The Unknown Tsesarevitch. Reminiscences and Considerations on V. K. Filatov’s Life and Times
determined the economical rights of an individual (that is, the right of property). Vasily Ksenofontovich said: ‘The Russian State and the Russian soul now suffer a chronic disease because of the political machinations. Our ancestors, who had modernized their lands to bequeath them to us, have left us quite other lands.’ I still remember our talks. Of course, we talked not only on the social-political themes. Vasily Ksenofontovich spoke about his life and his children. Oleg was their first son, then two children, three, four… What should bringing up children start with? Daughters are most brought up by their mother. And he, father, teaches his son to nail a plank, to saw wood, to cut a stake, to dig a vegetable bed, to sharpen an instrument… He teaches his son not only with words but he finds real work for him. The aim of Vasily Ksenofontovich had been simple and clear – to LIVE. I listened attentively to his analysis of the experience of life of other people and a critical comparison of it with that of his own. The past… the experience of previous generations… Life of fathers and mothers, grandfathers and grandmothers… Why do we often mentally look backwards? What do we search for in life that has already passed? Probably, they had also looked back into the depths of people’s lives. And so on generation after generation. Now it is our turn to record, understand, and preserve everything that has been accumulated by concrete people. The life of Vasily Ksenofontovich had its specific history, unique details, and he told them to each member of the family in a different way. Each of his stories revealed a new turning point in his life, every time new facts appeared. Each story was not an exact repetition of the previous one but revealed some regularity. Details added an exactness and volume to the events
In September of 1984 my mother Engelina Efremovna went to the village, Ikrianoe, to see her relatives. There she heard for the first time that after the execution of the Tsar’s family the boy remained alive and that that boy was, he, himself. He had survived this tragedy as a youth, and during many years he had been keeping, the burning truth about his experiences to himself. Mother was surprized considering this outwardly plain man: what could be the source of his strength, his endurance and his emotional energy? Mother and Vasily Ksenovontovoch talked much about the war. She was 13 years old when the war began. The German troops besieged Leningrad and the hospitals started being organized there. My grandmother worked in the Institute of Obstetrics and Gynaecology. During the war it was re-organized as a hospital specializing in cranial-brain and jaw surgery. At first Mother worked there as a junior nurse, then as a telephone-operator, and then she was taughed to be a surgeon’s assistant. She accompanied ambulances, took the wounded away from the battle-fields and delivered them to the hospital. Mother told us how they had nursed the wounded through their illnesses and how they almost died of dystrophy. My grandmother was the commissar of the hospital and could have a ration but never took it. Vasily Ksenofontovich recounted how he had met thousands of refugees from Leningrad and had accomodated the evacuated people. They were very weak but their stories inspired others with faith in victory. Lidiya Kuzminichna also told about her military past. Because of frequent moves? It was never officially registered, that she was a medical sister during the war. With Oleg’s help, we registered her. They listened to us in the recruiting office and sent an inquiry to the archives – justice triumphed. Mother helped examine the documents, write an application and accompanied Lidiya Kuzminichna to the commissar. Some years later Oleg appealed to the military-medical archive where additional documents were found, and Lidiya Kuzminichna received an additional pension. But it was only in 1997! The elder generation has something to remember. Their life has been full of trials but they have not become pessimists. On the contrary, they rejoice over life. Mother and Lidiya Kuzminichna performed their household duties, but also walked through Astrakhan looking at the ancient houses and the Astrakhan Kremlin. Some days later Oleg and I also went to Astrakhan, where the two grannies (Lida and Gelia) nursed their granddaughter Nasten’ka. She was 8 months old then. Oleg spoke about the history of that region. We walked a lot and visited friends. Grandad was also fond of looking after his granddaughter. He took her in his arms but she would not sit a minute. She would jump to her feet and skip on his knees. His hands were massive, T therefore it seemed that the child had no body and only her legs and head were skipping. If the child was out of sorts for some reason, her grandad sang songs or ditties and clapped his hands. Sometimes he played the piano together with Nastia. It was something unimaginable. Nastia liked it very much. Later, granny Lida helped this tiny little child play the piano by herself. I took their photo
Each day I bathed my daugher in a baby’s bath, dipping her, splashing the water. The leaves of the cherry tree rustled above us. In the garden, Grandad sat and loughed, watching the bathing
His night’s lodging was in the garden, in the bed with a canopy. Usually the nights in the open air were quiet, but sometimes the dust storms made him go into the house. In the evening we used to have tea and talk. Life passed quietly and peacefully, until one day a thief sneaked in to the garden and then into the house. Everybody was frightened. Vasily Ksenofontovich calmed us down with the words: ‘Nothing can be more frightful than the basement of the Ipatiev house. They shot the people there, but a thief comes by chance.’
He took an axe and went to the garden to sleep. But we could not go to bed and sat a long time, discussing the incident
The appearance of Vasily Ksenofontovich was noteworthy and my lack of patience was well known to the artists who saw a model worth painting. He had impressive eyes, shadowed by bushy eyebrows which struck me with their wisdom as if they had absorbed the life of the age and its pain. His parchment-skin face was lean
Every time I tried to sketch him, he became shy and went away to the garden. He also did not like to be photographed. He would sit in the shadow and the photos were indistinct. Once we (Oleg, Vasily Ksenofontovich and I) were mending the roof, covering it with a new roofing-felt. When our work was nearing completion, I managed to take his photo, because being lame he could not rapidly descend from the ladder. Feeling confused he smiled and went on repeating: ‘Now, now!’
I did not draw pictures of only Vasily Ksenofontovich. I would go to the Volga, look at the thick, branchy trees growing along the river and at villages resembling clusters of mushrooms. They seemed something ancient. (Water, the river bank, a burning buoy). As soon as you wanted to put them on paper, you understood how difficult and mysterious it is and yet at the same time, surprisingly simple
Oleg asked father to go fishing but Vasily Ksenofontovich refused saying: ‘I can’t keep pace with you. I only walk about the garden.’ Next morning Oleg gathered the fishing-rods, got worms ready, took bread to coax the fish up, got instructions from his father and, together with his sister Irina and I, set off to fish. The morning was foggy but the sun rose higher and higher, and the scenery changed, becoming more cheerful. Without wasting time I began sketching a small fishing-boat, peacefully lying in the blue-gray mist on the unruffled surface of the water
The fishing was successful, my husband caught several perches and red-eyes, but his father made fun of his catch. Then Oleg made arrangements with his friends and we made a motor-boat trip to a fishing-boat. There we bought a big zherekh. These fish, like zander, wild carp, bream, and catfish, spend the winter in pits and are called pit-fish. We spent the evening at the river-side cooking fresh-fish soup on a fire, in a large cauldron. We also bought several kilograms of bream and, for the first time in my life, I salted and dried fish. Later, in the winter, we treated our relatives and friends to our stock of fish
The house stood on a Red Mound surrounded by a multitude of ilmens (semi-flowing reservoirs) overgrown with reed and kultuks (bays). 150m from the house, the erik (a deep sound from the river to the lake) Khurdun flowed which supplied the villagers with pumped water, to water their gardens and for household needs. Every morning Lidiya Kuzminichna first watered her garden and only then did she fry scones and called everybody to take tea. In the evening she was busy with sewing and embroidery. She sewed clothes for her daughters, granddaughters and neighbours. Everybody loved her creations
Vasily Ksenofontovich used to say: ‘The traditional Russian culture must be preserved. The Slavic people love a loose cut of clothes. Heavy boyar clothes were the result of the Tatars’