The Garnet Bracelet (Kuprin)
Short summary
Russia, early 20th century. On her birthday, Princess Vera received an unusual gift—a garnet bracelet—from an unknown admirer who signed his letters G.S.Z.
The bracelet came with a letter confessing eight years of hopeless love. Vera's husband and brother decided to confront the man. They discovered he was a clerk named Zheltkov.
When they visited him, Zheltkov returned the bracelet and promised to disappear from Vera's life. He explained that his love was beyond his control and asked permission to write one final letter. The next day, Vera read in the newspaper that Zheltkov had committed suicide.
In his farewell letter, he thanked her for existing and asked her to listen to Beethoven's Sonata No. 2. Vera went to see his body and kissed his forehead.
At that moment she realized that that love of which every woman dreams had gone past her... a great love, of the kind which comes but once in a thousand years, had passed her by.
That evening, her friend played the Beethoven piece Zheltkov had requested. As the music filled the air, Vera wept, understanding that she had been loved with a pure, selfless devotion. Through the music, she felt his forgiveness and found peace, whispering that all was well.
Detailed summary by chapters
Chapter titles are editorial.
Chapter 1. Bad weather gives way to calm autumn days at Princess Veras seaside villa
In mid-August, the north coast of the Black Sea was struck by terrible weather. Dense fog covered land and sea, and the lighthouse siren roared day and night. A fine drizzle fell continuously, turning roads into thick mud where carts became stuck. Then a fierce hurricane blew from the northwest, shaking trees, rattling roofs, and howling through chimneys. Several fishing boats were lost at sea, and a week later the corpses of fishermen washed ashore.
The inhabitants of the suburban seaside resort hurried back to town, their belongings piled on drays. The deserted houses with their ravaged flowerbeds and broken windows presented a pitiful sight. But in late August the weather changed abruptly. Calm, cloudless days arrived, sunnier and mellower than July. Autumn gossamer glinted on yellow stubble, and trees quietly shed their leaves.
Chapter 2. Veras birthday and preparations for the intimate celebration
The wife of the marshal of nobility had been unable to leave her villa because repairs were not yet finished at the town house. Now she rejoiced in the lovely days, the calm and solitude, and the caressing salty breeze from the sea.
That day—the seventeenth of September—was her birthday. She had always loved it, associating it with cherished memories of childhood, and always expected it to bring something wonderfully happy. In the morning, before leaving for town on urgent business, her husband had put on her night-table a case with magnificent ear-rings of pear-shaped pearls, which added to her cheerful mood.
Chapter 3. Anna arrives with a gift; the sisters contrasting personalities and views
She was alone in the house. Her unmarried brother, assistant public prosecutor, who usually lived with them, had also gone to town for a court hearing. Her husband had promised to bring only a few of their closest friends to dinner. It was fortunate that her birthday fell during the summer season, for in town they would have had to spend a good deal of money on a grand festive dinner. Despite his prominence in society, the prince could hardly make both ends meet. The huge family estate had been almost ruined by his ancestors, while his position obliged him to live above his means. The princess, with whom the former passionate love for her husband had long ago toned down to a true, lasting friendship, spared no pains to help him ward off complete ruin.
She was walking about the garden, carefully clipping off flowers for the dinner table. A three-tone motor-car horn sounded on the nearby highway, announcing that her sister was coming. She had telephoned that morning to say that she would come and help about the house and to receive the guests.
The two sisters kissed joyfully. A warm affection had bound them together since early childhood. They were strangely unlike each other in appearance. The elder sister resembled her mother, a beautiful Englishwoman, with a tall, lithe figure, a delicate but cold and proud face, and charmingly sloping shoulders. The younger sister had the Mongol features of her father, a Tatar prince whose forbears were descended from Tamerlane himself. Standing half a head shorter than her sister, she was rather broad-shouldered, lively and frivolous, and very fond of teasing people. Her face had a markedly Mongol cast, yet it had an elusive and unaccountable fascination which lay perhaps in her smile or in the deeply feminine quality of all her features. Her graceful lack of beauty excited and drew men's attention much more frequently and strongly than her sister's aristocratic loveliness.
Chapter 4. Preparations for dinner and the impressive gurnard
Anna was married to a very wealthy and very stupid man who did absolutely nothing. She loathed her husband, but she had borne him two children. She had made up her mind not to have any more children. As for Vera, she longed to have children, as many as possible, but for some reason she had none, and she morbidly and passionately adored her younger sister's pretty, anaemic children.
Anna was all gay disorder and sweet, sometimes freakish contradictions. She readily gave herself up to the most reckless flirting, but she was never unfaithful to her husband. She was extravagant and very fond of gambling, but she was also generously kind and deeply, sincerely religious. Vera, on the other hand, was rigidly plain-mannered, coldly, condescendingly amiable to all, and as aloof and composed as a queen.
