time he comes back,” added Masha more piteously.
Anna Evauovna laughed a dry chuckle and rubbed her hand on the girl’s head.
“Your wits sharpen, little Masha. You may grow as wise as Grusha some day.”
“Ivan does not write to her—I know that.”
“Now, now, as for writing, Masha, could Grusha read if he did? Ivan may have been fool enough to remember her but even a peasant does not like his love letters read from the house-tops.”
“But Grusha could take his letters to the doctor or the deacon. They would read them to her alone.”
“Would they? A man is a man, doctor or deacon. He may keep another man’s secret, but a woman’s—no. Come, child, Grusha will marry whom God wills, and meantime, let her have rope. All is for the best. Did Grusha know Ivan faithful to her, she would not have this curiosity which makes her wish to wait and see how he will act when he finds her waiting. Meantime, Alioscha is the best singer and dancer in the village. And what could the village have to talk of but for her behavior? For your part, eat, drink, sleep on the top of the stove at night, and work by day. Let each hold up his share of the burden, and all will go well.”
Masha listened, sighed, and assented.
The next day, as Anna Evauovna was walking in the field near the village street, she heard sounds of music, the clapping of hands and beating of feet in measured time, and loud shouts. She might have walked to the isba whence the sounds came, and inquired the cause, but that was not Anna Evauovna’s way. She slipped behind a hedge, and walking along in its shadow, reached the spot where the merry-making was taking place.
MASHA CLASPED HER HANDS“AND DOES THAT LEAVE THE KING OF CLUBS TO ME?”Drawn by Katharine Gassaway.
MASHA CLASPED HER HANDS
“AND DOES THAT LEAVE THE KING OF CLUBS TO ME?”
Drawn by Katharine Gassaway.
On a bit of ground in front of three of the principal isbas, the peasants were assembled. A wooden bench had been brought out, and a plain deal table, beneath which could be seen a wooden pail of vodka (brandy). On the table stood a steaming samovar, a white stone teapot, some huge pieces of rye bread, thick tumblers for tea, and a paper bag of lump sugar. Spoons were not needed, as the sugar was held in the fingers and nibbled between the sips of hot tea served in the glasses.
Ivan had returned, and this was his welcome.
The samovar had been borrowed for the great occasion; for not every peasant can afford that luxury, and Ivan’s parents were not rich.
There were three musicians present, one playing on a concertina, one on a trumpet-like instrument, which gave out bag-pipe sounds, and the other on a melon-shaped guitar, strung with a few strings, on which he twanged merrily.
The peasants kept time with feet and voice in barbaric medley. Ivan, the hero of the day, sat at the centre of the table in an unsoldierly, weary attitude, unkempt and unwashed. He had been tramping for days. The trousers of his weather-stained uniform were tucked in his travel-worn boots, and he wore a summer cap on his dark hair.
He was replying at his leisure to the numberless questions asked as his fagged brain comprehended them, but when the table was cleared, and the musician with the concertina leaped upon it, his loose linen trousers tucked in his boots, his kaftan into his belt, his hoarse voice cheering the company to the dance, Ivan sprang to his feet, and seizing Grusha as his partner, danced more furiously than any.
Anna Evauovna, peering through the leaves, could see it all. Alioscha, as eager in his welcome to the wanderer as Grusha herself, was now dancing merrily also, and Masha was his happy partner. Her kerchief had fallen back, leaving her good-natured, round face unframed, and exposing the line of white forehead which had been protected from the sun. She was a pretty picture.
The dance grew wilder, the voices louder, the stamping and clapping more vehement. The musician on the table shoutedmore lustily as he danced himself, now on one foot, now on the other, all over the table-top.
Anna Evauovna looked at Grusha’s excited face flushed with her exertion, and then at her rival suitors, both of the same height, both well built, and both with the same heavy square face and mass of thick hair. That Ivan was fair, and Alioscha dark, seemed the only difference.
The old woman turned away with a wicked chuckle.
“There is not a pin to choose between them,” she said to herself, “Grusha must draw lots.”
When, a little later, Masha came into the housekeeper’s room, breathless and over-running with her news, Anna Evauovna could be told nothing. She knew when Ivan had arrived, from where, by what roads, and, in fact, everything. The only thing she did not know, or as Masha believed, would not tell, was how Grusha would choose.
On her way home, Masha came across Grusha sweeping the leaves from a path in the garden. She was alone, and Masha could not help questioning her.
“Grusha, Ivan has come back, what are you going to do now?”
Grusha leaned on her broom and looked at Masha’s earnest face. She laughed aloud, but good-naturedly still.
“I am going to sweep this path when you stand off it,” she said, and Masha could get no further satisfaction.
But the next day, Anna Evauovna was able, or willing, to relieve Masha’s anxiety.
“She takes Ivan, and they are to be married in a week. Both get what they want and have waited long for. Now we shall see what we shall see,” said Anna Evauovna grimly.
Ten days later, as Anna Evauovna walked through the village, she stopped at the door of the isba belonging to Ivan’s parents. There in the doorway sat Grusha, the bride, peeling potatoes for the evening meal, as unmoved and uninterested as if she had been peeling potatoes in Ivan’s doorway for years. She had gone from one isba to another: She had peeled her father’s potatoes, and now peeled Ivan’s—that was all.
“Good luck to you, Grusha,” said Anna Evauovna. “But I suppose you think you have luck by the forelock, as Ivan was faithful to you in all that time.”
“Yes,” answered Grusha indifferently, splashing a potato in the bowl of water.
“You have all you waited for—if I may say so and bring no ill-luck.”
“I have everything,” Grusha replied without enthusiasm.
Anna Evauovna looked at the girl’s stolid face, and laughed aloud.
“But you have lost one thing that you can not get back, Grusha. You can never again wonder if Ivan is going to be faithful. An unsatisfied wish is a fine thing to have, my child.”
She walked off still laughing, leaving Grusha puzzled and vexed. At the corner the old woman met the bridegroom and gave him greeting also.
“What a man you are, Ivan, to keep a girl faithful to you in all those months. Were you not surprised at finding Grusha unmarried?”
Ivan scratched his head meditatively.
“I was surprised,” he said finally.
“And grateful?” asked Anna Evauovna.
“And grateful,” repeated Ivan, slowly.
“What would you have done if you had found her married?”
“Heaven bless me! If she had not waited, I could have found another.”
Anna Evauovna nodded.
“They grow thickly, these women, but now you can settle down quietly after your wanderings, Ivan.”
Ivan turned his cap round on his hand, and shook his head.
“Wandering is not bad, Anna Evauovna. One sees men and women then. A man does not care so much to live in one place after he sees the world. But we shall get on nicely, I suppose.”
Anna Evauovna walked on, her wrinkled old face all puckered with laughter.
“That is what comes of what one waits and wearies for,” she said to herself.
As she passed the hedge, behind which she had watched Ivan’s home-coming, she heard two voices on the other side, and paused to listen. A man and a woman were talking earnestly together.
“But you know it was you I always loved, Masha,” said the deeper tones. It was Alioscha speaking.
Anna Evauovna went on her way, bending double with laughter. She did not need to hear the answer Masha gave—for she knew all things, did Anna Evauovna.
THE END
THE END