THE TURCO-RUSSIAN WAR
There were new complications and things began to look more and more
serious. Every day when I awoke a fear came over me that the news would
be brought: “we are to march.”
From time to time disguised Turkish officers, spies for certain, began
to appear in Alexandropol. There were some skirmishes in the town,
unfriendly demonstrations between the Christians and the Mussulmans. A
great activity was noticeable in Alexandropol, and I listened to the
sounds of drums and the rumble of the big guns through the streets with
increasing uneasiness.
On Easter night we went to the citadel church for divine service; a
score of Cossacks lighted our way with torches. The next day we had a
great number of congratulators who came in to embrace us, according
to our Orthodox practice, in commemoration of Christ’s Resurrection.
It was curious to see amongst them “devil-worshippers,” belonging to
Loris-Melikoff’s escort.
Events were advancing faster than I anticipated; the storm-cloud which
had been gathering had burst at last, and the time of trial had come.
A telegram informed Loris-Melikoff that the Ambassador of Russia had
received the order to quit Constantinople; a second despatch followed
saying: “if Turkey did not consent to sign the conditions that Russia
exacted, war would be declared in the lapse of two days.” And Turkey did
not consent.
On the 11th of April, the first anniversary of our wedded life, we
invited some friends to dine with us. Just when our health was going
to be drunk, my husband was hastily summoned by Loris-Melikoff whom he
found reading a cyphered telegram which announced the declaration of war
against Turkey.
Having agreed not to divulge these alarming tidings, Sergy tried to look
cheery when he returned home, but I saw at a glance that he was very pale
and nervous, and guessed at once that he had brought bad news; when I
heard him give orders to have his horse ready at any time of the night,
I understood all. He had to go! Oh, to think of it! Oh, to think of it!
For some minutes I could not collect my faculties, everything swam before
my eyes, it was altogether such a terrible blow! The first shock of
horrible surprise over, I resolved to show myself as self-possessed as I
could. Time enough for tears and grief when Sergy would be gone!
The order was given to our cavalry to attack the twenty Turkish posts
who guarded the frontier at nightfall; only three of them defended
themselves, all the others were taken unawares; being plunged into deep
sleep, they were taken captives. It was the first act of open hostility.
Oh, the terrible night! Of sleep there was no question whatever! Before
the stepping out of our troops, in the cold grey light of a rainy dawn,
a Te-Deum was performed in the square in front of the cathedral. The
soldiers, after having concluded their fervent prayers, took a pinch of
earth, kissed the dear ground and laid it in their knapsacks. Many eyes
filled with tears at this touching spectacle.
Until this moment no one in town had suspected that war had been
declared. All Alexandropol was in a great state of excitement; the
Armenians, especially, were awfully frightened and depressed.
At seven in the morning our troops left Alexandropol. The heart-breaking
hour had come, the sad word “farewell” was to be said. I cried out,
“Good-bye my all, good-bye!” and pressed my wet cheek to Sergy’s
tear-stained one, like my own. After a short prayer, we held each other
in a close embrace; I couldn’t believe that he was really going. At last
I mastered myself with an effort, and disengaged my clinging arms with a
last kiss. It was the worst moment I had ever had in my life. There was
an instant of unconsciousness, and when I recovered myself he was gone!
I hadn’t the strength to accompany Sergy to the front door, and flinging
myself upon my bed, face downwards, I sobbed as I had never sobbed
before. Oh! now I was alone, alone, alone! Suddenly I sprang up and
stretched out my hands to the blank distance, cried aloud: “Come back,
Sergy, come back, my sweetheart, I cannot let you go!” But he was already
gone past recall. I shall certainly never forget that day. It seemed as
if my life had ended. Oh, my God, if I could only die!
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.
I preferred to remain in complete seclusion, and shut my door to all
callers, but one evening Helena acted against my orders, and let Mrs. R.,
one of our military ladies in, a person with whom I had never succeeded
in making friends. She came and sat by my bed in spite of my desire for
solitude. As I presented an unresponsive cheek to her lips, she inquired
suavely if I had read the papers that day, and though she saw that this
talk was most distasteful to me, she gave herself great trouble to make
it quite clear to me that the day before, in a great clash, Sergy had
been exposed to sharp artillery fire. Being on the brink of an outburst
of hysterical sobbing, I exclaimed: “Don’t, it hurts me!” But that
vixen of a woman, who, if she could say bitter things never lost an
opportunity of doing so, continued her horrible descriptions. The aims
of my tormentor were attained; I flew into a passion, and turning upon
her warlike eyes blazing through a flood of tears, I told her that it was
cruel and shameless to come and frighten me like that Mrs. R. sailed away
very much offended, and thus ended that pleasant visit. In fact, what
right had that disagreeable lady to disturb me like that? I had never
known anything but love, and expected it from everything and everybody,
but my eyes commenced to open now to the reality and bitterness of life,
and I began to experience things which astonished and disgusted me. I had
found out at last that the world was hard.
