Tell me about yourself and how you came to teach at Alexander Nevsky Russian school.
I am from Tula, a town right outside of Moscow. I studied history at university and afterwards began working at an archive. One day a wonderful person came into the archive who is now my husband, Nikolaii Germanich Felatov. That is how we met, and we have been living in Paris for 14 years. Our son went to this school. I've been teaching here for nine years. I brought my son here, and then I began to teach myself. I'll admit that I wasn't that comfortable during my first year here. I was raised under the Soviet teaching style, and this is the Russian school for the Alexander Nevsky Cathedral; it is not your normal school.
First of all, the students here are a motley group: they have different levels of Russian language and very different family cultures. This uniqueness actually is very important to the educative process and makes it a fruitful challenge to teach. They're all great kids—so far I haven't had one who didn't show any interest. But the problem is that, although our classes are small, the level of Russian of each student is extremely varied. Sometimes a 10- or 11-year-old student will enter the school mid-year, but he doesn't know how to write at all. So then I will spend more time with that student and thereby inevitably spend less time with the other students who already speak and write well.
How did you adapt to the French culture and to your husband's émigré Russo-French culture at home?
It wasn't very difficult because at home we always speak in Russian. My husband's family is from the first wave of émigrés, so we are an interesting pair. I was raised in the communist tradition, and he in a pre-1917 Parisian émigré family. For him, the Russian language and culture are his top priority. He loves Russian history, collects Russian cultural objects; for instance, we've got a samovar collection. This passion has quite naturally carried over to our son. Of course there is some friction between my Soviet Russian culture and my husband's pre-revolution Russian culture. In some questions, it's not that we don't understand each other, but our bases of understanding are simply different.
Do you think children who emigrate, like your son, feel the same way?
In terms of Russian children who immigrate to Paris from Russia today, it's hard to say exactly. I think those kids from the new waves come to our Russian school and become very religious—it’s the religion more than the culture that they focus on. This could do with the fact that in Russia there has been a pretty strong rebirth of the Orthodox tradition. Everyone has begun going to church. There isn't at all a lack of spiritual life in Russia anymore; if anything, there is an overwhelming amount of religion. For instance, that archive where I worked in Russia was originally part of a monastery. Now, they've actually started using the monastery again for religious activities. So there are certainly kids who come with their mothers from Ukraine or Belarus very ready to embrace the Russian Orthodox religious tradition, but of course their financial circumstances for them are pretty difficult.
You teach history here. Does religion ever come into your classroom?
Of course, the church is very important. For instance, my son is absolutely certain that this small church is more beautiful than Notre Dame Cathedral. The kids’ relationships to the church are really interesting; for instance, every school day begins with a small prayer. Once a year, the kids don't have classes but just come to school to participate in the liturgy. [It's] always after Easter, just as the kids are coming back from vacation, and Father Anatolii (despite his reluctance) leads a procession around our church. Even if it was one or two weeks after Easter, the kids would get to participate in the Easter tradition at their own church, this Cathedral of Alexander Nevsky. This tradition is so important; it's truly a celebration for them. Every child gets an icon; all the kids, the teachers, and the fathers walk around the church. And recently one of our teachers began another tradition that is actually not Orthodox at all but rather French, a very sweet tradition of hiding Easter eggs around the church for the kids to find. So, of course, the church plays a very big role in the kids' education. But I will say that some kids are atheists. It's clear that some kids do have some sort of discomfort with the church aspect of this school, but many kids really do love and cherish their religion.
The Russian émigré community lost everything—both materially and spiritually. From your view, how has the situation changed?
I'm not completely sure, but I know that today's immigrant community, mostly from the Ukraine, Belarus, and Moldova, is single mothers and their children. The mothers come here so that their children could have more opportunities. They know perfectly well—and God grant that this is not the complete truth—that their children do not have a future there. So they make their decision and face any potential consequences for the sake of their children’s professional futures. Thankfully they don't lose themselves in this; they aren't just coming here with the goal of professional development and the idea that they have to make money. And I think the church plays a large role, especially our school, in preserving this human level. So here, I think the material elements do not play a part or influence their spiritual life. But originally, their reasons for leaving are often very financially driven.
What role does this school play in preserving the students' Russian identities—particularly the children from the first wave of émigrés who now represent the fifth or sixth generation?
Well, that class that you visited today—they are all at a pretty low level of Russian. My two favorite students in that class are both representatives of the first wave. Their parents were born here in Paris. One of them has a French mother; the other has a French father. The culture in both of their families is very Orthodox, but their language suffers. When one parent speaks Russian with some hiccups, because they were born in Paris, and the other parent just doesn't speak at all, of course the language that they'll use at home is French. It's pretty challenging for me to teach them, and I do not speak French fluently—and thank God! Once you start speaking, there's no going back.
What is the most special aspect of the experience of teaching students with such fascinating backgrounds?
What I really, truly appreciate about these kids is that, without words, on an instinctual, basic cultural level, they really understand Russian. For example, today not many Russians understand Listkov, a Russian author, because he has a very unique style. However, my kids will recognize the substance, the core of the material because this content is ingrained in their culture. They have been brought up and raised to know and understand it. When we read some story by Listkov, say Malanye Glava Porane or Chas Glavo Ilyushi, I ask them whether they think the plot could actually happen in the real word. They all answer yes. It's because Russian culture works in that way, and they do not know how life would work otherwise. So in this sense, even though maybe they don't understand all of the words or details of the language, they understand the meaning behind it.
This is something truly valuable that distinguishes these émigré children as Russian. Yes, it’s education, so we have vocabulary tests and we read stories; we occupy ourselves in some academic way. But without the family culture and growing up to understand Russia, the kids would not be who and how they are. A student who knows the grammar perfectly and speaks better than any of them, but who didn't grow up in a Russian household or with the Russian background that these émigré communities breathe in, that student will not understand what it is to be Russian as well our students at this school do.
At these young ages, do you think the children identify themselves with Russia?
Well, for instance, my kids, I hope that they do, but that they would raise their own children here. I mean my family has almost all moved to England or Germany or other parts of Western Europe, but every one of us retains a solid passion for Russian culture. With such eagerness, our children attend Russian summer camps, and take trips to Russia, and continue to speak Russian at home. They love, genuinely love Russia and do try to forget the bad aspects of Russia to enjoy what good it offers—I mean philosophically. Every country has elements which shouldn't be there, but my kids truly do love Russia for what good it has to offer.
For instance, my son, he hates preparing for Russian school because he has to do things such as study for vocabulary tests or write in Russian. Sometimes, he'll even say “Why do I need Russian? I live in France,” in some kind of anger. But, if you see him at another moment, when he isn't trying to defend himself from Russian homework, you can feel the pride he has for his Russian background. He knows he has something bigger and deeper than his French friends when he goes to Russian school. My son actually told me that he just realized his best friend was an atheist, and I told him that there were probably a lot of atheists in his French school. He told me that there are three “believers” in his class: him and two Muslim children. He feels that his religion and faith and culture are something added, a bonus to his life.
I think these Franco-Russian kids don't necessarily assimilate into French culture without really taking time to value their special Russian roots. Yes, the Russian language is slowly decreasing. I've been noticing that my father-in-law also makes mistakes and speaks in a sort of dated Russian, so it's not only the children who are forgetting. But here, I think it is the old culture more than anything that people value and maintain.