The Nightingale of St. Petersburg

Part II. The Nightingale. Chapters 1-3

Part II: The Nightingale

(Picture to your right is Great Fire of Moscow by Ivan Aivazovsky )

 Chapter 1

 The city of St. Petersburg was at my feet, literally. I had a gorgeous view of the city right from my window. The houses, the churches, the streets, the river, even a glimpse of the winter palace; all this created a truly picturesque view. It was like a painting that would magically change from time to time. Sometimes it would be a painting with a clear blue sky, sometimes white clouds would appear. At other times it was a painting of Petersburg at night, with the moon shining brightly and stars twinkling. Sometimes it was pouring rain, or falling snow, or sleet and once in a while even hail. I could view the lovely city in all its forms and colors. And yet, view was all I ever did. Never once did I go into those streets, walk down the lanes, visit those gardens. No, the only Petersburg I knew was the Petersburg I saw out of my window. I had no idea what the city was really like; I hid from it and from its citizens.

Why did I hide? I am the most unsightly creature the world has ever known. If you would want to describe the word hideous without actually speaking all you would have to do was point at me. There is nothing beautiful or attractive about me, only that which is disfigured and deformed. To be honest, I have not always been the monster I am now. Once upon a time I am told I was actually quite pretty, but that was long ago and far away.

My name is Marina Pavlovna Solovyeva*. I am not from St. Petersburg. I was born in Moscow, on the July 17th, in the year 1807.  I was third child and first daughter. My father, Pavel Pavlovich Solovev was a captain in the army and while not basking in gold my family lived a very comfortable life. I was baptized on the 26th of August and given the name Marina in honor of St. Marina the Martyr on whose day I had been born. My life was supposed to be one of comfort and joy. My mother, Natalia Timofeevna Solovyeva had always wanted a daughter and after two sons she was extremely pleased with my birth. My father idolized me; my older brothers doted on and my nanny adored me. I was covered from head to toe with love and affection and wanted for nothing.

However my happy childhood was not meant to last. In the year 1812 Napoleon had invaded Russia and was marching to Moscow. I was still very young when it all happened and do not know all the details as to why we did not evacuate with many other families who fled from Moscow. All I know was our home was in chaos and despair. My father had been killed in the war, my brother was missing in action and mother had come down ill. I remember the day the news spread that Napolean had entered the city. Then, on the night of September 6** in the year 1812, Moscow burned. The entire city was engulfed in flames.

Of course, as fate would have it, our home was right in the path of the fire. I remember intense heat; I remember running, I remember the flames leaping around me and the choking smoke that clogged my lungs. I remember calling for my mother, calling for my nanny, calling for my brother, calling for anyone. And I remember the pain, oh how I remember the pain. I don’t remember where it came from or how it came to me, I just remember it wouldn’t go away! I was hot all over, I cried and cried and ran and ran and then it all just went black.

 No one knows how or why I survived. I should have died. But for a mystery that only Providence can explain, I didn’t. I lay unconscious on a pile of rubble and wouldn’t have lasted long if I had not been discovered by a priest, who was searching to see if there were any survivors. As fate would have it (or perhaps it was a higher power at work here) it was the priest who had baptized me. He was a close friend of my family. He did not reconize me when turned me over. But as he was searching me for perhaps some clue to my identity he discovered the cross and the little icon of my saint that he had placed around my neck on the day he baptized me. He also found the little locket my mother had given me which also hung about my neck. These two things had survived the fire and it was by them that he was able to determine who I was.