After my installation in the house of an Armenian, an old dismissed officer, I had the horrible pain of seeing my husband depart to the campaign. We had again to endure separation which might end in death.
The room which I was to occupy was low-ceilinged and bare-looking, with a bit of looking-glass nailed to the wall; a table, three chairs and a sofa, which had evidently attained the dignity of old age, composed all the furniture. I had to sleep on that hard sofa, from which nearly all the horse-hair and springs had gone.
Things had returned to their usual state; I was again in terror and suspicion through an eternity of days. My hosts showed me the greatest hospitality. The master of the house had served about twenty years before in the escort of our Emperor in St. Petersburg, where he had been renowned for his martial air and ferocious black moustache, which was now painted blue-black and was still startling. My host was a good old chap; under his strong outside, he had a heart as soft as a pincushion. He was always very desirous to please me and did all my commissions with the greatest pleasure. I was thirsting for information from the seat of war and sent him on exploring expeditions every morning. His wife was a fat, double-chinned matron who looked good-natured enough but possessed the very slowest of brains; I had no patience with a person of such indolent temperament, for I had more life in my little finger than she had in her whole voluminous body. She conceived a prompt affection for me, but it was dull work sitting all day with that gossiping, childish woman, who was not an exhilarating companion, to be sure; her attempts to cheer me up were not brilliant and failed to bring the faintest smile to my lips. All day long my hostess did nothing, and ate everything; anyone would be fat leading such a life. Her sole occupation was to string pearls for her head attire; lazy, unoccupied, she shuffled about in her slippers, or sat twiddling her thumbs. Her favourite pastime was bathing; she went to the bath-establishment with female friends, supplied with provisions; these daughters of the East remained there nearly all day long, babbling and chatting like magpies. It took a long time for me to get used to my hostess, but I ended by liking her quite well. I was so miserable and felt so utterly alone, that any friendly, seeming companionship was welcome, and it was a balm to feel the good woman’s sympathy.
I was living like an anchorite and had no one to talk to but my hosts, a very poor resource indeed. When the weather was fine I sat on an old bench near our gate and watched the native women who came to draw water from a fountain just opposite; they carried it on their shoulders in large clay jugs just as in the times of Rebecca. In November the weather was bitterly cold. Sometimes, in moments of supreme depression, I would go out and stand at the gate hoping to catch a bad cold. My poor Helena, terror-stricken, raised her hands up in horror and drew me indoors by force. Often, after our meagre dinner, when it grew dark, I sat on the hearth-rug, drawing my shawl close about me, and shivering looked with dreary eyes into the dying fire, big tears rolling down my cheeks.
A message suddenly arrived from Sergy, an astounding piece of good news; he was coming to spend Christmas with me. I was delirious with joy at the thought of seeing him, and eagerly awaited his arrival; it filled my days with hope and excitement. I was sick and weary and hungry for the sight of his face and the sound of his voice. I counted the days and planned how we should spend Christmas together.
On Christmas Eve I went to bed immediately after dinner, in order to shorten the hours, and dreamt all night of bliss and joyous meeting. Early in the morning Helena came to announce that an officer had arrived from the seat of war and wished to see me. He brought awful news; Sergy wrote to me that he had just been ordered with a detachment of soldiers to Kniss-Kala, a place very far away at the very bottom of the Kurdistan, where a strong epidemic of typhus-fever was raging. It was a terrible disappointment and grief. What a sad Christmas it would be for me now! The shock was almost more than I could bear; I speedily sent a telegram to Sergy beseeching him not to accept that mission. Very unsoldierlike it was of me and not sufficiently heroic; my husband certainly paid no heed to my entreaty and started off for Kniss-Kala.
Ten months were already passed since war had been declared, and I was still at Alexandropol, when one happy morning my host brought me news that peace had been signed. I was beside myself with joy, and feeling the necessity to share my happiness with some one, I ran off to Mrs. Odnossoumoff, one of the few military ladies whom I could tolerate; but she clouded my perfect happiness in telling me that it was an armistice only, which had been signed, and that war would soon break out again. I went home awfully sad at heart, and back to my room, flinging myself on my bed, I wept passionately; worn out I sobbed myself to sleep. With what bliss I would have slept for ever!
The armistice was announced at Kniss-Kala on the same day that the Turks were to attack the detachment commanded by my husband. What a terrible misfortune there might have been for me, had the announcement not come in time, and what a narrow escape Sergy had. I shudder when I think of it.