Tempting Providence Page #2

"Tempting Providence" is a poignant short story by Aleksandr Kuprin, set against the backdrop of early 20th-century Russia. The narrative explores themes of love, longing, and the tumultuous nature of human relationships through the tale of a love-struck soldier and a mysterious woman. Kuprin's lyrical prose vividly captures the emotional depth of his characters as they navigate the complexities of passion, desire, and the impact of fate. The story delves into the moral dilemmas they face, ultimately revealing the delicate balance between hope and disillusionment in the quest for genuine connection.

• Novel

								


I was travelling by train from Tomsk to Petersburg in an ordinary
first-class compartment. One of my companions on the journey was a
young civil engineer, a very short, stout, good-natured young man:
a simple Russian face, round, well-cared for, white eyebrows and
eyelashes, sparse hair brushed up from his forehead, showing the red
skin beneath ... a kind, good "Yorkshireman." His eyes were like the
dull blue eyes of a sucking pig.

He proved a very pleasant companion. I have rarely seen anyone with
such engaging manners. He at once gave me his lower sleeping-place,
helped me to place my trunk on the rack, and was generally so kind that
he even made me feel a little awkward. When we stopped at a station he
bought wine and food, and had evidently great pleasure in persuading
the company to share them with him.

I saw at once that he was bubbling over with some great inward
happiness, and that he was desirous of seeing all around him as happy
as he was.

And this proved to be the case. In ten minutes he had already began
to open his heart to me. Certainly I noticed that directly he spoke
of himself the other people in the carriage seemed to wriggle in
their seats and take an exaggerated interest in observing the passing
landscape. Later on, I realised that each of them had heard the story
at least a dozen times before. And now my turn had come.

The engineer had come from the Far East, where he had been living
for five years, and consequently he had not seen his family in
Petersburg for five years. He had thought to dispatch his business
in a year at the most, but at first official duties had kept him,
then certain profitable enterprises had turned up, and after it
had seemed impossible to leave a business which had become so very
large and remunerative. Now everything had been wound up and he was
returning home. Who could blame him for his talkativeness; to have
lived for five years far from a beloved home, and come back young,
healthy, successful, with a heart full of unspent love! What man could
have imposed silence upon himself, or overcome that fearful itch of
impatience, increasing with every hour, with every passing hundred
versts?

I soon learnt from him all about his family. His wife's name was
Susannah or Sannochka, and his daughter bore the outlandish name of
Yurochka. He had left her a little three-year-old girl, and "Just
imagine!" cried he, "now she must be quite grown up, almost ready to be
married."

He told me his wife's maiden name, and of the poverty they had
experienced together in their early married days, when he had been a
student in his last year, and had not even a second pair of trousers to
wear, and what a splendid companion, nurse, mother, and sister in one,
his wife had been to him then.

He struck his breast with his clenched fist, his face reddened with
pride, and his eyes flashed, as he cried:

"If only you knew her! A be-eauty! If you're in Petersburg I must
introduce you to her. You must certainly come and see us there, you
must, indeed, without any ceremony or excuse, Kirochnaya 156. I'll
introduce you to her, and you'll see my old woman for yourself. A
Queen! She was always the belle at our civil-engineers' balls. You
must come and see us, I swear, or I shall be offended."

And he gave us each one of his visiting cards on which he had pencilled
out his Manchurian address, and written in the Petersburg one, telling
us at the same time that his sumptuous flat had been taken by his wife
only a year ago--he had insisted on it when his business had reached
its height.

Yes, his talk was like a waterfall. Four times a day, when we stopped
at important stations, he would send home a reply-paid telegram to
be delivered to him at the next big stopping-place or simply on the
train, addressed to such and such a number, first-class passenger.
So-and-so.... And you ought to have seen him when the conductor came
along shouting in a sing-song tone "Telegram for first-class passenger
So-and-so." I assure you there was a shining halo round his head
like that of the holy saints. He tipped the conductors royally, and
not the conductors only either. He had an insatiable desire to give
to everybody, to make people happy, to caress them. He gave us all
souvenirs, knicknacks made out of Siberian and Ural stones, trinkets,
studs, pins, Chinese rings, jade images, and other trifles. Among them
were many things that were very valuable, some on account of their
cost, others for their rare and artistic work, yet, do you know, it was
impossible to refuse them, though one felt embarrassed and awkward in
receiving such valuable gifts--he begged us to accept them with such
earnestness and insistence, just as one cannot continue to refuse a
child who continues to ask one to take a sweet.

He had with him in his boxes and in his hand luggage a whole store of
things, all gifts for Sannochka and Yurochka. Wonderful things they
were--priceless Chinese dresses, ivory, gold, miniatures in sardonyx,
furs, painted fans, lacquered boxes, albums--and you ought to have seen
and heard the tenderness and the rapture with which he spoke of his new
ones, when he showed us these gifts. His love may have been somewhat
blind, too noisy, and egotistical, perhaps even a little hysterical,
but I swear that through these formal and trivial veilings I could see
a great and genuine love--love at a sharp and painful tension.

I remember, too, how at one of the stations when another waggon was
being attached to the train, a pointsman had his foot cut off. There
was great excitement, all the passengers went to look at the injured
man--and people travelling by train are the most empty-headed, the
wildest, the most cruel in the world. The engineer did not stay in
the crowd, he went quietly up to the station-master, talked with
him for a few moments, and then handed him a note for a sum of
money--not a small amount, I expect, for the official cap was lifted in
acknowledgment with the greatest respect. He did this very quickly; no
one but myself saw his action, but I have eyes that notice such things.
And I saw also that he took advantage of the longer stoppage of the
train and succeeded in sending off a telegram.

I can see him now as he walked across the platform--his white
engineer's cap pushed to the back of his head; his long blouse of fine
tussore, with collar fastening at the side; over one shoulder the strap
of his field-glasses, and crossing it, over the other shoulder, the
strap of his dispatch-case--coming out of the telegraph office and
looking so fresh and plump and strong with such a clear complexion, and
the look of a well-fed, simple, country lad.

And at almost every big station he received a telegram. He quite spoilt
the conductors--running himself to the office to inquire if there was
no message for him. Poor boy! He could not keep his joy to himself,
but read his telegrams aloud to us, as if we had nothing else to think
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