I sent Housnadine, our Tartar servant, to the Russian frontier with the orders to return only after my husband had crossed to the other side of the Arpatchai. After two hours of agony, Housnadine brought me a few hasty words, scribbled by Sergy, while the pontoons were laying a bridge across the river for our artillery to pass over. Sergy entreated me to be brave, and promised to send me news as often as he could. Whilst he was writing that note, a notice came from head-quarters that the enemy had appeared. It was only a false alarm; a detachment of Turkish irregulars belonging to a tribe named “Karapapaki,” who had promised to serve the Russian cause if war would be declared, came now to join our army, with a banner and in full battle array.
A long, miserable night followed. Oh, what I was suffering! What agonies, what tortures! Worn out with tears, I fell asleep, but was suddenly awakened by a loud voice pronouncing my husband’s name. A moment later I was out of bed and rushed to the window, seized with a sudden dread that some misfortune had happened to Sergy. It was an express messenger covered with dust, who had brought a letter from my husband. He wrote from the first halting place of our army, a Turkish village situated about ten miles distance from Alexandropol. I read that epistle till the pages were blotted with tears. Short as it was, there was enough love in it to make the letter doubly dear. I kissed the paper over and over again; then I kissed the “My own darling” with which the letter began, kissed the “Your loving husband” with which it ended.
Early next morning I rose from my bed to look out upon a world suddenly become empty. It was like an awful nightmare from which I couldn’t wake up.
The succeeding days were the most trying I had ever known; I was so miserable, so wretched, and needed comfort so badly, and here I was left alone to wither away! It was altogether too cruel! I was so young, and my trouble was so great! For twenty years I had lived and had never been acquainted with adverse circumstances, and the troubles which had been averted were now beginning to come thickly upon me, and I could not possibly endure it patiently, my heart overflowed with self-pity. I will not deny that I displayed a pitiful lack of moral courage, but I was neither a philosopher nor a stoic, alas! It is a fact that I had always lived on the sunny side of life, and was born to be petted and made much of. Fairies had brought their offerings at my birth, and I took the rose-leaf pathway as my due; and now my eyes began to open to the realities of life!
Oh, how I did pine for Sergy! I wanted him now as I had never wanted him before; I wanted the sound of his voice, the touch of his hand. Oh that he may soon come back to me! He was in my mind and in my heart day and night; in every dream I saw him: I stretched my arms out to him, but I awoke with sobs and in torment, for he was not there!
One can easily imagine what an anxious time I passed through, living in a constant state of alarm. Sergy’s telegrams brought me the assurance that he was still alive and unwounded, but what might be in an hour—to-morrow? The minute just past might have made me a widow!
I lived a mechanical existence; at ten o’clock I got out of bed, at twelve I went back to it again. One day was the same to me as another; I would not take interest in anything, and was only thirsting for news from the seat of war. Our military ladies, who were not depressed like me, though their husbands were also at the war, visited me frequently, being prompted by kindly wishes to raise me from my apathy. They succeeded somewhat to break the monotony of my life, bringing in the freshness of the outer world.
Mrs. Zezemann, dropping in one day to cheer me up, succeeded in forcing me to come out of my shell. She took me to the citadel to see a detachment of Turkish prisoners; I perceived among them the major who had promised me a cat. He gave me a broad grin of recognition, and when I recalled his promise to his mind, he assured me that he would fulfil it without fail as soon as he was set at liberty by the Russians.
The list of killed had already brought the names of several officers I had known personally. Naturally I became very anxious concerning my husband’s safety. The thought that he might meet the same fate drove me to madness. What the newspapers had to tell about the war was not of a nature to set my mind at ease. I began to dread the arrival of the post, lest it should bring me the news of Sergy’s death; I fancied ten millions of accidents. My old Helena, who served me with loving fidelity, tried her best to comfort me, and said it was no good imagining horrors, but I would not be comforted, and continued to be in an agony of terror.