Chekhov Stories - SparkNotes

Chekhov Stories

Context

Anton Pavlovich Chekhov was born in Taganrog, a southern Russian port, in 1860. The son of a shopkeeper and grandson of a serf, Chekhov was himself well educated and aspired to a career in medicine. His family entered financial difficulties when Chekhov was a medical student in Moscow, prompting the young man to write short stories for publication. (Throughout his life, Chekhov would juggle two careers, devoting his energies to the professions of medicine and writing.) These tales appeared in monthly periodicals and later, as his reputation grew, more illustrious journals. By 1888, Chekhov was recognized as an outstanding literary talent, popular with both critics and public alike. In this same year he was awarded the prestigious Pushkin Prize for a collection of short stories. Most of Chekhov's tales were written between 1885 and 1899, which was his most creative period as a short story writer. Over the following years until his death, Chekhov cemented his literary renown by writing works for the stage. However, plays such as Uncle Vanya (1900) and The Cherry Orchard (1904) earned Chekhov criticism as well as praise. Many Russian critics deny that these works display the mastery of form and language reflected in Chekhov's tales.

As a writer of short fiction, Chekhov is indebted to such literary giants as Maupassant, Tolstoy, and Turgenev, but his own influence on western literature has been immense. The author's masterful handling of prose, as well as his sensitivity towards character, mood, and setting, impressed authors as diverse as E. M. Forster and Virginia Woolf. Indeed, his economical use of language and ambivalent style—Chekhov weaves humor with pathos to magnify the inconsequential details of people's lives—helped redefine the short story genre. He also developed a technique of ending stories with what have been termed "zero endings"—or anti-climactic conclusions. This technique makes the stories seem more realistic, and often more pathetic, because readers are left to guess what will happen next. However, Chekhov also employs "surprise endings" to confound our expectations, and we can never be sure how a tale will end. Consequently, over a hundred years after his works were written, readers still marvel at Chekhov's freshness and originality. Although the author sketches his characters with compassionate good-humor, he never abstains from highlighting their faults, foibles, and human weaknesses. Chekhov's stories are thus deeply humane works of fiction: in detailing life's poignant trivialities, they are unrivalled in their sense of authenticity. As David Margarshack writes, when reading them "one gets the impression of holding life itself, like a fluttering bird, in one's cupped hands."

Like many of his characters, Chekhov's own life was touched by tragedy. Donald Rayfield notes that the author "mourned in fiction" for his gifted brother Nikolai's untimely death, his broken family, and the suicides of many of his friends. However these tragic events fostered an understanding of suffering and a certain liberalism of thought. Looking at Chekhov's life, Rayfield concludes that his "daring modern morality is in part born of bitter experience." Unfortunately, life did not get any easier for the troubled author. He became debilitated by tuberculosis and in 1898 exchanged his active lifestyle in Moscow for the tranquility of Yalta. Chekhov remained in this coastal resort—the setting for his most famous tale Lady with the

in 1901, Chekhov rarely saw his wife, who suffered a miscarriage in 1902. The author relocated to Badenweiler, Germany and died in 1904.

Character List

Dmitri Gurov - The protagonist of The Lady with the Dog. Gurov is an aging, dissatisfied bureaucrat who surprises himself by falling in love with Anna. Through Gurov, Chekhov examines ideas about world-weariness and an individual's quest for self-understanding.

Read an in-depth analysis of Dmitri Gurov.

Anna Sergeyevna - Gurov's lover. Like the protagonist, Anna has grown dissatisfied with her provincial lifestyle. Initially the epitome of gentrified morality—she worries that Gurov will not respect her if they become lovers—Anna soon realizes that she would sacrifice everything to be with her lover.

Grigori Tsybukin - The protagonist of In the Ravine. Grigori is an archetypal bourgeoisie, who rides in a chaise while assuring beggars that God will help them. We see how ironic the reversals of fate can be when Grigori is later disregarded by his own family.

Lyzhin - The protagonist of On Official Duty who waits to conduct an inquest in a remote village. Lyzhin is ambitious and hopes to use his office to gain prestige within Moscow society. Nevertheless, this young professional is still perturbed by other people's suffering and hardship. This contrasts him with his brusque and self-interested partner, Dr. Starchenko.

Dr. Starchenko - A physician who accompanies Lyzhin to conduct the inquest. Starchenko is older than his partner and is far more concerned with his own comfort. Chekhov uses the doctor to represent successful professionals who have no social conscience.

Andrei Kovrin - The mentally imbalanced yet highly educated protagonist of The Black

Monk. Before he dies of consumption, Kovrin hallucinates and believes that he is one of God's

elect. Chekhov uses Kovrin's illness to blur the boundaries between artistic genius and self-delusion.

Read an in-depth analysis of Andrei Kovrin.

Jerome - Jerome rows the anonymous narrator of The Night Before Easter across the Goltva river. The ferryman is preternaturally sensitive to words and music, and appears as a kind of mystical apparition out of the darkness.

Olga Dymov - The flighty, snobbish yet endearingly vivacious protagonist of The

Grasshopper. Olga is a tragic character, who searches for genius among all her friends before

realizing that her husband was the most remarkable man she knew. Read an in-depth analysis of Olga Dymov.

