Stories similar to this that you might like too.
“… A cold night in April, as usual. After having woken up very early, I got dressed quietly and went outside without opening the door or putting the housecoat I usually wear over my pajamas. Instead, I merely walked down the stairs and stepped out onto the balcony to see what was happening.
From this vantage point, looking across at the upper windows on either side, you can observe everything that goes on inside, as well as from outside, but with one particular restriction: You don’t have a view of the garden behind it!
“It had always been like this here—a five-storied mansion surrounded by walls covered in ivy; four windows faced towards the courtyard, but only three showed anything going on in there… The fourth window looked out into the vast gardens of the estate, which had belonged to Baron Vronsky’s mother before being inherited by Anna Karenina.”
He sighed sadly and his eyelids began dropping lazily. “I’ll bet they’ve still preserved the old lady’s cherry tree,” he said musingly. Then something clicked in him and he started thinking about the gardens again, full of white blossoms and shining grasses under the moonlight.
And yet not all thoughts concerning Katerinna were so pleasant for him just now; they disturbed him rather badly—that feeling that she could never return his love. All at once, he recalled something else that had occurred during these spring months—the incident that had come to be known as “Katrinka” —when his dear sweetheart had appeared at home unexpectedly after twelve years of absence.
She’d been living somewhere else then, of course, in Stiva Pavlovitch’s family near Mtsensk… But coming back alone from such an effort, he couldn’t help wondering if she knew how much he loved her, while the whole family regarded it as something quite natural. To begin with, everyone thought they weren’t even engaged… And besides, why did he keep dreaming about Katerinna? What sort of dreams…?
The subject made Nikolay uncomfortable and, jumping out of bed in agitation, he seized a chair at the writing table, sat down, and put his face on his hands, feeling wretched.
A very short time ago (it seemed), they’d gone off to Moscow, where Anna worked as an assistant doctor in the government hospital. There were rumors circulating among the staff that Katerinna had died. Since he hadn’t heard that himself, Nikolay suspected the gossip arose out of envy or malice.
Of course, it was difficult enough to find fault with anyone, when jealousy and resentment ruled the day, but in the case of his beloved, who already didn’t particularly seem interested, the feelings aroused took on monstrous proportions.
He pitied those who spoke ill of her and feared them. Not out of any great charity, though, since deep down in his heart he shared their repugnance… But it simply happened to be true that Anna had fallen in love and that her life was already dedicated solely to this man… Yes, no matter how nice the gentleman might look, and yes, even though he really was kind and tenderhearted and wise and witty; no, despite all this, she chose her own path!
Though in truth she felt neither hatred nor envy, but something far more painful than these things—an unbearable longing for happiness with another person. Who would’ve guessed it, he thought.
And when there are two women and a man involved, the conflict is only intensified; moreover, they each have strong forces backing them up, men fighting for the cause and women supporting both sides. The lady doctor in Moscow had also returned home on leave and heard about Katerina herself, whom her father had married.
Well then, instead of losing hope and succumbing to despair, why shouldn’t she marry…
No doubt people thought so at the beginning of this story as well, but that didn’t prevent the lovers from finding each other. As soon as they were able to establish themselves, and most likely because they really meant to do so, they came together with firm resolve:
In Russia and on the Dniepr River, where they worked and lived in the same place… They needed a little help along the way, however, to raise the necessary funds…
But instead of applying to banks and publishing houses, they started making money under assumed names. At first, they’d found some work in a private hospital and subsequently managed to get jobs elsewhere as doctors.
Naturally, there were few people of their caliber who wanted to lose their positions at state clinics, and when the hospitals discovered that Katerina’s salary was paid by a certain Dr. Nikandrov, nobody interfered or raised questions.
Besides, the patient had passed away and could not testify against his surgeon. For the time being, they left town to stay with friends, using the same tricks over and over again to make ends meet.
A small thing: he had seen her only twice since that trip… By and by he became acquainted with many famous persons; although naturally none of them dared tell others what they were actually doing, of course. But he felt sorry for the poor ladies.
After all, any of them was capable of setting fire to her rival’s house if they really liked him… But then suddenly one day a great scandal erupted. Her new husband was accused of fraud; then, thanks to the fact that the marriage certificate proved to be fake, the district attorney launched an investigation.
