A Late Hour (Bunin)
Short summary
A provincial Russian town, presumably early 20th century. An elderly man returned to his hometown after decades away, visiting for what he believed would be the final time. He crossed the familiar bridge in the moonlight, noting how little had changed since his youth.
Walking through the empty streets at night, he reminisced about his youthful romance with a local girl. He recalled their secret meetings in her family garden, their tender moments together, and his promise that if they met in the afterlife, he would kneel and kiss her feet for all she gave him on earth.
Though hesitant to admit it, the narrator had another purpose for his visit. He made his way to the cemetery on the outskirts of town, entering through wide-open gates. In the moonlight, among crosses and memorials, he proceeded down the main path.
I knew where I had to go... at its very end, just a few paces from the rear wall, I stopped: before me, in a level spot, among dry grasses, there lay in solitude an elongated and quite narrow stone, its head towards the wall.
Behind the wall, a green star gazed like a wondrous gem, radiant but mute and motionless, marking the final resting place of his beloved.
Detailed summary
Division into chapters is editorial.
Return to the hometown after decades
After decades away, the narrator returned to his Russian hometown. He had not visited since he was nineteen years old, despite once having the freedom to travel anywhere in Russia. Though he had repeatedly postponed this journey over the years, he finally decided it was time to return, knowing this might be his last opportunity to visit unobserved.
Ah, what a long time it was since I'd been there... I had once lived in Russia, felt it to be mine, had complete freedom to travel anywhere I wanted... Yet I kept on not going, kept putting it off. And the years came and went, the decades.
Crossing the bridge and memories of first love
The narrator set off across the ancient stone bridge over the river, observing the moonlit landscape of the July night. The bridge remained exactly as he remembered it from his youth. Below, he noticed a paddle steamer on the river, its portholes creating golden reflections on the water. This sight reminded him of similar scenes he had witnessed in Yaroslavl, the Suez Canal, and the Nile, contrasting them with the darker nights of Paris.
Looking ahead, he saw the town's gardens and the fire-observation tower, which triggered a powerful memory of his first romantic encounter with his beloved. During a fire at night, amid the crowd of townspeople watching the distant blaze, he had first kissed her hand, and she had squeezed his in return, establishing their secret connection.
My God, what ineffable happiness it was! It was during a fire at night that I kissed your hand for the first time, and you gave mine a squeeze in reply – I shall never forget that secret accord.
Walking through the town and past the grammar school
After crossing the bridge, the narrator climbed the hillside and entered the town. The streets were completely deserted, with no lights or people visible. Only the gardens showed signs of life, their foliage quivering in the gentle July breeze. As he walked, the large moon moved alongside him, its reflection visible through the branches of trees. The moonlight created contrasting patterns of light and shadow, illuminating the walls of houses while leaving the streets in darkness.
Though he could have taken a more direct route to Staraya Street, the narrator deliberately chose to pass by his old grammar school. Upon reaching it, he was struck by how unchanged it remained after half a century—the same stone boundary wall, yard, and building as in his youth. He lingered by the gates, trying to evoke feelings of nostalgia for the boy and young man he once was, but found himself unable to connect with those memories as part of his current self.
Staraya Street and memories of romantic evenings
Staraya Street appeared slightly narrower and longer than in his memories, but otherwise unchanged. The potholed roadway, dusty merchant houses, and damaged pavements remained as they had been decades before. The night reminded him of a similar evening at the end of August in his youth, when the town was filled with the scent of apples from the markets.
The narrator could not bring himself to visit his beloved's house, fearing to see it occupied by strangers. He sat on a bollard beside a merchant's house and reflected on how everyone he had known—his beloved, her family, and his own relatives—had died. He recalled his beloved's youthful appearance: her dark hair, clear gaze, tanned face, and light summer dress.
Your father, your mother, your brother – they all outlived young you, but also died when their time came. And every one of mine has died too... so quickly, and before my eyes!
He reminisced about the warm summer nights in Russian provincial towns and a particular night when his beloved waited for him in her family's garden. He had slipped in secretly through a gate she had unlocked, and they sat together on a bench under apple trees in overwhelming happiness. When they parted at the gate, he told her that if they met in a future life, he would kneel and kiss her feet for all she had given him on earth. Looking back as he left, he saw her white dress still visible in the gateway.
The final journey to the cemetery
Rising from the bollard, the narrator set off back along his original route, acknowledging to himself that he had another objective he had been afraid to admit—one he knew he must fulfill before leaving forever. He headed through the market, which resembled a town within the town, with its various rows of stalls. At night, instead of the fat pigeons that had populated the flour row in the mornings of his youth, dark rats scurried about.
No, I had, apart from Staraya Street, another objective too, one which I was afraid to acknowledge to myself, but the fulfilment of which was, I knew, unavoidable. And I set off – to take a look and leave, this time for ever.
Following Monastyrskaya Street out of town, the narrator passed a monastery from the times of Alexei Mikhailovich and continued to a walled cemetery. Entering through the wide-open gates, he walked down the main prospect among crosses and memorials. In the pre-dawn hour, the wind had died down, and the moonlight created dappled patterns across the graves. Suddenly, something dark rushed past him, causing his heart to freeze momentarily in terror.
Continuing with his heart still frozen in his chest, the narrator walked to the end of the prospect where he found what he had come for—an elongated, narrow stone lying in solitude among dry grasses. Behind the cemetery wall, a low green star gazed like a radiant gem, reminiscent of the star he had seen from his beloved's garden many years before.
And from behind the wall, like a wondrous gem, gazed a low, green star, radiant, like that previous one, but mute and motionless.