A Clump of Lilacs Page #2

"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

								


First of all they went to the pawnshop. The pawnbroker had evidently
got accustomed long ago to the sight of people in distress, and could
not be touched by it. He was so methodical about his work, and took
so long to value the things, that Vera felt she should go crazy. What
specially vexed her was that the man should test her ring with acid,
and then, after weighing it, he valued it at three roubles only.

"But it's a real brilliant," said poor Vera. "It cost thirty-seven
roubles, and then it was a bargain."

The pawnbroker closed his eyes with the air of a man who is frankly
bored.

"It's all the same to us, madam," said he, putting the next article
into the scales. "We don't take the stones into consideration, only the
metals."

To Vera's astonishment, her old and bent bracelet was more valuable.
Altogether they got about twenty-three roubles, and that was more than
was really necessary.

When they got to the gardener's house, the white Petersburg night had
already spread over the heavens, and a pearly light was in the air. The
gardener, a Tchekh, a little old man with gold eyeglasses, had only
just sat down to supper with his family. He was much surprised at their
request, and not altogether willing to take such a late order. He was
doubtless suspicious of a practical joke, and answered dryly to Vera's
insistent demands:

"I'm very sorry. But I can't send my workmen so far at night. If it
will do to-morrow morning, I'm quite at your service."

There was no way out of the difficulty but to tell the man the whole
story of the unfortunate blot, and this Verotchka did. He listened
doubtfully at first, and was almost unfriendly, but when Vera began to
tell him of her plan to plant some bushes on the place, he became more
attentive and smiled sympathetically several times.

"Oh, well, it's not much to do," he agreed, when Vera had finished her
story. "What sort of bushes do you want?"

However, when they came to look at his plants, there was nothing very
suitable. The only thing possible to put on the spot was a clump of
lilacs.

It was in vain for Almazof to try and persuade his wife to go home.
She went all the way with him, and stayed all the time the bushes were
planted, feverishly fussing about and hindering the workmen. She only
consented to go home when she was assured that the turf under the
bushes could not be distinguished from the rest of the grass round
about.

Next day Vera felt it impossible to remain in the house. She went
out to meet her husband. Quite a long way off she knew, by a slight
spring in his walk, that everything had gone well.... True, Almazof was
covered in dust, and he could hardly move from weariness and hunger,
but his face shone with the triumph of victory.

"It's all right! Splendid!" cried he when within ten paces of his wife,
in answer to the anxious expression on her face. "Just think, we went
together to those bushes, and he looked and looked at them--he even
plucked a leaf and chewed it. 'What sort of a tree is this?' says he."

"'I don't know, your Excellency,' said I.

"'It's a little birch, I suppose,' says he.

"'Yes, probably, your Excellency.'"

Then he turned to me and held out his hand.

"'I beg your pardon, lieutenant,' he says. 'I must be getting old, that
I didn't remember those bushes.' He's a fine man, that professor, and
he knows a lot. I felt quite sorry to deceive him. He's one of the best
professors we have. His learning is simply wonderful. And how quick
and accurate he is in marking the plans--marvellous!"

But this meant little to Vera. She wanted to hear over and over
again exactly what the professor had said about the bushes. She was
interested in the smallest details--the expression on the professor's
face, the tone of his voice when he said he must be growing old,
exactly how Kolya felt....

They went home together as if there had been no one in the street
except themselves, holding each other by the hand and laughing at
nothing. The passers-by stopped to look at them; they seemed such a
strange couple.

Never before had Nikolai Yevgrafovitch enjoyed his dinner so much as
on that day. After dinner, when Vera brought a glass of tea to him in
the study, husband and wife suddenly looked at one another, and both
laughed.

"What are you laughing at?" asked Vera.

"Well, why did you laugh?" said her husband.

"Oh, only foolishness. I was thinking all about those lilacs. And you?"

"Oh, mine was foolishness too--and the lilacs. I was just going to say
that now the lilac will always be my favourite flower...."
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