Rajca: Paradise Lost and Regained

That gloomy day in July was full of surprises. Early in the morning, I was waiting for my friends on the outskirts of Minsk wrapping the raincoat around myself and thinking that it was probably a bad idea to start on our journey in such a weather. It was unexpectedly cold and windy as for midsummer, dark and heavy clouds hung over the city and the forecast promised heavy rainfalls all over the country. But this Saturday trip was long-planned, and it would be a pity to cancel it. Thus, we decided to take a risk.

We drove west from the city, first 120 kilometers on a highway crossing several rainbands on our way, and then – through tight network of local roads, sealed, paved and gravel ones, that were to lead us to ancient temples, romantic old parks and cemeteries, clear transparent lakes and half-ruined watermills generously scattered across picturesque hills of Navahradak surroundings. Before, it was the very heart of the former powerful Grand Duchy of Lithuania – full of mysterious legends, poeticized by word-men. The very heart of noble Belarus, the homeland of prominent poet Adam Mickiewicz who cherished the love for these places in his heart and found inspiration in their images throughout his life. These lovely corners of his Motherland that saved in sweet and romantic recollections of the poet’s youth became his lost paradise he always felt nostalgic for.

Once, Mickiewicz wrote in his poem “Pan Tadeusz”:

Meanwhile, bear off my yearning soul to roam

Those little wooded hills, those fields beside

The vari-painted cornfields like a quilt,

The silver of the rye, the wheatfields’ gilt;

Where amber trefoil, buck-wheat white as snow,

And clover with her maiden blushes grow,

And all is girdled with a grassy band

Of green, whereon the silent pear trees stand.

Such were the fields where once beside a rill

Among the birch trees on a little hill

There stood a manor house, wood-built on stone;

From far away the walls with whitewash shone,

The whiter as relieved by the dark green

Of poplars, that the autumn winds would screen.

It was not large, but neat in every way,

And had a mighty barn; three stacks of hay

Stood near it, that the thatch could not contain;

The neighbourhood was clearly rich in grain;

And from the stooks that every cornfield filled

As thick as stars, and from the ploughs that tilled

The black-earthed fields of fallow, broad and long,

Which surely to the manor must belong,

Like well-kept flower beds – everyone could tell

That plenty in that house and order dwell.

The gate wide open to the world declared

A hospitable house to all who fared.

Certainly, I knew that Adam Mickiewicz took many of his images right from the real life and from poetic local legends of his homeland. And it is a very special impression – to recognize sites, localities and names of villages mentioned in poems and ballads created 200 years ago every time trying to guess how they looked then through the eyes of the famous poet. Periods of political and social disturbance in the 19^th century, revolutions and two world wars had no mercy on the legacy of these lands. Everything changed drastically. The more surprising it is to see a living and authentic evidence of that very epoch and cultural landscape. This is what happened to us that day.

Actually, I planned the route thoroughly, but one moment something got wrong: we realized that the GPS navigator was leading us in the wrong direction. We decided to obey and to get to the next point planned by another road. And right in the middle of the way we arrived to a village called Rajca where the same device offered us to visit an old noble estate we knew nothing about. Certainly, we couldn’t miss it out and branched off into the depth of an old shaded park.

In a minute, we arrived to an open place, and the view that appeared before our eyes resembled a filming ground. Amid the 400-year-old park of gigantic trees there was an authentic 200-year-old house. It looked exactly the way I imagined a house like this after reading historical novels and epic poems of the 19^th century, including the one I quoted above. The impression got even stronger after the sun unexpectedly broke the heavy clouds and lit the landscape. Surprisingly, the house obviously looked inhabited. Soon, a man came towards us. At the beginning, he didn’t look friendly, however, after we had introduced ourselves, he told that he was the owner of the house Alexander by name and let us inside.

The noble estate Rajca that was first mentioned in documents in the mid 16^th century later gave the name to the village. Interestingly, this name has a resonance with “raj” – the Belarusian for paradise. In the early 19^th century, the house we saw was built. Soon, it was purchased by brother of Marylia Wereszczaka – the lady Adam Mickiewicz was in love with. Throughout its history, the house’s owners changed but it returned to the descendants of this family for several times. In the 20^th century, the estate was donated to Roman-Catholic nunnery. Sisters lived here and provided medical treatment to the local people. Later, the village ambulance station operated in this building and finally, it stood empty and abandoned for several years until a couple of artists from Minsk – Alexander and Vera – purchased it. Vera is a recognized master of straw weaving, Alexander is an icon-painter. They saw the old house and decided: now it is their main business to give it a new life. They left the big city and moved to the village to save the ancient estate and make a dwelling house and a museum of it. The parlor that once saw festive parties, long conversations and musical soirees has already turned into an exhibition hall. Here, one can see artworks by Alexander and Vera, old household goods, antique furniture and crockery, icons, glass goods, textile and many more. There is a living room and an artistic workshop there. They plan to create an exposition devoted to the history of the house and its former owners. They say they regained true peace and inspiration here and, probably, even found their paradise.

For me, this is the story about “genius loci” – the spirit of the place. One can discover it, take it into his hands and bring to light. This is about how to be a good master for your personal micro-world and your land, about responsibility and inspired everydayness. About rare and therefore valuable continuation of tradition in our country where, due to the course of history, there are so many interrupted and lost traditions. Actually, this is a love story. This is why it’s so important for me to share it with you, my friends.

Sincerely yours,

Volha Blazhevich.

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