Black Fog

Black Fog by Aleksandr Kuprin (1907)

Boris, a robust and vividly good-humored young man from the Ukrainian south, bursts into Petersburg one winter morning and forces his way into the narrator's rented rooms, waking his old schoolfriend with irrepressible energy. Fresh from the steppe, he is bewildered and delighted by the capital — its tram-cabs "on tyres," its statues, its street bonfires meant (he is told, jokingly) to heat the roads — and overwhelmed by a grand Nevsky restaurant he calls a "temple of Baal." That evening, over homemade plum liqueur, he declares he has come "to conquer Petersburg," insisting the vigorous, temperamental South must inevitably triumph over the dry, anaemic North. Settled in furnished rooms next to the narrator, on credit, Boris quickly wins over the landlady, the maid Irisha, and the household, displacing a former favorite lodger. Despite his easy, joking manner, he proves shrewd and capable: within days he finds railway work, and within months, through painstaking evening study of reference books, produces an efficient scheme of passenger and goods train traffic that earns him praise, promotion, and a raise to a hundred and fifty roubles a month. Alongside this he gives music lessons, writes newspaper and technical articles, sings in a church choir and opera choruses, and teaches himself French, German, and English through self-study manuals — all seemingly without strain, as though merely playing while awaiting some real, unstated purpose. He also gathers a circle of fellow Ukrainians on Vassilief Island, embroidered-shirted countrymen who drink gorilka, eat coiled sausages, sing stately Cossack songs, and dance the gopak, with Boris as their unofficial leader. The narrator, watching him sing an old Cossack couplet, is moved to the point of tears, and comes to believe in Boris's promised "victory," though an unnamed unease persists. The turn comes one gentle spring evening on a boat trip to the islands: where the narrator finds Petersburg's scenery beautiful, Boris calls it mere stage "scenery" beside the real spring, real nightingales, and real nights of Little Russia, and grows visibly troubled. From that evening he begins to wilt — losing his talkativeness, his morning energy, his purring good humor — and increasingly speaks only of returning "there," to Ukrainia, though his office work detains him through summer. The narrator leaves for a business trip abroad and parts from a sad, sleepless, despairing Boris. Returning in a foul, foggy Petersburg autumn, the narrator finds Boris transformed: listless, unkempt, lying dressed on an unmade bed, cold and indifferent. Hoping to revive him, the narrator takes him to a noisy pleasure resort, the Aquarium, and then another late-night place; Boris drinks without becoming drunk and grows only more distressed. Walking home at dawn through a narrow street, Boris is suddenly seized with fury at the sight of fog settling over the buildings, calling it not mist but "the breath of the town" — the reek of laundries, coal smoke, human sin, hatred, and sweat — cursing it as a monster that he loathes. He coughs, and shows the narrator a handkerchief stained with blood, declaring "It is he who has eaten me up — the fog." By the following April, warm and springlike, Boris stands at his open window recalling how pleasant it must now be at home in the Government of Poltava, and the narrator senses he will soon die. Boris begs to be taken home, and just before Easter they travel south together. As they near Ukraine, already in full bloom with the blue flowers called "dreams" (used to dye Easter eggs), Boris's spirits revive, even as his body continues to fail. A fortnight after arriving home, he takes to his bed. He faces death calmly, telling the narrator he does not regret his earlier claim: though he himself has lost the struggle against the North's black fog, hundreds and thousands after him must and will win the victory, bringing sunlight against the fog that has settled in Petersburg's streets, hearts, and heads. The next day, with his window open to a garden of white lilac, sunlight, and singing blackbirds, Boris dies in a sudden fit of wide-eyed awe, as though glimpsing some vast, absorbing black fog beyond life itself. The narrator lays a branch of wet lilac on his breast as the sun shines and church bells ring across the river.

By Aleksandr Kuprin · First published 1907 · Genre: Literary Fiction, Realism, Psychological Fiction · 5,641 words

First lines

I remember perfectly his first arrival in Petersburg from his hot, lazy, sensual south. There emanated from him the very atmosphere of black earth-force, the odour of dry, sunbaked feather-grass, the simple poetry of quiet sunsets, gradually fading away behind the cherry trees of little orchards. He had the inexhaustible health of the steppe and he was so vivid in his fresh naivete.

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Black Fog is listed on Textopian as a short story by Aleksandr Kuprin, dated 1907 CE.

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Russian Literature · Psychological Fiction · Short Story Collection · Existentialism · Philosophical Themes · Mental Health · Isolation · Loneliness · Despair · Futility · Absurdity · Dark Humor

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