Osip Stephanych Dymov - Olga Dymov's husband seems bland and uninteresting but is in reality blessed with an astonishing intellect. Osip's quiet genius contrasts with the overrated and flamboyant talents of Olga's friends.

Olga Plemyannikov - The protagonist of The Darling. Chekhov uses Olga to attack the philosophy that women should adopt men's ideas and beliefs instead of forming their own opinions.

Ivan - The elderly protagonist of Gooseberries. Ivan rails against complacent landowners, but also berates himself for being happy. Chekhov contrasts Ivan's furious self-questioning with the gentry's smug superiority.

Aliokhin - Ivan's friend and owner of a large country estate where the protagonist shelters from a storm. Aliokhin typifies the successful Russian landowner—he is wealthy, contented and even has a beautiful servant-girl—who listens with friendly bemusement to Ivan's sermonizing.

Savka - The free-spirited protagonist of Agafya. Savka is lazy, jealous of his privacy, and misogynistic, yet women seem to love him. The author thus examines the powerful allure Savka exerts over his lovers—such as the peasant girl Agafya—as a man without responsibilities or restraint.

Misail Poloznev - The gentleman protagonist of My Life who is cast out from society after deciding to work as a laborer. Misail never tires of his endeavors despite the setbacks he encounters, because he accepts that no one can avoid suffering.

Masha Dolzhikov - Masha is intrigued by Misail's dreams but grows disillusioned with the reality of a simple life. Chekhov suggests that Masha is inspired by new philosophies and ideas, which do not really accord with her fundamental self-centeredness.

Dr. Andrei Yefimich Rabin - The protagonist of Ward No. 6. Rabin is a stoic and a recluse who does not believe in the reality of suffering. However, the doctor changes his philosophy when he is admitted to the hospital's lunatic asylum. Chekhov uses this plot development to emphasize fate's unpredictability and the injustices committed under the state's aegis.

Gromov - An inmate of ward no. six who condemns Rabin for his "rationalization" of suffering. Gromov represents the radical element of Russian society in that he refuses to condone injustice.

Yegorushka - The nine-year-old protagonist of Steppe. Chekhov records Yegorushka's adventures as though every event is being witnessed by the sharp but innocent eyes of a child. This throws the actions of the adult characters and the vastness of the steppe landscape into sharper relief.

Analysis of Major Characters

Gurov is the protagonist of Lady with the Dog. Although he denigrates women and refers to them as "the lower race," Gurov secretly admits that he feels more comfortable with them than he does with men. From the story's outset, Gurov searches for distraction outside the bounds of his marriage and stuffy Moscow society. Gurov meets Anna in the resort of Yalta, where both have come to escape their stifling lives. As his relationship with Anna deepens, the protagonist recognizes that he has misrepresented himself to women. With this recognition comes a deeper sense of need and a drive for emotional—rather than material—fulfillment. Back home, Gurov's life seems empty and unrewarding, and he is haunted by the memory of his naïve young lover. As Donald Rayfield notes, Chekhov contrasts Gurov's cynicism and feelings of disillusionment with Anna's idealism and romanticism. In The Lady with the Dog, we witness the changes effected in a man who has fallen in love and then forced to reexamine his views of the world.

Olga Plemyannikov

Olga is the protagonist of The Darling. Despite being attractive, kind- hearted, and eager to help other people, she is the embodiment of female disempowerment. Because she cannot make up her mind on any issue, Olga adopts her partner's beliefs and thus subordinates her will to the male intellect. Undeniably, the protagonist gains a measure of happiness with her two husbands —the theater-owner Kukin and the timber-merchant Pustovalov—but only because she tailors her outlook on life to accord with their own. The protagonist's nickname is both deeply ironic and pathetic: she is everyone's "darling" and is indulged like a favored pet. Chekhov thus crafts our ambivalent response to his protagonist, who appears both annoying and pitiful. We find that Olga does not evolve within the tale, she only becomes lonelier and more desperate for male affection. Because she cannot turn to her old lover Smirnin for emotional fulfillment, the protagonist focuses all her attention on his little son Sasha. She parrots the schoolboy's opinions and embarrasses her new charge by walking him to school. Readers see that, for all her swiftness at winning other people's affection, Olga will never earn their respect. She remains imprisoned by her own laziness and lack of intellectual autonomy.

Andrei Kovrin

Kovrin, the consumptive protagonist of The Black Monk, overlooks his illness in his quest for genius. He possesses a lively, energetic spirit that borders on arrogance. But the truly bizarre side of Kovrin's character only appears when he begins to hallucinate. After envisioning a black monk who tells him that he is one of god's elect, the protagonist evolves from a successful but unfulfilled intellectual to appearing "radiant and inspired." However, everyone agrees that he has a "peculiar look." In this way, Chekhov blurs the distinction between giftedness and raving lunacy. Kovrin believes that he is not just a mastermind, but a man of genius whom god has chosen to aid humanity. We see that, after undergoing psychiatric treatment that results in his becoming embittered and malicious, Kovrin only wants to reclaim the ecstasy he felt as a lunatic. Chekhov thus plays with his readers' reactions to mental illness and shows how

Kovrin's psychosis has both positive and negative effects. But these effects become increasingly negative as time passes. The author shows how, as Kovrin descends into madness for the second time, the order of the world breaks down: Tania and the protagonist separate, Yegor dies, and the orchard is ruined. Kovrin himself dies in rapture, convinced of his own genius. Readers are thus left with the impression of a man burdened as well as redeemed by mental illness. To the end, Chekhov's treatment of his protagonist remains ambivalent and nonjudgmental.