Chapter 5. General Anosovs arrival; his military past and character
The sisters sat for a while on the bench above the bluff. Anna spoke of how she loved the sea and the wonderful air. Both fell to thinking for a moment. The sea lay at rest far below. Fishing boats dozed motionless in the smooth water, and farther away a three-master seemed to be suspended in the air. Vera confessed that after she got used to the sea, its flat emptiness began to crush her. Anna smiled and told a story about a guide who was fed up with the beautiful landscape he saw every day.
Anna suddenly remembered her present. She took from her handbag a small notebook in an unusual binding: on a background of old blue velvet, worn and grey with time, there wound a dull-golden filigree pattern of exquisite intricacy and beauty. The notebook was attached to a gold chain, thin as a thread. Vera admired the magnificent binding, wondering how old it was. Anna guessed it dated from the late seventeenth or mid-eighteenth century.
After five o'clock the guests began to arrive. The prince brought his widowed sister, a wealthy young scapegrace, a famous pianist who was a friend of Vera's, and also his brother-in-law. After them came Anna's husband, along with a fat, hulking professor, and the vice-governor. The last to arrive was an elderly general, a silver-haired old man, tall and obese, who stepped heavily down from the landau.
He had a large, coarse, red face with a fleshy nose, and he looked out of narrowed eyes with the dignified, mildly contemptuous good humour typical of courageous and plain men who have often met danger and death face to face. The two sisters ran up to the landau to support him. The general had been a companion-in-arms and devoted friend of the late prince. After the prince's death he had passed on to his daughters all his love and affection. The children literally adored him because he pampered them, gave them presents, and told them artless unhurried stories of military campaigns.
Chapter 6. Vera receives the mysterious garnet bracelet and letter from G.S.Z.
At dinner the prince amused the company with his extraordinary gift for telling stories. He would take some incident that had happened to one of the company, but would embellish it so that his listeners would split their sides with laughter. That night he told the story of the brother's unhappy wooing of a wealthy lady, making him run down the street in his stocking-feet at the dead of night. He also told wedding stories about Anna's husband.
Before rising from the table Vera mechanically counted the guests. There were thirteen of them. She was superstitious and thought with annoyance that she should have counted them before. When friends gathered they usually played poker after dinner. This time, too, they sat down to poker. Vera, who was not playing, was about to go out on to the terrace when the housemaid suddenly called her from the drawing-room, looking rather mysterious.
The maid put on the table a small square object, neatly wrapped in white paper and tied by a pink ribbon. A messenger boy had come into the kitchen and put it on the table, saying to give it to the mistress personally. Vera cut the ribbon and found a small jeweller's box of red plush. She raised the lid and saw an oval gold bracelet studded on the outside with small, poorly polished old garnets. But in the centre there arose, surrounding a strange small green stone, five excellent cabochon garnets, each the size of a pea. As Vera turned the bracelet at a lucky angle under the electric light, beautiful crimson lights flashed suddenly, deep under the smooth egg-shaped surface of the stones.
Then she recalled the letter. It was written in an elegant hand. The sender respectfully congratulated her on her birthday and took the liberty of sending his humble offering. He explained that the bracelet belonged to his great-grandmother, and in the middle was a very rare stone—a green garnet. According to an old family tradition, this stone enabled the women who wore it to foresee the future and protected men from violent death. He begged her not to be angry with him, and said he was leaving that day and would never come back. He signed himself G.S.Z.
Chapter 7. Evening entertainment; Prince Vasilys satirical album including the telegraphist story
Vera debated whether to show it to her husband now or after the guests had left. She decided to do it later. While she was debating, she could not take her eyes off the five blood-red lights glowing inside the five garnets. It was only with great difficulty that a colonel was induced to play poker. At first they had to teach him, but soon he had all the chips piled in front of him.
Seated at a large round table, the prince was showing his sister, the general and his brother-in-law a family album of cartoons drawn by himself. All four were laughing heartily, and gradually those other guests who were not playing cards gathered round them. The album was a sort of supplement to the prince's satirical stories—a collection of illustrations. With imperturbable calm he showed various stories, including one entitled 'Princess Vera and the Infatuated Telegraphist.'
Chapter 8. Tea on the terrace; General Anosovs philosophy on true love and marriage
The long autumn sunset was dying. Overhead big stars shimmered in the blackness of night. The remaining guests sat on the terrace. Despite his protests the general was made to put on his greatcoat, and his feet were wrapped in a warm rug. He sat between the two sisters, with a bottle of his favourite wine in front of him. They waited on him eagerly. The old general all but purred with bliss.