Meanwhile good tidings came from the seat of war; a conference, which
assembled in Paris, occasioned a suspension of hostilities. It must
surely be the presage of peace, and I clung with all my might to my hope
that war would soon be over, and that all my anxieties, my worries, would
be at an end. Cheered and strengthened, I so far recovered my spirits
as to be able to receive Colonel K., but that gentleman proved to be
very unsympathetic and disappointing, for instead of confirming my happy
expectations, he prophecied dreadful things, and when I said I hoped
better days were in store for me, he replied that it was easy to hope,
that hope’s cheap, but nevertheless any possibility of peace was held to
be out of the question, and that war would go on for a long time yet But
I refused to face that picture. “It won’t, it won’t,” I screamed out,
but it was only to make myself believe it wasn’t true. At that moment my
anger had risen so high that I struggled against an impulse to fling him
out of the room. At last, no longer able to contain myself, I lost all
self-control. “I hate you!” I cried out vehemently, and darted past him
into Helena’s room and locked myself in. It was certainly very rude of
me to give way to such an undignified outburst of passion, but I was so
furious with my visitor that I could not be polite to him at that moment,
to save my life.
One of my St. Petersburg ex-pages, B⸺, a newly promoted officer,
was passing through Alexandropol to the seat of war, and paid me an
unexpected visit, but I was in a mood which makes one long to mope in
solitude, and could not endure callers, so he was turned from my door
greatly disappointed. That officer, as well as all the rest of the unfair
sex, (I beg your pardon, gentlemen!) was naught to me; my husband being
the one man in the world for me, my heart being true as steel to him, I
wanted him alone and no one else.
By this time there were little reconnoitrings of cavalry. Musket shots
were exchanged, with great damage on both sides. The news of more
fighting, more bloodshed, had just reached me; a great battle was being
fought near Alexandropol; we could plainly see the fire and hear the roar
of the cannons from the citadel. The Turks were threatening Alexandropol
now, and we were in immediate danger of seeing our homes invaded by the
hostile army. Fantastical reports circulated that Moussa-Pasha, the
commander-in-chief of the Turkish army, had informed Loris-Melikoff that
he would dine on the following day at Alexandropol. The _mouchir’s_
visit hung over our town as a nightmare, and a panic arose which drove
our military ladies to distraction. They all persuaded me in vain to flee
with them, and Helena, who easily lost her head, implored me in her turn
to start immediately for Tiflis; but I was not afraid of anything, I felt
I did not care what became of me, and declared that I should certainly
not stir from Alexandropol. On that same evening our soldiers turned the
Turks back, and our ladies grew calm again.
The idea came to me to become Sister of Mercy in order to have the
possibility of following our troops. Here again I was destined to meet
with disappointment. General Tolstoi, a member of the society of the Red
Cross, had refused to take me seriously, saying that I was far too young
and inexperienced for such hard work. How perfectly horrid of him!
Oh, what agonies I endured during the hours of fighting! I fancied the
raging battle going on in which Sergy might at any moment be killed. One
whole night I sat at the window-seat waiting nervously for news; the
stillness was broken only by the measured tramp of the sentinel who paced
to and fro under my window, and also by the mewing of marauding cats on
the terrace roofs. At dawn I received a reassuring telegram from Sergy.
At the end of April my husband came home to spend a whole day with me.
Oh, the joy of being together after those two horrid weeks of separation
and suspense! Those few hours of calm, of quiet, put life into me again,
and roused me from my lethargy. Everything changed when Sergy was here
with me; I felt no fear whatever, but I knew that very soon Sergy would
have to go back to that dreadful war, and I should be left all alone,
lonelier than ever. That short visit only increased the bitter pain of
renewed parting. “How shall I ever let you go away again,” I murmured,
embracing Sergy tearfully. But I had to do it, and my sorrows came back,
and the house seemed blank again.
Meanwhile the Russian army continued to advance boldly. The telegraphic
despatches gave the description of a fiery battle between our Cossacks
and the Turkish pickets. In May the siege of Ardagan took place; Sergy
entered the town at the head of a big detachment of soldiers, and
notwithstanding the energetic resistance of the Turks, the citadel of
Ardagan was obliged to capitulate. The battle was hot, and the Turks
who had fought desperately for eighteen hours, sustained great losses.
The streets were literally filled with dead and wounded; the corpses
were crowded in heaps, one upon the other, and it took three whole days
to clear them away. It was frosty weather fortunately, otherwise one
couldn’t have breathed for the dreadful smell.
On the 13th of May (evil day) a great battle was fought near Zevine.
On the same day the Turks blockaded our fortress of Baiazette. A small
number of soldiers shut up in that citadel showed great steadiness under
fire, and rained shells upon the enemy, defending themselves desperately.
Their situation was very critical indeed. They were short of water, and
had to leave their shelter to draw water from a source running under
the rocks, whilst the Turks opened a terrible fire upon them. It was
certainly a very perilous undertaking. The Russians held the town ten
days until a reinforcement arrived which put the Turks to flight and
delivered the Russian garrison.