Olga Dymov

Olga is the protagonist in The Grasshopper. She is a fickle socialite, who cultivates friendships with soon-to-be-famous artists, writers, and musicians. The protagonist is also fascinated by celebrity and cultivates a snobbish attitude with regard to artistic genius. Ultimately, however, Chekhov suggests that Olga has misread reality. She becomes disillusioned with her arrogant lover Ryabovsky, and undergoes a moment of desperate self-revelation when Osip becomes sick. At this point, the protagonist recognizes that she has overlooked her husband's genius. At the tale's opening, the narrator states, "no one so much as remembered his existence." But by the end of the story, Olga recognizes that Osip—a quiet but incredibly gifted young surgeon— is the one truly brilliant person she has known.

Dr. Andrei Rabin

Dr. Rabin is the protagonist of Ward No. 6. Although initially a caring and attentive physician, Rabin grows indifferent and unresponsive to his patients. He reasons that suffering serves a necessary purpose and argues, "Why hinder people dying if death is the normal and legitimate end of everyone?" The doctor thus justifies his own inaction through "rationalization." However, Rabin grows intrigued by the notion of mistreatment as he begins speaking to the lunatic Gromov. Although he disagrees with Gromov's philosophy, Rabin despairs that the intelligent young man has been incarcerated. The author demonstrates the cruel ironies of fate when the doctor is himself admitted to ward no. six as a lunatic. Unsurprisingly, Rabin soon rejects his stoic philosophy along with his ideas about the necessity of suffering. He becomes convinced of the immortality of the state system and, encouraged by Gromov, creates a disturbance in the ward. Rabin is beaten by the hospital porter for this offense and dies of a stroke the following day. Chekhov uses this plot development to emphasize fate's unpredictability and to condemn the injustices committed under the state's aegis.

Themes, Motifs, and Symbols

Death and Disease

Disease features prominently in Chekhov's stories, and his protagonists often suffer tragic and untimely deaths. It is unsurprising that the author seems haunted by the notion of infirmity, since he was plagued by tuberculosis for most of his adult life and died of the disease at the age of forty-four. Often—as in The Black Monk and The Grasshopper—disease acts as a physical representation of a character's psychological turmoil. Osip sickens in The Grasshopper because he is depressed about his wife's infidelity, while Chekhov subtly blends the symptoms of Kovrin's mental illness with those of tuberculosis in The Black Monk. But the author's recurring use of this theme is neither pathological nor self-pitying; Chekhov recognizes man's subservience to forces greater than his or her own will. The author uses the symbolic power of his dying protagonists—such as Kovrin in The Black Monk or Rabin in Ward No. six —to emphasize life's transience as well as humankind's subservience to the whims of fate. Chekhov also examines disease as a reflection of social degeneration. For example, Kovrin's psychosis— which ruins his marriage, kills his father- in-law and wrecks Yegor's prized orchard—seems to symbolize the disintegration of society at large. Chekhov thus focuses on disease to indicate individual frailty as well as the growing conflicts within society.

Disillusionment and Failed Ideals

Chekhov's stories examine many kinds of disappointment and failed ideals. Often the protagonists are disillusioned by events that force them to reevaluate their personal philosophies and understanding of the world, and this disillusionment usually occurs toward the end of stories. Such climaxes range from the mildly pathetic—as when the narrator in The

Night Before Easter sees Jerome in daylight and realizes that he is just an ordinary man, to the

monumentally tragic—such as Rabin's incarceration in Ward No. six and his subsequent nervous breakdown. The protagonists of The Darling and My Life also tackle frustrated dreams, loneliness, and the breakdown of romantic ties, but they never fundamentally alter their view of the world. Consequently, we see that Chekhov's tales conclude with either a moment of revelation or anti-climax (these endings have been termed "zero" and "surprise" endings, respectively.) His protagonists are either crushed by their sense of disillusionment with the world, or they hold out hope in a better future.

The Breakdown of Aristocratic Society

In 1861, when Chekhov was one year old, Tsar Alexander II liberated Russian serfs. This act seemed to herald the dawn of a new age and the collapse of aristocratic privilege, although, in reality, peasants were still impoverished, disempowered, and tied to the land. Many intellectuals began to discuss ideas on liberty and the rights of all social classes to land and education. Although Chekhov did not openly speculate on the fall of the old social order, his writing shows that he was caught up in the debate. Many of his stories examine the effect of change on a prevailing social or familial hierarchy. For example, My Life focuses on a young member of the gentry who defies his father and social convention by working as a laborer. But

Chekhov is very subtle in his treatment of change. Most often, the revolutions one witnesses in the stories are neither positive nor negative; they are simply alterations to established systems.

In the Ravine deals with a mercenary, Grigori Tsybukin, who is ousted from his position of

power when his cunning daughter-in-law takes over the family business. Similarly, Rabin's confinement in Ward No. six shows how professionals as well as peasants can be subjected to social coercion. The only obvious change for the worse occurs in The Black Monk, when Yegor's orchard passes into the hands of a younger generation and is ruined. In most of his stories, therefore, Chekhov deals with the breakdown of an old social order with characteristic moral ambivalence.

