BACK TO TASHKEND FOR THE LAST TIME
Meanwhile I had a very tedious time at St. Petersburg, where I was to
remain until autumn. It is odd that Sergy had not written to me for quite
ten days. I was tortured by the fear that something had happened to him.
I got at last a letter in which he told me that his health had changed
again for the worse, and that he pined for me to such an extent as to
lose his appetite and sleep, and that his lips had forgotten to smile. I
must come back and cheer him a bit. Such a longing for Sergy came over me
that I decided to leave for Tashkend on the following day.
I was in a fever to reach the end of my journey, and it seemed to me
that the train was creeping at a snail’s pace. At one of the stations I
received a telegram from Mr. Shaniavski, informing me that my husband
was unwell and that the doctors had ordered him to remain in bed. I was
awfully upset by that telegram, and my spirits sank lower and lower. I
was haunted in the night by a nightmare of frightful reality; I stood
before the cathedral in Tashkend, surrounded by a crowd of soldiers;
suddenly an officer came out of the church and announced in a loud voice,
“General Doukhovskoy has just passed away.” Oh! the horror of it! I woke
in tears with a start, full of agony.
The more the time drew near for my arrival at Tashkend, the more nervous
I became. My impatience increased from minute to minute. One can well
imagine my amazement when, stopping at the station nearest to Tashkend, I
saw my husband on the platform. He had left his bed to come and meet me.
Sergy met me open-armed, whilst my heart beat so violently that I feared
he would hear it. He had altered a good deal, and I was awfully shocked
by the drawn look of his features. There was a large lump in my throat
and I could not speak for the risk of tears, but I made a strong effort,
and, trying to conceal my anxiety, I forced a poor smile, and did my
utmost to look composed and cheerful.
As soon as we arrived at Tashkend, Sergy went to bed again, but was
all right on the following morning. The sight of my face was the best
medicine he could have.
The clouds thickened on the political horizon, and questions concerning
China began to occupy the public mind. The European powers, feeling
alarmed, marched conjointly on Pekin; there were thirty thousand troops
assembled there. They say that Russia is going to take an active part,
and we have to apprehend a catastrophe any moment on the frontier of
Turkestan. Our Russian consul, who did not feel safe at Kuldja—a Chinese
town near our frontier—asked my husband to send a platoon of Cossacks to
protect him.
My husband’s governorship was not a bed of roses. It is a difficult
career, requiring much patience, perseverance and delicate handling.
Sergy did not know fatigue, working from early morning till late at
night, and even when he went to bed, he tried to remember the things he
had done and the things he had to do, instead of falling off to sleep. He
was a man who had never seemed to flinch from duty, either for himself or
others, and he required the same from his subordinates, but didn’t find
the necessary support in them he ought to have had in such troublesome
times. He looks awfully careworn and worn-out. The doctors spoke again
of rest and change, and Sergy applied for leave. He thought of resigning
altogether, to my greatest joy.