The pianist asked if he had won many victories over women in his youth. Anna cried that their grandfather was handsome even now. The general said he wasn't handsome, but he wasn't shunned either. He told them about a moving incident in Bucharest, where he had fallen headlong in love with a very pretty Bulgarian girl. He described how they swore eternal love and parted for ever. The prince's sister was disappointed, saying that wasn't love—it was just an army officer's camp adventure.
Love must be a tragedy. The greatest mystery in the world! No comforts, calculations or compromises must affect it... Love that is 'stronger than death'... ready to perform any feat, give your life.
The general told two stories of false love—one about an ensign who threw himself under a train for a woman and lost both his hands, and another about a captain who took care of his wife's lover during the war because she had ordered him to. He concluded that he had never seen real love, the kind that poets and novelists have dreamt of.
Chapter 9. Walk with the general; stories of false love and discussion of Veras admirer
Anna and a hussar led the way, followed at some twenty paces by the general, arm-in-arm with Vera. The night was so black that during the first few minutes they had to grope for the way with their feet. The general's big cold hand fondly stroked Vera's hand. He suddenly said that nowadays people no longer knew how to love, and he saw no real love. Vera objected, saying he was extending his own unhappy experience to all mankind.
The general asked if she had ever seen genuine love—a love that was holy and pure and eternal. Vera asked if he had ever known such love. He said he supposed not, and began to explain why people generally got married—for practical reasons, not for love. He asked where love came in—disinterested, self-sacrificing love that expected no reward.
Perhaps the path of your life has been crossed by the very kind of love that women dream about and men are no longer capable of... self-sacrificing love that expects no reward.
The general suddenly asked about the story of a telegraphist which the prince had told that night. Vera told him in detail about a crazy man who had begun to pursue her with his love two years before her marriage. She had never seen him, and did not know his name. He only wrote to her, signing G.S.Z. At first his letters sounded vulgar and ludicrously ardent. Once she wrote asking him not to annoy her any more. From then on he wrote no more about love and sent her only an occasional letter. Vera also told the general about that day's parcel and the strange letter from her mysterious admirer.
Chapter 10. Prince Sheyin and Nikolai visit Zheltkov to return the bracelet
With a disagreeable feeling Vera stepped on to the terrace and walked into the house. From a distance she heard the loud voice of her brother and saw his gaunt figure darting back and forth across the room.
He said it should have been done long ago—an end should be put to those foolish letters. He considered the correspondence insolent and vulgar. The prince interrupted him coldly, saying there was no correspondence—the man was the only one who wrote. Vera blushed at that. The brother said they must put an end to his foolishness, and the matter was getting beyond the stage where they could just laugh. The prince thought he was exaggerating.
The brother said they risked finding themselves in a ridiculous position. The bracelet must certainly be sent back. By two o'clock tomorrow he would know the exact name and address of the fellow. Then they would not only give him back his treasure but would also see that he never reminded them of his existence again. After some discussion, they decided that the prince would go to the young man himself and give him a talking to. The brother said he would go with him.
The next day the filthy staircase smelled of mice, cats, paraffin-oil, and washing. They climbed to the fifth floor. The brother rang and was answered by a stout, white-haired, grey-eyed woman wearing spectacles. They asked for the man, and she let them in. The room had a very low ceiling, but it was very wide. At first the visitors could not see the occupant's face, for he stood with his back to the light. He was tall and thin, with long, silky hair.
The brother returned the bracelet and requested that no further surprises of this kind should be sprung on them. Completely dazed, the man sank down on the sofa. The brother said they could have referred the matter to the authorities. Suddenly the man laughed and asked if they had said they were about to refer the matter to the authorities. He made himself comfortable in a corner of the sofa, took out his cigarette-case and lighted a cigarette. He said this was the most difficult moment of his life, and he must speak without any regard for convention.
It is not my fault, Vera Nikolayevna, that God willed to send to me, as an enormous happiness, love for you... I am immensely grateful to you just because you exist.
He said he had loved the prince's wife for seven years. He knew it was beyond his power ever to stop loving her. He asked what they would do to break off that feeling. Would they have him transported to another town? Put him in jail? So the only solution was death. If they so desired he would accept death in any form. He asked permission to write a last letter to the princess, and to speak to her on the telephone. The prince agreed. Ten minutes later he came back. His eyes were shining and deep, as if they were filled with unshed tears. He said he was ready—from tomorrow they would hear nothing more of him. He had embezzled money and must fly from the town anyway.
Chapter 11. News of Zheltkovs suicide and his farewell letter
Coming back to the villa that evening, the prince told his wife in detail about his interview with the man. He seemed to feel it was his duty to do that. Vera was worried, but not surprised or bewildered. Later that night, when her husband came into her bed, she suddenly turned away to the wall and said she knew that man was going to kill himself.