Motifs

Communication and Non-Communication

Communication and its interruptions bear much importance throughout Chekhov's stories. In particular, the author focuses on the extent of communication between people of different social classes and the diverse views these people hold on social inequality. Some characters take positive steps to discuss this issue—such as Ivan in Gooseberries, who wants to open channels of communication between the landowners and the peasants. But as we see in My Life or in In the Ravine, these channels sometimes either do not exist or are easily broken down. Often, the characters simply fail to understand one another's point of view. For example, in

Ward No. six, we see that Rabin is desperate to share his ideas with the gifted lunatic Gromov,

who openly dismisses Rabin's ideas as "rationalization" (although the doctor is finally convinced of the lunatic's philosophy.) In On Official Duty, the constable Loshadin talks to the examining magistrate about duty and personal responsibility, but the young man seems more depressed than animated by their conversation. On a more personal level, Olga in The Darling has no views of her own to express, while Gurov in The Lady with the Dog finds that he cannot communicate with his friends or his wife. In general, therefore, Chekhov's characters search for understanding but fall short in their inability or reluctance to communicate.

The Natural World

Many tales, such as Agafya and Steppe, are set in the Russian countryside and focus on the beauty of its landscape. Chekhov is clearly intrigued by his characters' relationship to the land and how this varies—or does not vary—according to social standing. Peasants work to earn their daily bread, while some members of the upper class drive around in grand chaises admiring the view. Often, it is Chekhov's aristocratic characters who seem shocked by the diverse wildlife and scope of their surroundings. For example, little Yegorushka in Steppe is bemused by the steppe's vast distances, while Gurov in The Lady With the Dog admires scenic sea views from a vantage point in Yalta. Nature consistently inspires either fear, wonder, or discomfort in Chekhov's protagonists. Often, Chekhov's impressionistic evocation of the landscape overshadows his plot altogether. In particular, we see that Steppe's major focus is its setting, rather than the events that it describes.

Symbols The Night Sky

The cosmos has symbolic significance in many Chekhov stories. In particular, the protagonist of The Night Before Easter is impressed by the vast starry landscape of the night sky. Lipa in In

the Ravine also looks to the moon and stars but sees them as splendid symbols of nature's

indifference toward humankind. The night sky thus takes on whatever significance the characters accord it and can be either a force for admiration or despair.

Food and Drink

Along with their clothes and houses, food and drink symbolize the wealth and social status of Chekhov's characters. The gentrified Yegorushka is fascinated by the peasants' plain fish stew in Steppe, while the peasant Savka relishes his plain boiled eggs and "greasy cakes" in Agafya. In contrast, the Tsybukin family in In the Ravine glut themselves on homemade jam and feast on four meals a day while peasants starve. We thus see how food assumes a symbolic as well as practical import in Chekhov's tales. As a marker of affluence and class affiliation, it provides readers with clues as to the characters' likely outlook on society.

Summary

A forty-year-old man named Dmitri Gurov is intrigued by a young woman walking along the sea front of Yalta with her small Pomeranian dog. Dmitri dislikes his shrewish and intelligent wife and, as a result, has numerous love affairs. Although the protagonist disparages women and calls them "the lower race," he secretly acknowledges that he is more at ease in their company than in men's. One day, "the lady with the dog" sits down next to Dmitri to eat in the public gardens. The man pets her dog in order to strike up a conversation. He learns that she is called Anna Sergeyevna, that she is married, and that she has come to Yalta on vacation. Over the next week, Anna and Dmitri see a lot of each other and grow close. The older man is intrigued by the exuberant naïveté of his young partner, yet he also recognizes a trace of sadness in her character. In contrast to the elder women with whom he used to have affairs and who would occasionally display a "rapacious expression" on their beautiful faces, Anna excites Dmitri's desire with her fresh and unaffected nature. In particular, he is drawn by her "diffidence, the angularity of inexperienced youth" that reminds him of his daughter. Every evening the couple observes the sunset from the vantage point over Yalta at Oreanda and are impressed anew by the "beautiful and majestic" scenery. The only things that mar Anna's happiness is the thought that her husband, Von Diderits, will send for her and her fear that she has lost Dmitri's respect by sleeping with him. In the end, Von Diderits sends Anna a letter urging her return, and she leaves Dmitri with something like relief. When parting with Dmitri, Anna states, "It's a good thing I am going away … It's fate itself!"

The action switches to describe Dmitri's daily routine in Moscow: visiting his clubs, reading newspapers, and working at his bank. Dmitri believes that his memories of Anna will soon wane and that he can continue his everyday routine in peace and satisfaction. However, this does not happen, and soon the protagonist grows to despise the "useless pursuits and conversations" with which he is surrounded. Consequently, Dmitri resovles to visit Anna in her unspecified hometown. The protagonist takes the train to "S—-" and arrives only to pace in front of the Von Diderits' residence, futilely hoping that Anna will emerge and speak with him. When this does not happen, Dmitri decides to go to the theater that evening to see a production of the operetta "The Geisha," hoping his lover will also attend. Sure enough, the protagonist sees Anna in the audience watching the show with her obsequious and insincere-looking husband. When Von Diderits leaves the theater to smoke during the interval, Dmitri approaches Anna and confesses his love for her. The young woman tells Dmitri that she has missed him but also berates him for coming to see her. The lovers decide that Anna will visit Dmitri in Moscow, on the excuse that she has to see a gynecologist.

