Heinrich (Bunin)
Short summary
Moscow, early 20th century. On a frosty evening, Glebov prepared to leave for Nice. Before departing, he was visited by sixteen-year-old Nadya, who tearfully bid him farewell and briefly became intimate with him.
At the station, another lover, Lee, saw him off with passionate kisses and threats about his "poetess." On the train, Glebov met his real traveling companion, Heinrich, a woman posing as a stranger in the adjacent compartment. They spent the night together, discussing their relationship and his other affairs.
Heinrich planned to meet Glebov in Nice after first visiting Vienna to end her relationship with an Austrian writer she worked with. Despite Glebov's pleas to travel together, she insisted on this detour. In Vienna, they parted with Heinrich promising to join him in Nice the following evening.
In Nice, Glebov waited anxiously for Heinrich, but received no telegram. After three days of drinking and despair, he decided to return to Moscow. As he prepared to leave, he found a newspaper with shocking news:
"Vienna. 17th December. Today, in the Franzensring Restaurant, the well-known Austrian writer Arthur Schnitzler killed with a revolver shot the Russian journalist and translator... who worked under the pseudonym 'Heinrich'."
Detailed summary
Division into chapters is editorial.
Glebovs departure from Moscow and preparations for travel
On a winter evening in Moscow, the cab man Kasatkin drove Glebov to the Loskutnaya Hotel in a high, narrow sledge after they had stopped at the Yeliseyevs' store for fruit and wine. The city was covered in frost, with streetlamps glowing softly in the blue-grey haze.
At the hotel entrance, Glebov instructed Kasatkin to return in an hour to take him to the Brest Station, confirming he was traveling abroad. In the hotel, Glebov was greeted by Vasya, the freckled boy with eyes of different tints who operated the lift.
As Glebov rode up in the lift, he suddenly questioned why he was leaving Moscow. Looking at himself in the mirror—young, vigorous, well-dressed with frost on his handsome mustache—he thought about his upcoming journey to Nice and his friend Heinrich. He anticipated the familiar pleasures of European travel: the Vienna station with its smells of gas, coffee, and beer; the snowy Zemmering pass; and eventually the Mediterranean coast.
Nadyas emotional farewell
In his hotel room, Glebov felt a pang of regret about leaving Moscow's winter life, and particularly about leaving Nadya and Lee. He had just put away the wine and fruit when there was a knock at the door. Nadya entered, embracing him in her squirrel-skin coat, her sixteen-year-old face flushed from the cold, her clear green eyes bright.
Nadya expressed her wish to accompany him to the station, but Glebov explained it wasn't possible as he would be seen off by people she didn't know. She began to cry, but then smiled bravely, saying she understood he needed freedom as a poet.
"You're my clever girl," he said, touched by her seriousness and her childish profile – the purity, delicacy and hot flush of her cheek, the triangular cut of her half-parted lips, the questioning innocence of the raised, tear-soaked eyelash.
Their farewell became intimate as she whispered in his ear, caressing him and suggesting they still had time for a romantic encounter.
Lees passionate goodbye and intimate journey with Heinrich
At the Brest Station, Glebov found Lee waiting for him. She was tall and slim in a black astrakhan fur coat and velvet beret, with black ringlets framing her face and magnificent, angry black eyes. She greeted him coldly, calling him a "good-for-nothing" and warning that he would regret leaving her for his "idiot of a poetess." When Glebov defended Nadya as just a child, Lee threatened to throw sulfuric acid on him if there was anything between them.
They boarded the international coach, where a Polish carriage attendant showed Glebov to his compartment. Lee tried to check if anyone was in the neighboring compartment, but found it locked. Before the final bell, she embraced him passionately, kissing and biting his lips and cheeks.
"I adore you, I adore you, you good-for-nothing!" From the muff she pulled a hand, pale and bluish, refined and thin, with long, sharp fingernails, and, writhing, she embraced him impetuously, flashing her eyes immoderately.
After Lee's departure, Glebov closed the heater beneath his table and lowered the blind. He then knocked on the connecting door to the next compartment, and Heinrich entered—tall, with gingery-lemon hair in a Greek style, delicate features, and amber-brown eyes. She had heard Lee's farewell and joked about being called a "bitch."
They discussed their relationship, with Heinrich explaining she was traveling separately to break up with her Austrian partner while maintaining their professional relationship. She promised to join Glebov in Nice by the twentieth or twenty-first. Glebov expressed that while they were good friends and comrades, he was falling in love with her more deeply.
"Of course, I shall never have a better comrade than you, Heinrich. It's only with you that I always feel easy, free, that I can truly talk about everything as with a friend, but you know what the problem is? I'm falling in love with you more and more."
Heinrich teased him about being seen with gypsies at the Strelna the previous night. Glebov described the gypsy Masha without enthusiasm, then suggested they go eat. After dinner, they returned to their compartments, where Heinrich had prepared for a domestic night. They drank wine, kissed, and became intimate.
Parting in Vienna and continuing to Nice
In Warsaw, they transferred to the Vienna Station in cold rain. At dawn, Glebov saw a plain with sparse snow and red brick houses. Heinrich woke and began crying, explaining that she often felt sorry for herself at dawn. She lamented that she would soon be alone with her Austrian partner, though she promised there would be nothing between them.
"I don't know, darling," she replied quietly. "I often cry at dawn. You wake up, and suddenly you feel so sorry for yourself... In a few hours' time you'll leave, and I'll remain alone, I'll go to a café to wait for my Austrian..."
Glebov again urged her to abandon her plans and continue traveling with him. Heinrich insisted she couldn't afford to quarrel with her Austrian partner but promised to leave Vienna that very evening. As the train began moving, border guards passed by their compartment.
In Vienna, Heinrich departed in a landau with a red-nosed driver. Glebov continued his journey through Zemmering with its snowy peaks, then through a dark gorge at the Italian frontier. He passed through Italy and finally arrived at Nice, where the evening sea was calm and flat, with waterside lights stretching to Cap d'Antibes.
Loneliness in Nice and the devastating news
In Nice, Glebov stood on his hotel balcony in just a tailcoat, thinking about the freezing Moscow weather and expecting a telegram from Heinrich. He waited through dinner in the hotel dining room, but no message came. He drank five glasses of brandy after coffee and returned to his room, disgusted with the obsequious hotel boy.
The next morning, there was still no telegram. The hotel porter cheerfully informed him, "Pas de télégrammes, monsieur!" Glebov tried to distract himself by visiting Monte Carlo, where he gambled and lost two hundred francs. Upon returning to the hotel, the porter again reported no telegrams had arrived.
Glebov became increasingly desperate, imagining how happy he would be if Heinrich suddenly appeared. He drank heavily that evening and fell into a drunken sleep. On the third day, he soberly assessed his behavior, ordered his bill, and booked a ticket to Moscow via Venice.
"If there were suddenly a knock at the door now and she suddenly came in... I think I should die of happiness! I'd tell her that never in my life had I loved anyone in the world as much as her, that God would forgive me many things for such a love..."
That evening, as he gazed at the sunset over the sea, a newspaper seller approached offering The New Age. Glebov absently unfolded the paper and was suddenly stunned by a news item: "Vienna. 17th December. Today, in the Franzensring Restaurant, the well-known Austrian writer Arthur Schnitzler killed with a revolver shot the Russian journalist and translator of many contemporary Austrian and German novelists who worked under the pseudonym 'Heinrich'."
Glebov stood stunned, blinded as if by a magnesium explosion, as the devastating reality of Heinrich's death at the hands of her Austrian partner shattered his hopes and ended his journey.