Vera never read the newspapers, but fate willed it that she should open the page and come upon the column which carried this news: a clerk at the Board of Control had committed suicide about seven o'clock the previous night. According to evidence given at the inquest, his death was prompted by an embezzlement. He left a note to that effect. Vera thought about what it was: love or madness. All day long she wandered about the flower-garden and the orchard. The anxiety growing in her from minute to minute made her restless.
Eight years ago I saw you... from the very first second I said to myself: I love her because there is nothing on earth like her... The whole beauty of the earth seemed to be embodied in you.
At six o'clock the postman came. This time Vera recognized the handwriting, and she unfolded the letter with greater tenderness than she would have expected of herself. He wrote that it was not his fault that God had sent him love for her as an enormous happiness. He was not interested in anything like politics, science, or philosophy—to him life was centred in her alone. Now he realized that he had thrust himself into her life like an embarrassing wedge. He asked her to forgive him. He was leaving that day and would never come back. He thanked her immensely just because she existed. He said he might have appeared ridiculous to her and her brother. He asked if she would play, or get someone else to play, the Sonata in D-dur No. 2, op. 2. He kissed her hands.
Chapter 12. Vera visits Zheltkovs body and sees peace on his face
She went to her husband, her eyes red with crying and her lips swollen, and showed him the letter. She said she had a feeling that something terrible had come into their life. The prince read the letter with deep attention and said he didn't doubt the man's sincerity. He didn't think he had a right to analyse his feelings towards her. He thought the man loved her and wasn't mad at all. He had watched him all the time and saw his every movement. There was no life for him without her. He felt as if he were witnessing a tremendous agony. Vera asked if it would pain him if she went to town to take a look at the man. The prince said he would like to go himself, but he was afraid he should feel awkward.
Vera left her carriage two blocks off the street. She found the flat without much difficulty. She was met by the same grey-eyed old woman who asked who she wished to see. Her costume and her rather peremptory tone apparently impressed the landlady. She began to talk. She said he left them so soon, and if it was a matter of six or seven hundred rubles she could have scraped it together to pay for him. She said he was a wonderful man. He had been her lodger for eight years, but he was more like a son to her. Vera said she was a friend of the late lodger and asked her to tell something about his last minutes.
The landlady said two gentlemen came to see him and had a very long talk with him. Then he told her they'd offered him the position of bailiff on an estate. Then he ran out to telephone and came back so happy. And then the two gentlemen left, but he sat down and began writing a letter. Then he went out to post the letter, and then they heard something like a shot from a toy pistol. They had to force the door, and there he lay dead. Vera asked to see him. The landlady said of course, and showed her the door.
His closed eyes suggested deep gravity, and his lips were set in a blissful, serene smile... as if before parting with life he had learned some deep, sweet mystery that had solved the whole riddle.
She remembered having seen the same peaceful expression on the death-masks of two great martyrs. The landlady asked if she would like to be left alone. Vera said yes, and she at once took a big red rose from the side pocket of her jacket, slightly raised the head of the corpse with her left hand, and with her right hand put the flower under his neck. At that moment she realized that that love of which every woman dreams had gone past her. She recalled what the general had said, almost prophetically, about everlasting, exclusive love. And, pushing aside the hair on the dead man's forehead, she clutched his temples with her hands and put her lips to his cold, moist forehead in a long, affectionate kiss.
Chapter 13. Beethovens sonata reveals the depth of Zheltkovs love
When she was leaving the landlady spoke to her. She said before his death he had said that if a lady came to look at him she should tell her that Beethoven's best work was—and he wrote it down for her. Vera read the words, written in the familiar hand. Vera came home late in the evening and was glad not to find either her husband or her brother in. However, the pianist was waiting for her. Troubled by what she had seen and heard, Vera rushed to her and cried as she kissed her large beautiful hands, begging her to play something.
She went out of the room and sat on a bench in the flower-garden. She scarcely doubted for a moment that the pianist would play the passage from the sonata asked for by that dead man. And so it happened. From the very first chords Vera recognized that extraordinary work, unique in depth. And her soul seemed to split in two. She thought that a great love, of the kind which came but once in a thousand years, had passed her by. She recalled the general's words, wondering why the man had made her listen, of all Beethoven, to this particular work. Words strung themselves together in her mind. They fell in with the music to such an extent that they were like the verses of a hymn.
I shall now show you in tender sounds a life that meekly and joyfully doomed itself to torture, suffering, and death... To you I pray: 'Hallowed be thy name.'
With her arms round the slender trunk of an acacia and her body pressed to it, Vera was weeping. The tree shook gently. A wind came on a light wing to rustle in the leaves, as if in sympathy. The smell of the tobacco-plant was more pungent. Meanwhile the marvellous music continued, responding to her grief. Having finished the piece, the pianist came out of the room and saw Vera, bathed in tears, sitting on the bench. She asked what was the matter. Her eyes glistening, Vera, restless and agitated, kissed her face and lips and eyes as she said he had forgiven her now. All was well.