However, a letter of apology from the town council to the mayor of the neighboring village made a world of difference, since otherwise, the governor’s office threatened to take measures against the local authorities.
Nevertheless, that summer the town was greatly alarmed when rumors spread around like wildfire about a rumored suicide attempt by Katerina. An impostor, some said. Still, others insisted it was Katerine—who’d fallen off a bridge into the river and drowned.
Even after several months, rumors ran rampant and people kept making references to the mysterious drowning. During this interval, he never saw or heard a word about any new suicides connected with Katerina. It must’ve been very upsetting for them since people began talking once again about the dead woman in question, which just wasn’t done. “It wouldn’t be fair,” they’d say.
He tried to suppress his curiosity, yet sometimes the itch to know couldn’t be held back. Every now and then he asked about Katerina, receiving evasive replies; but soon the silence grew too heavy and unbearable, especially during long winter evenings.
One night Nikolai got drunk on vodka and swore he’d go off somewhere with her if she ever came to visit Moscow. In the morning he remembered that he was lying on his stomach, wearing a flannel shirt.
He rolled over and, rubbing his eyes with cold fingers, looked at the bedside clock. Time to get ready for work! But just as he turned towards the door something soft brushed against him in the dark—something small and warm …
It happened only once again: late one August evening after dinner when they were drinking brandy alone together. The snow had begun falling outside through gaps between the shutters; their lamps burned brightly, yet there was no warmth in them save for the heat of alcohol.
Finally, Grigory rose from his chair and lit a cigarette. Looking up into the shadows behind the blinds, he said softly, “I should say goodbye.” As he spoke this last word both men froze in astonishment. From the bedroom window some words could be heard clearly without a sound:
”Where will you travel tonight?”
The young countess smiled affectionately as though listening to music, and called out cheerfully, “Wherever I choose!”
Nikolai pulled himself away so hastily that he tripped over an empty bottle. Seeing the glass tumble to the floor, he realized what he had almost done. What had it been? A childhood dream—the girl who used to dance upon the edge of dreams before dawn.
Grigory dropped his cigarette, crushed it underfoot, and stamped it out with his heel. Turning angrily towards Nikolay, he raised his voice hoarsely. “Don’t you understand—there’s nothing else left to us anymore—” But somehow he found no way to finish his sentence, and abruptly crossed to the lampstand and put on another light.
Sitting down in front of the window he smoked silently, looking around at the scene through the open casement.
The trees opposite had caught the first glimmering touches of twilight in their foliage; already some lights were beginning to burn below his windows, red fires in blue globes by the roadside, and yellow ones among the rows of shops. Only the sky remained gray and sad, clouded and windy.
A flock of birds swept across the glowing expanse of the horizon like white arrows. It seemed as though these clouds knew about death, and they lifted up mournful cries as the flock moved onward. Even the restless movement of the black wings reminded Nikolai of a funeral cortege crossing Moscow streets at midnight under torches of flame…
So the summer passed quickly, as everyone knows. For several days each week, Nikolay rode to a distant military factory where he worked ten hours a day cutting gears or assembling wheels. His arms ached; his hands bled from the rough leather gloves and the oil, which never dried even in the cold of winter.
Just at Christmas time, Grigory appeared unexpectedly in a hussar uniform, having received leave. On January 6th there were sleigh bells and frozen pavements.
They spent four freezing weeks playing chess and discussing the problems of love. All around them people were talking excitedly about war with France. With tears in their eyes, they drank champagne, danced the quadrille, and took part in numerous other festivities.
So many things went on every year: balls, weddings, banquets, shows, and new entertainers; all with new dresses and decorations, new ideas, and old songs. And at the same time, the dead were always buried, graves dug up, again and again, monuments built above them, and prayers whispered over the empyrean remains of those who were no more than ashes.
In the early months of 1812, the hot weather returned, along with rumors of the imminent arrival of Napoleon’s armies. Each Sunday, riding together to church, they discussed the preparations, the mobilization of Russia’s reserves of soldiers, and the daily dispatches concerning the defeat of Marshal Ney’s army near Smolensk.
Then followed one event after another: the outbreak of a plague epidemic; the government being overthrown; and the Duke of Oldenburg sent out as supreme commander-in-chief of Russian troops.