The story concludes with a description of Anna's visits to Moscow and the unbearable strain she feels living this lie. Although Dmitri is perfectly happy with the way things have worked out, he does admit to feeling disconcerted about the implications of falling in love for the first time. He criticizes himself for being an aging, graying old man who seduced women by pretending to be someone he was not. Dmitri comforts Anna as best he can, but he knows that there will be a long way to go before they can be freed from their "intolerable bonds" and live together openly.

The Lady with the Dog is perhaps Chekhov's best known and certainly one of his best-loved

stories. It exemplifies the author's subtle yet powerful style, as Chekhov is economical with language and never says more than he needs. He conveys emotional complexity in just a few words, thus preserving the intensity of his characters' feelings. For example, on first seeing Anna at the theater in her hometown, Chekhov expresses Dmitri's romantic yearning with the passage: "she, this little woman, in no way remarkable, lost in a provincial crowd, with a vulgar lornette in her hand, filled his whole life now, was his sorrow and his joy … He thought and dreamed." The author writes as though he is painting a canvas, producing a work that is grand in scope yet intimate in feel. The author uses colors to convey both the changing spirits and feelings of the characters, as they veer from the grandly impressive to the muted and prosaic. For example, the aging Dmitri's hair is described as graying, and he often wears gray suits, whereas the sea at Yalta is suffused with color as "the water was of a soft warm lilac hue, and there was a golden streak from the moon upon it." Chekhov presents Yalta as a romantic oasis for Anna and Dmitri, a place of color, freedom, and intimacy that they cannot hope to recreate elsewhere. The lovers worry about what they mean to one another—Anna frets that Dmitri thinks of her only as a "common woman," while Dmitri thinks that Anna is beguiled by a false impression of him as a "kind, exceptional, lofty" man—because both recognize that their relationship is founded on past disappointments and future hopes, as well as on present desires. Chekhov thus plays with our implicit belief that characters do not exist beyond their narrative framework: clearly, Anna and Dmitri are people defined by the past and their dreams for the future, as much as they are by the short period of their lives conveyed here. As the editor Donald Rayfield has noted, The Lady with the Dog talks more about beginnings than it does endings. There is no straightforward linear progression in Chekhov's narrative: readers are called to question what has happened outside of its bounds and to wonder at the lives its characters will continue to lead.

Indeed, in order to understand this tale, we have to guess at what has happened before the events described and what will happen after them. Dmitri may be interpreted as an aging seducer entering the twilight his womanizing years, who dupes Anna just as he realizes that he has deceived himself for many years. However, the protagonist could also be understood as a man searching for conviction, as someone who is enchanted and ultimately redeemed by the innocent romanticism of his young lover. The tale itself is riddled with ambiguity: we see that Anna rekindles Dmitri's desire for life but also that Dmitri's love for her complicates as well as tarnishes his view of home. Because Dmitri remembers the vistas of Yalta as being boundless in their magnificence and beauty, so Moscow seems to him endlessly dreary, as though he were cooped up in a "madhouse or in penal servitude." Chekhov suggests that, for Dmitri, the world of love and of women is not straightforward, and, indeed, Dmitri's devotion to the female sex or "lower race" is rewarded by confusion and a faint hope in future salvation. The story ends on a typical note of ambiguity, as Dmitri recognizes that he is living two lives: "one open, seen and known by all who cared to know" and another "running its course in secret." The only way the couple can resolve their fears is to acknowledge that they are poised at the beginning of a "new and splendid life," albeit one that they will not openly enjoy for a long time to come.

Summary

The story is set in the village of Ukleevo, a grimy, rather nondescript place contaminated by pollutants from its three calico factories and inhabited by discontented peasants. The author writes that the village is located in a ravine and that it is renowned only because an old sexton had gorged himself on caviar at one of the factory owner's funerals ten years before the point in which the story begins. The story's protagonist, Grigori Tsybukin, runs the local grocery store but supplements his income by selling homebrewed vodka on the sly. Grigori's family— consisting of his wife Varvara, his sons Anisim and Stephan, and his "handsome" daughter-in-law Aksinia—aid him in his entrepreneurial endeavors. In particular, Aksinia is designated as Tsybukin's second-in-command, which encourages the young woman to think that she might become the heir to his business. Although many locals congratulate Grigori on his good fortune in life and the merits of his daughter-in-law, not everyone expresses such good humor. For example, the local peasantry resent Grigori or "Old Tsybukin" for his glib indifference to their poverty (in response to appeals from beggars, Grigori states in a smugly superior manner "God will provide!" before riding off in his carriage to earn more money.) In contrast, Grigori's wife Varvara is charitable and caring towards the poor, and she always provides the needy with the alms they require. Chekhov writes that Varvara's "charity had in those burdensome, foggy days the effect of a safety valve in a machine." The pressure cooker world of the Tsybukin family is thus described as one of greed, split loyalties, and village politics. While Grigori is perfectly content with his life and rides around in his carriage to show off his new horse, Aksinia befriends the young owners of the village calico factories and becomes embroiled in their feuds and sinister ambitions.

