Autumn Flowers (Kuprin)
Short Summary
A seaside resort town, 1905. A married woman writes a letter to her former lover explaining why she has fled their planned meeting. Six years earlier, they had experienced a passionate romance in this same location, but their recent reunion proved awkward and strained.
During their uncomfortable reunion, they visited the same restaurant where they once dined, reminiscing about their former happiness while feeling the painful contrast with their present discomfort.
It was as though we had met, after years of separation, at the tomb of someone whom we had both at one time loved with equal fondness... This dead being—it is our old love, my darling.
The man had attempted to rekindle their physical relationship, but the woman recognized that yielding would only lead to disappointment and resentment. She explains in her letter that their love belongs to the past and cannot be resurrected.
As her train departs, she compares their brief meeting to autumn flowers—beautiful but melancholy reminders of what has passed and cannot return.
Detailed Summary
Division into sections is editorial.
The Confession about Running Away
A woman wrote a letter to her former lover, addressing him as her 'Angry Friend.' She anticipated his anger upon receiving her letter and learning that she had broken her promise to wait for him at her hotel the following evening. Instead, she had fled from their town, escaping what she called the 'torturing, awkward, and unnecessary tension' that would have inevitably developed between them again.
I write 'angry' because I can imagine first your stupefaction and then your anger when you receive this letter and learn by it that I have not kept my word, that I have deceived you and have suddenly left the town...
She confessed that she was uncertain whether she would resist the temptation to see him one last time, even from a distance. To prevent herself from changing her mind, she planned to give the letter to a porter to post at the exact moment her train departed. She admitted that her story about needing sea air and lemons for health reasons was a fabrication. In truth, she had come to the town solely because she was irresistibly drawn to him, hoping to recapture a fragment of their past happiness.
Empty Society Life in Petersburg
The letter writer described her life in Petersburg society as a series of obligatory social events – visits, theaters, balls, charity bazaars – where she served as a 'decorative advertisement' for her husband's career and business affairs. Though she had no desire to criticize this lifestyle with its comforts and connections, she admitted that her heart had no share in it.
People and conversations passed before her without reaching her soul, as if happening far away or in a book – as if it were all 'arranged,' as her old nurse Domnoushka used to say. In this dull, indifferent existence, she was suddenly caught up by a wave from their sweet past when she had a dream about being in a boat with him.
Memories of Past Love
The letter writer recalled their love affair from six years ago with vivid detail. She remembered their quarrels, jealousies, suspicions, and joyous reconciliations. Their love had been so strong that they couldn't remain in one place, constantly drawn to fresh locations and impressions. She reminisced about their trips in stuffy diligences alongside disapproving German tourists, lunches under flower-laden acacias, and moonlit nights in fishing villages.
Do you remember how we used to be, both of us, from morning till night, drunk without wine merely from our love and the joy of life?
She reflected on how these memories lived within her and would remain with her until death. Yet she tormented herself with the knowledge that she could never relive those experiences. She lamented that after giving humans an almost godlike intelligence, nature had also created two torturous traps: ignorance of the future and the impossibility of forgetting the past while being unable to return to it.
The Awkward Recent Meeting
Upon receiving her note from the hotel, he had hurried to meet her. She sensed his nervousness as he stood in the corridor before knocking on her door. Their meeting proved strange and strained. He had changed over the years – more manly, with a fashionable pointed beard, and more assured in his manner. She believed he found her improved in looks as well, reading it in his first surprised glance.
They exchanged commonplace words about her journey and about Petersburg, but their eyes searched each other, looking for what time had added. Conversation faltered. They began formally with 'vous' but soon found it difficult to maintain. As evening fell and darkness filled the room, they began to speak of the past with condescending mockery, as adults might refer to childhood pranks. Yet the more they tried to appear gay and indifferent, the sadder their tone became.
Eventually, they fell silent, sitting in the dark room with only the sounds of the town coming through the open window. She compared their meeting to visiting the tomb of someone they had both once loved – their old love was this dead being. Suddenly, he broke the silence, declaring that the situation was becoming torment, and insisted they get some fresh air.
Dinner by the Sea
They went to a restaurant by the sea, the same one they had frequented during their affair. She noted how quickly humans change while places remain immovable, finding something infinitely sad in this contrast. Girls with flower baskets stood at the restaurant doors, and she noticed his hand move as if to buy her roses as he once did, but he stopped himself in time.
How quickly, how ceaselessly the human being changes, and how permanent and immovable are the places and things that surround him. In this contrast, there is always something infinitely sad and mysterious.
They sat in the same arbor jutting out over the sea at a fearful height. Below them, the sea clamored against black rocks. When champagne arrived, he filled her glass with gloomy gaiety, but both knew the wine wouldn't help their situation. A skiff with white sails appeared on the sea, and they could hear a woman's laugh and someone whistling along with the orchestra.
He remarked that it would be nice to get into a boat like that and go far out to sea, as they used to do. She responded that their old days were dead, and her words had a shocking effect on him. He grew pale and said their thoughts had met – that it seemed fantastic and impossible that it was really they who had loved each other so madly six years ago. Those two people, he said, had long ceased to belong to this world.
The Impossibility of Rekindling Their Love
They returned to town through streets lined with villas and gardens. The white acacias had a strong, sweet odor. In the carriage, he cautiously put his arm around her waist, but she neither resisted nor yielded. Understanding her reluctance, he withdrew his arm, and she gratefully pressed his hand in response.
It seems to me fantastic, unreal, impossible that it was really we, not two other people, quite strangers to us, who, six years ago, loved each other so madly... Those two have long ceased to belong to this world. They have died...
Before they parted at her hotel, he asked permission to visit her. She agreed on a day but then secretly ran away. She explained in her letter that if they had met again, mere sensuality would have flamed up between them, against which honor, will, and mind would have been powerless. They would have robbed their dead past love by substituting a false and ludicrous make-believe, and the dead love would have avenged itself by creating quarrels, distrust, and jealous comparisons between past and present.
If not tomorrow, then in another two days, in a week perhaps, there would have flamed up in us merely sensuality, against which honour and will and mind are powerless. We would have robbed those two dead people...
Reflections on Autumn Flowers
As she concluded her letter, she noted that the first bell for the train had sounded, but she was now certain she would resist the temptation to disembark. Their brief meeting was beginning to take on a tender, poetic sadness in her imagination. She quoted Pushkin's verse about autumn flowers being dearer than the newborn ones of the fields, and parting being more vivid than meeting.
Autumn flowers are dearer than the beautiful newborn ones of the fields... So, sometimes the hour of parting is more vivid than the meeting itself...?
She described standing in a garden on a wet autumn morning, where only asters and dahlias bloomed among the drooping yellow stalks. The melancholy scent of these autumn flowers evoked regret for the summer that had fled and apprehension of the coming winter – just as she now felt regret for her own summer that had passed so quickly. She signed her letter with a final kiss on his 'clever, beautiful eyes' and the initial 'Z.'