There was great excitement among the Russians, who began pouring into churches, praying fervently to Christ for protection against the French, and chanting hymns such as “The Cross is the Star,” “Majesty on Thy Throne,” and “Lead, Lord, our Armies.”
In the factories, where Nikolai was now working on guns, officers stood on chairs calling orders loudly while the workers sat bent double over lathes and saws, striving to reach deadlines assigned in strict rotation.
Nikolai also joined in, assisting in whatever work he could. Yet in spite of the haste that gripped everything, there were certain incidents, events so strange as to be unbelievable until the actual happening occurred. One, for instance, involved the boy Darya Alexandrovna.
On the fourth of February, two huge German companies arrived from Voronezh and entered service at Tula under Prince Yaroslavsky. Nikolay and Grigory drove up to Tula from Stary Oskol, staying overnight with a friend of theirs.
While talking late in their bed (which had been kept warm with furs), they were suddenly awakened by the sound of footsteps outside. At first, the noise sounded far off but then grew louder until it filled the whole room.
First one pair and then another set of footsteps walked heavily in short jerky steps across the wooden floorboards, muffled boots making clanging sounds when they struck each other. Nikolay glanced nervously at Grigory; the young man felt an electric thrill run down his back, although neither heard nor saw anything and lay motionless beneath the thick quilt. “Go down to Masha if she’ll give you company,” said Grigory groggily.
He rolled onto his side, pretending to be asleep. Suddenly a soldier stood right above him, leaning over to look into the little chamber. His head shone faintly from the reflected moonlight. Something like a mask covered the upper third of this face, leaving only the jaw and teeth exposed. Above it, something seemed to flutter, as though half of a skirt fell away with each step. Next door, Nikolay heard the girl’s soft voice. “No, I don’t want to!” she answered softly.
The soldier lowered himself slowly into bed next to her, pinning the blanket to the window frame below him, while Nikolai strained to listen. It was impossible to hear what they were saying, but he did not have long to wait. A sharp thumping came close to Nikolay’s ears.
Before the hoarse tones reached him, he heard Darya Alexandrovna cry out: “Oh, please! Please take me with you!” As he listened, the windows of the neighboring rooms trembled.
Then, following the pounding, came the heavy breathing of someone fast asleep, only just audible between the strokes of the hammer. After perhaps five minutes the footsteps moved off, returning first to the bedroom and then to the hallway and staircase beyond it.
Again the pounding commenced, growing louder still as the intruder progressed. Here, too, there was no sign of anyone—no footsteps, no rustling of clothing, only the intense beating of some huge unseen creature.
Outside the little house, next door something snapped, and two horses neighed mournfully somewhere nearby. Gradually all these noises died away. Once, without warning, a shriek escaped the throat of a baby somewhere inside. What could be happening?
This was new territory. They thought of the wind passing through the tall poplars or maybe an earthquake might strike, rocking the buildings about them. “Only do tell us what happened, Grigory?” implored Nikolai. “There are no soldiers here, as far as we can see.” “We should have brought up a candle to light the room.” “They’re not alone,” replied Grigory shortly.
And indeed it did seem that there must be others with them—not men, but demons, animals, or fairies. “I think those footsteps stopped at my doorway…” said Nikolay hesitantly. But in fact, there was nothing except their own two feet slapping gently against the boards as they went from one end of the building to the other.
“It frightened me to death,” Grigory admitted in a low voice. He asked Masha, who lived upstairs, whether she knew anything about the presence of strangers in her neighbors’ house; evidently not. Only after much discussion did he venture downstairs to drink tea with his old friend and inquire anxiously whether his brother-in-law had returned yet.
The next day news reached them of Prince Michael’s victory over the Swedes near Vitebsk. Nikolay made every effort to keep the outbreak of hostilities quiet so as not to affect his work at Tula. Already several German units had arrived there under command of Field Marshal von Mackensen. In addition, numerous Cossacks had appeared unannounced among the Russian troops from the Kuban.
This meant greater responsibility for Nikolay than he would have liked. Furthermore, during the previous week, large numbers of young Cossack recruits began to arrive in the city. Nikolay found himself caught up once more in the daily routine of military life. And, as ever, he longed to escape this wretched place and go home…