A Clump of Lilacs

"A Clump of Lilacs" is a poignant novella by Russian author Aleksandr Kuprin, exploring themes of love, longing, and the complexities of human relationships. Set in a picturesque Russian landscape, the story unfolds through the eyes of its protagonist, who navigates the bittersweet experience of unrequited love and the passage of time. Kuprin's lyrical prose vividly captures the beauty of nature and the intricacies of the human heart, making this work a touching reflection on the enduring impact of memories and emotions.

• Novel

								
Nikolai Yevgrafovitch Almazof hardly waited for his wife to open
the door to him; he went straight to his study without taking off
his hat or coat. His wife knew in a moment by his frowning face and
nervously-bitten underlip that a great misfortune had occurred.

She followed him in silence. Almazof stood still for a moment when he
reached the study, and stared gloomily into one corner, then he dashed
his portfolio out of his hand on to the floor, where it lay wide open,
and threw himself into an armchair, irritably snapping his fingers
together.

He was a young and poor army officer attending a course of lectures at
the staff office academy, and had just returned from a class. To-day
he had taken in to the professor his last and most difficult practical
work, a survey of the neighbourhood.

So far all his examinations had gone well, and it was only known to
God and to his wife what fearful labour they had cost him.... To begin
with, his very entrance into the academy had seemed impossible at
first. Two years in succession he had failed ignominiously, and only
in the third had he by determined effort overcome all hindrances. If
it hadn't been for his wife he would not have had sufficient energy
to continue the struggle; he would have given it up entirely. But
Verotchka never allowed him to lose heart, she was always encouraging
him ... she met every drawback with a bright, almost gay, front. She
denied herself everything so that her husband might have all the little
things so necessary for a man engaged in mental labour; she was his
secretary, draughtsman, reader, lesson-hearer, and note-book all in one.

For five minutes there was a dead silence, broken only by the sorry
sound of their old alarm clock, familiar and tiresome ... one, two,
three-three--two clear ticks, and the third with a hoarse stammer.
Almazof still sat in his hat and coat, turning to one side in his
chair.... Vera stood two paces from him, silent also, her beautiful
mobile face full of suffering. At length she broke the stillness with
the cautiousness a woman might use when speaking at the bedside of a
very sick friend:

"Well, Kolya, what about the work? Was it bad?"

He shrugged his shoulders without speaking.

"Kolya, was it rejected? Tell me; we must talk it over together."

Almazof turned to his wife and began to speak irritably and
passionately, as one generally does speak when telling of an insult
long endured.

"Yes, yes. They've rejected it, if you want to know. Can't you see they
have? It's all gone to the devil! All that rubbish"--he kicked the
portfolio with his foot--"all that rubbish had better be thrown into
the fire. That's your academy. I shall be back in the regiment with a
bang next month, disgraced. And all for a filthy spot ... damn it!"

"What spot, Kolya?" asked she. "I don't understand anything about it."

She sat down on the side of his chair and put her arm round his neck.
He made no resistance, but still continued to stare into the corner
with an injured expression.

"What spot was it, Kolya?" asked his wife once more.

"Oh, an ordinary spot--of green paint. You know I sat up until three
o'clock last night to finish my drawing. The plan was beautifully done.
Everyone said so. Well, I sat there last night and I got so tired
that my hand shook, and I made a blot--such a big one.... I tried to
erase it, but I only made it worse.... I thought and thought what I
had better do, and I made up my mind to put a clump of trees in that
place.... It was very successful, and no one could guess there had
been a blot. Well, to-day I took it in to the professor. 'Yes, yes,'
said he, 'that's very well. But what have you got here, lieutenant;
where have these bushes sprung from?' Of course, I ought to have told
him what had happened. Perhaps he would only have laughed ... but
no, he wouldn't, he's such an accurate German, such a pedant. So I
said, 'There are some trees growing there.' 'Oh, no, no,' said he. 'I
know this neighbourhood as well as I know the five fingers of my own
hand; there can't be any trees there.' So, my word against his, we
had a great argument about it; many of our officers were there too,
listening. 'Well,' he said at last, 'if you're so sure that there are
trees in this hollow, be so good as to ride over with me to-morrow and
see. I'll prove to you that you've either done your work carelessly,
or that you've copied it from a three versts to the inch map....'"

"But why was he so certain that no bushes were there?"

"Oh, Lord, why? What childish questions you do ask! Because he's
known this district for twenty years; he knows it better than his
own bedroom. He's the most fearful pedant in the world, and a German
besides.... Well, of course, he'll know in the end that I was lying and
so discussed the point with him...."

All the time he spoke he kept picking up burnt matches from the
ash-tray on the table in front of him, and breaking them to little
bits. When he ceased speaking, he threw the pieces on the floor. It was
quite evident that, strong man though he was, he was very near weeping.

For a long while husband and wife sat there silent. Then suddenly
Verotchka jumped up from her seat.

"Listen, Kolya," said she. "We must go this very minute. Make haste and
get ready."

Nikolai Yevgrafovitch wrinkled up his face as if he were suffering some
intolerable pain.

"Oh, don't talk nonsense, Vera," he said. "You don't think I can go
and put matters right by apologising, do you? That would be asking for
punishment. Don't be foolish, please!"

"No, it's not foolishness," said Vera, stamping her toot. "Nobody wants
you to go and apologise. But, don't you see, if there aren't any silly
old trees there we'd better go and put some."

"Put some--trees!" exclaimed Nikolai Yevgrafovitch, his eyes staring.

"Yes, put some there. If you didn't speak the truth, then you must make
it true. Come along, get ready. Give me my hat ... and coat. No, not
there; in the cupboard.... Umbrella!"

And while Almazof, finding his objections entirely ignored, began to
look for the hat and coat, Vera opened drawers and brought out various
little boxes and cases.

"Earrings.... No, they're no good. We shan't get anything on them.
Ah, here's this ring with the valuable stone. We'll have to buy that
back some time. It would be a pity to lose it. Bracelet ... they won't
give much for that either, it's old and bent.... Where's your silver
cigar-case, Kolya?"

In five minutes all their valuables were in her hand-bag, and Vera,
dressed and ready, looked round for the last time to assure herself she
hadn't overlooked anything.

"Let us go," she said at last, resolutely.

"But where?" Almazof tried again to protest. "It's beginning to get
dark already, and the place is ten versts away."

"Stupid! Come along."

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