The Grand Duke Michael had proceeded to the seat of war whilst the Grand
Duchess, his spouse, established herself for an indefinite period in the
citadel of Alexandropol. Miss Ozeroff, one of her maids-in-waiting, came
to see me, and hinted to me that the Grand Duchess expected a visit from
me. My first impulse was to decline this honour and say, “No,” but Miss
Ozeroff, catching me like a fish in her net, invited me one afternoon for
a cup of tea. As it was one of my good days, for I had just received a
telegram from Sergy, I accepted her invitation, and picking myself up,
I put on my plainest walking-dress and a broad-brimmed garden hat and
set off for the citadel. I gave my card to a tall lackey in glittering
livery, and ordered him to conduct me upstairs to Miss Ozeroff’s private
apartments. My cunning hostess, in spite of my protestations, insisted
on carrying me off to the Grand Duchess. I was quite unprepared for that
and very much upset. The Grand Duchess, however, most kindly rose to
embrace me and placed me on the sofa by her side. She began directly to
talk of the war operations and related to me that during the siege of
Ardagan, for which Sergy had received the Cross of St. George, he had
been in great danger, his horse having been shot from under him. When I
heard this I turned very pale and burst into a storm of tears. The Grand
Duchess tried vainly to sooth me, telling me that perhaps it might not be
true that Sergy had been in such mortal danger, but I continued to sob
hysterically, for I was not altogether a Spartan, I must confess.
I continued to display an obstinate preference for seclusion, and
refused myself to callers. I might as well be shut away in prison. I
had, moreover, imposed on myself the vow never to set foot out of my
room until Sergy’s definite return. This life was telling upon my nerves
and I fell into a condition of dreadful mental apathy. I had no wish for
anything and fretted myself into a kind of low fever. I had lost my
sleep and hated the sight of food, and became thinner and more wretched
every day, until at last I was a shadow of myself. I nearly drove my poor
Helena mad with my pale face and tear-sodden eyes. At length she became
so uneasy about me that she wrote the most alarming reports of my health
to my mother, who started immediately for Alexandropol with my cousin,
Kate Swetchine, to help me bear my grief and soothe my sorrows. They were
certainly a dear comfort, both of them, but I wanted Sergy, and continued
to send him daily laconic despatches with one word only, “Come.”
My condition was so alarming that my husband decided to beg for a leave
of absence as soon as he could, in order to take me abroad for a short
time. Meanwhile a suspension of arms had been agreed upon, and our troops
remained in inaction before the fortress of Kars. Profiting by that short
calm, Sergy had obtained a leave of absence on the plea of urgent private
affairs. It was a very great surprise to me, almost too good to be true.
Happy days were yet in store for me!
It was decided that we should spend a week in Paris; the project was a
delightful one. With what impatience I awaited Sergy’s arrival! Though
for a short while, I said still I’ll have him all to myself now!
On the day of my husband’s proposed arrival I sat at the open window in
joyous excitement and expectation, listening intensely, with every nerve
tingling, to the sounds in the street outside. What a day it had been—a
hundred hours in it! The clock-hands seemed to crawl on purpose. Seeing
my agitation, Helena mounted on our roof, but as Sister Anne on her
watch-tower, she didn’t perceive my knight. Suddenly I heard a rolling of
wheels under my window and a carriage drove up to the door. Mamma flew
out to greet Sergy, but instead of him, rushed into the arms of a total
stranger. She had got hold of the wrong man and found herself confronted
by an officer who brought a letter from Sergy, explaining his unexpected
delay. And I had been just withering up with impatience to see him!
Two days later a telegram announced my husband’s definite arrival. On
the eve of that happy day I went to bed very early and awakened the next
morning with the pleasant sense of anticipation of the coming journey.
Hurrah! My husband had arrived at last! I should have gone mad if he
hadn’t come that time. With what joy I ran forward and hugged him! He was
given back to me, thank God! I put my arms round his neck and cried over
him for happiness.
So it was decided at last, and we were to start for Paris in a few days.
I was now all impatience to be off. The first thing we did after Sergy’s
arrival was to order a _Te Deum_ of thanksgiving. What a joy I felt when
I went out of doors for the first time after my voluntary days of jail.
I was very tired after my long imprisonment, and found myself coming to
life again. The next day we were on our way to Tiflis. My nerves being
tiresomely on edge just then, I was in a horrible fright all the way,
and before approaching a steep hill that we had to ascend, I jumped out
of the carriage and sat down in the middle of the road, and folding my
arms I declared that I would not proceed further. My cousin Kate followed
my example and established herself on the _chaussée_ beside me, saying
that she wouldn’t move either. As we could not take up our quarters on
the highway for ever, I gathered up my somewhat scattered courage and
remounted the carriage.
From Tiflis we went straight on to Paris, and mamma returned to Russia
with my cousin.
Our stay abroad was not altogether a very agreeable one, for Sergy was
all the time very nervous and careworn, dreading to arrive too late for
the siege of Kars. As to me, this trip brought the roses back to my
cheeks, but as the time for my husband’s return to the war drew near, my
face grew sadder. I dreaded going back, having the painful knowledge that
we must return to all the horrors of war again.
We came back to Alexandropol before my husband’s holidays expired. To his
great disappointment, and to my immense delight, General Komaroff had
already taken possession of Kars, which was thought to be impregnable.
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.