The story progresses to follow the marriage of the elder Tsybukin son—the policeman Anisim —with a beautiful but rather simple peasant girl from a neighboring village, Lipa. Anisim lives in town and sends his parents grandiose letters that have been written by his friend Samorodov. Grigori's older son is mysterious and troubled by something, although he does not reveal to his father what this could be. Anisim presents Grigori with an ostentatious gift of newly minted gold coin, which the author notes was done in a "superfluous manner." Unfortunately, this gift does not bode well for the future: Anisim and Lipa are awkward around each other after their marriage, and the young man is soon arrested for counterfeiting coins—some of which were the ones he gave to his father. Grigori accidentally pays his laborers with this false coin, which damages his reputation as well as the old man's confidence in his own judgment. While Anisim is serving his time in penal servitude, his young wife devotes her attention to their new baby Nikifor. Unlike Aksinia, Lipa is unambitious and does not aspire to a life of ease or wealth—in fact, the girl seems increasingly unhappy living among an avaricious family and burdened by their surfeit of riches. Lipa admits to her old family friend Elizarov that she is "frightened" of her new family. Gradually, the young woman is brought into conflict with Aksinia, who has invested in a local brickyard with some of her factory-owner friends. When Old Tsybukin decides to bequeath this same brickyard to his baby grandson in his will, Aksinia becomes demented with fury and murders baby Nikifor by scalding him with boiling water. Brokenhearted, Lipa brings her baby's corpse back from the hospital only to be forced out of the Tsybukin home by Aksinia.

family business. Grigori has retreated into a world of silent despair, after witnessing the erosion of his authority among the local peasantry and within his own family. The author notes that his old protagonist "does not keep any money because he cannot tell good from bad" and that while "some are glad, others are sorry for him." The story ends with Lipa and her mother running into Grigori on the street: they are moved to pity and give him some food. Almost in superstition, the two women cross themselves as they walk away from the miserable old man. Analysis

Tragedy overshadows this narrative as misfortune and evil blights the lives of its characters. We see that Grigori's authority in the village and within his own family is dependent on the fear he inspires in other people, which in turn educes their jealousy and resentment. He is a ruthless and avaricious religious hypocrite, yet he is also a man whom we grow to pity. In particular, Chekhov's poignant descriptions of Grigori sitting alone and starving because his family has forgotten to feed him inspire our sympathy. The author notes that the old man sits on the seat by the church "without stirring." In contrast, the highly capable Aksinia—whom Chekhov ironically describes as having a "naïve smile"—becomes monstrous to readers after she murders Lipa's baby. Thus, our reactions to Chekhov's characters change as his narrative progresses: this enables the author to refrain from moral judgment and let us pose our own questions of morality and accountability.

However, for all its undeniable pathos, Chekhov's writing is rich in humor and comic elements. The author presents both sides of human experience—the trivial as well as the weighty concerns that confront us all—and seems to delight in many of his characters' quirks and human foibles. He also interweaves the elevated with the petty so that we are often unsure how to react. Aksinia seems ridiculous even when she is at her most dangerous: whirling, dervish-like in rage around the yard, tearing petticoats and shirts off of clothes-lines, inspiring people to wonder "Wha-at a woman!" Similarly, Lipa's emotional collapse after her baby's death is interspersed with humorous episodes. When the young woman asks an old peasant how long her baby's soul will wander the earth, another man who has "been to school" and therefore considers himself fully educated in spiritual matters replies cryptically "Nine days. My uncle['s]… soul lived in our hut thirteen days after."

In the Ravine was first published in 1900 and is one of the longest stories Chekhov wrote in his

later years. In the words of Donald Rayfield, the story "marks a partial return to the sociologically well-researched stories of the early 1890s and to the study of the disintegrating peasantry." Readers see how this tale—in contrast with others such as Lady with the Dog— focuses in depth on sociological tensions that were emerging in early twentieth century Russian society. The smooth pace of the narrative belies the many rifts that it examines: jealousies, rivalries, and greed force the Tsybukin family apart at the same time as they cleave Ukleevo society. The author simultaneously observes family interactions and poses broader sociological questions, such as the nature of the divide between members of the peasantry and wealthy shop-and factory-owners. Chekhov also cultivates our suspicion with regard to the dealings of Anisim's elusive secretary, Samorodov, whose sketchy characterization hints at a further divide between the village and townspeople. Consequently, readers are never sure which—if any—one character or social class possesses moral authority: there are good and bad elements in everyone.

Chekhov's genius lies in marrying his theme of disunity with a harmonious authorial style. We never lose sight of the text's central focus, which is the changeable fortune and emotions of its characters. Ultimately, the "ravine" of the story's title symbolizes the sense of entrapment that overshadows many human lives. Perversely, only the peasants who work to pull in the harvest seem liberated from this tyranny. Chekhov leaves his readers to decide whether his image of Lipa singing "with her eyes turned upward to the sky, breaking into trills as though triumphant and ecstatic that at last the day was over and she could rest" is the ultimate renouncement of middle class ambitions, or a denigration of those who are satisfied with life's meager opportunities.

