The Russian Century: A Hundred Years of Russian Lives

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 on 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.”