Galya Ganskaya (Bunin)
Short summary
Paris, 1940s. An artist and a sailor were sitting at a café when the artist began reminiscing about a girl from his past in Odessa. He first met Galya Ganskaya when she was thirteen, during his visits to her father's estate. Years later, when she was a young woman, they met by chance at a café.
The artist invited Galya to his studio where they kissed passionately but didn't go "all the way." Six months later, they met again by the sea, and their attraction intensified. After another half year, Galya boldly visited his studio again, and they became lovers, meeting almost daily for weeks.
When Galya learned the artist planned to leave for Italy, she confronted him. Their final exchange was heated:
"Is that your final word?" "It is. But you must understand that I'll be back in something like a month..." "I'm not Galya to you. I understand you now - I understand everything, everything!"
Hours later, the artist learned that Galya had poisoned herself with something from her father's cabinet of poisons. Devastated by guilt, he nearly went mad with grief and considered suicide himself.
Detailed summary
Division into chapters is editorial.
A conversation in a Parisian café
An artist and an ex-sailor sat on the terrace of a Parisian café on an April day. The artist reminisced about how beautiful Paris used to be in his youth, when there were no cars and the city had a completely different atmosphere. The sailor mentioned that spring in Odessa had come to his mind, with its special charm of hot sun mixed with the wintry freshness of the sea.
The artist, ordering a drink, admitted that he too had been thinking about Odessa. He reminded the sailor about a girl named Galya Ganskaya, whom the sailor had once described as exceptionally charming. The artist confessed that Galya represented both his most splendid memory and his gravest sin, though an involuntary one.
Every one of us probably has some particularly dear amorous memory or some particularly grave amorous sin. Well, and Galya is, I think, my most splendid memory and my gravest, although... involuntary sin.
Memories of young Galya at Otrada
The artist explained that he had known Galya since she was an adolescent. She grew up without a mother at Otrada, her father's estate. Her father was a wealthy amateur artist who was passionate about painting and collected numerous artworks.
Gansky was handsome, tall, with a bronze beard, and carried himself like a gentleman. The young artists of Odessa, including the narrator, visited him regularly for about two years. Galya was then thirteen or fourteen, uncommonly sweet and playful, with light-brown ringlets framing her face. She was already so coquettish that her father once expressed concern about her future.
First adult encounter and the studio visit
Eventually, the young artists stopped visiting Gansky. The narrator spent two springs in Paris, where he fancied himself a second Maupassant in matters of love. Upon returning to Odessa, he adopted a dandyish appearance and a careless attitude toward women. One April day, he encountered Galya by Liebmann's coffee house on Deribasovskaya Street. She was no longer an adolescent but an amazingly good-looking, slim young woman in light grey spring clothes, with aquamarine eyes shining through her veil.
It's spring, everywhere a multitude of smartly dressed, carefree and affable people, these starlings pouring out their unceasing twittering like some sort of sunny rain - and Galya... all in new clothes, light grey, springlike.
They exchanged greetings, and Galya reproached him for forgetting her father. The artist bought her violets and invited her to have chocolate. As they chatted, Galya asked about Paris and his work. He invited her to visit his studio, explaining that it was nearby. She agreed enthusiastically, saying she had never been in any studio except her father's.
At the studio, Galya admired his paintings of Paris with quiet rapture. The artist offered her port and biscuits, then took her hand and kissed it. When he sat her on his knees, she asked enigmatically if he found her attractive. He compared her to the violets she wore pinned to her jacket. Their encounter became increasingly intimate, with passionate kissing, but the artist eventually took pity on her childlike excitement and fear, and they did not go further.
She'd got all flushed, like fire, all dishevelled, and I can see that, in an utterly childish way, she can no longer control herself - she's frightened, but she's dreadfully eager for this frightening thing as well.
Encounter by the sea
The artist did not see Galya for a whole year after their studio encounter. Then, one spring day, he visited Otrada. Gansky greeted him with touching joy, though he had aged, with silver appearing in his beard. He proudly showed the artist his new paintings and mentioned that his daughter had grown up completely, "like a poplar."
After lunch, as the artist was leaving, he met Galya outside. She had indeed transformed – taller, more mature, dressed in white lace with a ginger tint to her hair. The naivety in her eyes was gone, and her face had lengthened. They decided to take a walk to the sea.
At the cliff, they stood silently looking at the northern-like sea with its green waves and white crests. The artist took her by the waist and pressed her against him. After some resistance, she yielded to his kiss. Then she suddenly broke free and, adjusting her hat, said simply: "Ah, what a good-for-nothing you are. What a good-for-nothing." She turned and walked rapidly away without looking back.
Passionate affair
Another half year passed before they met again. The artist was walking past Liebmann's coffee house when he encountered Galya once more. She approached him cheerfully, as if nothing had happened, and joked about the fateful spot of their meetings. She seemed different – more joyful and free in her manner, as if she had matured significantly.
To his surprise, Galya expressed a desire to see his studio again. Once there, she whispered that it was madness, but proceeded to remove her hat herself. Her appearance had changed – her gingery hair was drawn up with a tortoiseshell comb, her face had a light tan, and her eyes showed a senseless joy. Their encounter quickly became passionate and intimate.
"Don't listen, but this really is madness, you know... I'm out of my mind..." Yet she'd already pulled off her straw hat herself and thrown it into an armchair. Her gingery hair is drawn up onto the crown of her head...
For the next couple of weeks, Galya visited the artist almost daily. Their passionate affair continued, with the artist noting that she was "extraordinarily passionate."
Conflict and tragedy
One morning, Galya unexpectedly arrived at the artist's studio and confronted him about his plans to leave for Italy in a few days. She was upset that he hadn't told her and demanded that he cancel his trip. When he refused, insisting he would return in a month or so, she became furious. She declared that even if he now promised never to leave, it would make no difference to her anymore.
Galya slammed the door and left. The artist planned to visit Otrada that evening to reconcile with her, but at around five o'clock, an artist named Sinani arrived with shocking news: Galya had poisoned herself fatally. She had taken something from her father's cabinet of poisons, which he kept as part of his Leonardo da Vinci pretensions.
"Do you know - Gansky's daughter has poisoned herself! Fatally! With something rare, the devil knows what, lightning quick... No one can comprehend what happened to her all of a sudden! The father says it's as if he's been struck by a bolt from the blue..."
The artist concluded his story by telling the sailor that he had wanted to shoot himself after learning of Galya's death. He had almost gone out of his mind with grief and regret.