Summary

Toward evening, a magistrate and a doctor arrive later than expected in a village named Syrnia. Their task is to conduct an inquest concerning the apparent suicide of a young man named Lesnitsky. They are met by an old constable who takes them to view the corpse in an old

zemstvo hut—a district council building. The magistrate, a young man named Lyzhin, debates

with the elder official Dr. Starchenko about the motivations that drive men to take their own lives. The young man wonders whether it is more or less acceptable that men now commit suicide because they are "sick of life," as compared with the old days when they killed themselves over embezzling government funds. The constable tells both officials that local people are afraid of the dead man's ghost, which they are convinced will rise to haunt them. Instead of spending the night in the hut, Dr. Starchenko leaves to stay with a friend who lives nearby.

The magistrate drinks tea and passes the time talking with Loshadin, the self- styled local "Conshtable." The old man tells Lyzhin that he has been working for over fifty years and that he has endured many hardships in order to fulfill his duty. He affirms his own integrity by noting, "you won't survive in the world by lies" and recounts the circumstances that lead to the death of Mr. Lesnitsky. Loshadin explains how the young man's father forfeited all his wealth through gambling, thus forcing his son to earn a living as an insurance collector. The Constable speculates that Mr. Lesnitsky grew depressed as he wanted to have "a better life, and in better style and with more freedom." Despite the relevance of this information to his investigation, Lyzhin soon tires of listening to the Constable's prattling and asks the old man to leave. The magistrate thinks about how alien he finds provincial society and how different life in Moscow must be. He concludes that the inhabitants of Syrnia "are not human beings" but rather people who exist, in Loshadin's words, "according to regulation." To contrast with this life of duty and drudgery, Lyzhin dreams of working his way up through the ranks and entering Moscow society as a proven professional. The howling wind merges with the sounds in Lyzhin's dreams and the magistrate recollects meeting Mr. Lesnitsky; he remembers thinking that the insurance agent had a "disagreeable look in his eyes, like someone who has slept too long after dinner."

The magistrate is interrupted from his glum reverie by the return of the Constable, who asks for permission to inform the village "elder" of the officials' arrival. Lyzhin is irritated by this intrusion, but, after he hears the witnesses out in the hallway, he calms himself with the thought that they will make an early start on the inquest in the morning. Before long, the doctor storms in and wakes the magistrate from his heavy sleep. Starchenko informs Lyzhin that they are both going to stay with his friend Von Taunitz. The men drive away from the village on a sledge and, after running off the path several times, finally make it to the welcoming comfort of the Von Taunitz residence. Lyzhin passes a pleasant evening with his host's family but is soon troubled by thoughts that in this province everything is "intelligible" and that "this was not life, but bits of life, fragments." The magistrate and Von Taunitz discuss the suicide, which the latter concludes is an "unbearable" business, and Lyzhin passes a troubled night dreaming about Lesnitsky and Loshadin. Von Taunitz imagines the two men standing together singing, "We go on, and on, and on," and he describes the sound as if someone was "hitting his head with a hammer." Lyzhin miserably concludes that both the suicide and the old Constable's sufferings "lay upon [Lyzhin's] conscience." He becomes even unhappier when he wakes up and discovers

that a snowstorm has forced the postponement of the inquest. On the morning of the following day, after the storm has died down, the Constable arrives to collect Dr. Starchenko and Lyzhin. The footman is contemptuous of the old policeman, but Loshadin ignores his insults and appeals to "your Honor" the magistrate to come and conduct the inquest.

Analysis

On Official Duty—also known as On Official Business—was published in 1899 and won

widespread acclaim from literary luminaries. One of its fans was the famous author Leo Tolstoy who, according to the editor Donald Rayfield, claimed that he had dreamed of Chekhov's old Constable. Clearly, On Official Duty's themes of death and class distinction appealed to the sensibilities of many intellectuals in Imperial Russia and perhaps struck a chord with these scholars' perceptions of social inequality.

Looking at the text, we see that Chekhov's story examines the notion of dissatisfaction. Although Lyzhin and Mr. Lesnitsky are different in background, temperament, and circumstance, Chekhov draws parallels between the two men as characters both disaffected with their lives. In contrast, the older Dr. Starchenko is a stodgier and more plainspoken figure who feels secure enough to luxuriate in his superiority over others. He condemns the "age of nerves" which has bred a generation of "neurotics" and "egoists." It seems as though Chekhov is examining the tensions within Russian society, weighing in the balance those who are troubled by others people's plight and those who are not. Although it is not apparent at first, it becomes clear that Lyzhin is affected by nerves, just like the men whom Starchenko condemns. We see that fretful dreams disturb the magistrate's sleep, in which he hears noises like howling wind, and that his conscience begins to trouble him. Lyzhin also becomes increasingly concerned with the meaning of life, concluding that only if a person regards his or her own life as non-accidental can everyone become "part of one organism—marvelous and rational." This intense soul-searching, so common to members of the intelligentsia class in other Chekhov tales, points to the magistrate's deeper frustration with social inequality. We need only contrast Lyzhin with the "Conshtable," who receives a measure of satisfaction from his career and is gratified that he is fulfilling his duty, to see how unhappy and insecure the young man has become. Ambition has blighted the magistrate's view of the world, ensuring that he is less content than an old man whom no one values or outwardly admires.

However, despite the pessimism and seriousness of his subject matter, Chekhov's tone remains light-hearted and is even comic on occasion. For instance, readers cannot help but laugh when Lyzhin proclaims, "Yes, suicide is an undesirable phenomenon," in response to Von Taunitz's comment that it must be difficult for Lesnitsky's family to cope with his death. We see that Chekhov's humor is mostly wryly ironic, but occasionally it is used to introduce overtones of violence to the text. A clear example is Starchenko's malicious comment that he would "deprive" neurotics of the "right and possibility of breeding more of their kind." Nevertheless, despite its gloominess, the narrative presents a view of both man and society that is candid and good-humored. As always, Chekhov exercises his flair for language, as displayed in his wonderful description of the landscape after the snowstorm has passed when "it was dull and still, as though nature now were ashamed of its orgy, of its mad nights, and the freedom it had given to its passions." While the author suggests that man is ensnared by forces greater than his own will, we see that Chekhov's prose dances free from all constraint.

Summary

A master of arts named Andrei Kovrin has strained his nerves and been advised to take a vacation by his doctor. After spending three weeks on his own estate, Kovrin decides to visit his former guardian Yegor Pesotsky, a renowned horticulturist. When he arrives at Pesotsky's home, Kovrin finds the old man and his daughter Tania worried about a coming frost. Kovrin sits up all night with Tania to watch over the plants and learns how much Yegor values his orchard. Over the course of the summer, the two young people grow close, and Kovrin describes his physical state of happiness as if "every vein in his body was quivering and fluttering with pleasure."

Kovrin is restless and does not sleep much, but he talks a great deal and drinks a lot of wine. One evening, he clasps Tania's arm and tells her of a legend that has been preoccupying him. It is about a monk dressed in black, who wandered in the desert 1,000 years ago and set off a series of mirages so that it seemed as if his image was seen walking in different countries all over the world. The crux of the legend is that 1,000 years after the day the monk walked, his mirage will return to earth and "reappear to men." After saying this, Kovrin leaves to walk by himself in the garden and catches sight of a tall black column like a "whirlwind" racing towards him. As it approaches, he realizes that it is the monk. Although the apparition does not say anything, Kovrin is faintly perturbed by the man's pale face and "sly smile." Upon returning to the house, Yegor and Tania remark how "radiant and inspired" Kovrin looks, although Kovrin decides not to tell them what he has seen.

After supper, old Yegor comes to Kovrin's room and gently encourages him to marry his daughter. Pesotsky explains his great love for the "business," and particularly for the orchard, which he insists will go to ruin if anyone other than Kovrin weds Tania. The next day, Kovrin mediates a quarrel between Pesotsky and Tania, and again Kovrin sees the black monk in the garden. The monk tells Kovrin that he is one of God's elect and warns him that the accompanying traits of "exaltation, enthusiasm, ecstasy" will not ensure his physical health. When Kovrin asks the monk whether he is mad and if this is an illusion, the apparition replies that he is not and that it is real. Kovrin is now assured of his own "loftiness" and decides to marry Tania. He meets the monk several times week while walking around Pesotsky's estate. Pesotsky arranges a lavish wedding for the young couple. The action switches to Kovrin's townhouse where he is reading in bed. Tania awakes to find her husband talking to the monk and concludes that he is mentally ill. Kovrin is treated for megalomania and once again returns to spend the summer with Pesotsky. Unfortunately, the protagonist treats the old man with disrespect and rudeness, and Tania realizes that there is something "ugly and unpleasant" in her husband's face that was not there before.

Kovrin accepts a professorship at the university but cannot deliver his first lecture because he is too sick. He is now living with a woman other than Tania and is coughing blood due to a hemorrhage in his throat. While visiting the town of Yalta, the protagonist receives a letter from Tania blaming him for her father's death, which has resulted in the orchard's destruction. The protagonist remembers how spiteful he was to Yegor and Tania, and Kovrin experiences an emotion "akin to terror." While he is thinking on the past, Kovrin hears the sound of violins

playing and feels "a thrill of … sweet, exquisite delight" wash over him. The monk appears and berates Kovrin for thinking that he was deranged and not believing that he was a genius. Kovrin starts to hemorrhage heavily from his throat and dies calling Tania's name, while the monk whispers to him that his body can "no longer serve as the mortal garb of genius."

Analysis

The Black Monk was written in the summer of 1893 and published in January 1894. It thus

predates many of Chekhov's later tales dealing with "nerves" and mental health, such as On

Official Duty. However, as opposed to the later story where the central character's "nerves" are

symptomatic of his troubled conscience and social aspirations, this tale introduces a protagonist who thinks madness validates his own genius. In this tale, Donald Rayfield notes that Chekhov "deals with insanity as inspiration" and that he "subtly combines the symptoms of mental derangement with those of physical illness." It is difficult for readers to determine if Kovrin is killed by tuberculosis or destroyed by his own lunacy.

Interestingly, Kovrin is not troubled by his own ill health or insanity. In fact, Kovrin embraces his own madness because it is accompanied by a state of absolute joy. As Kovrin admits following his return from hospital, "I was going mad, I had megalomania; but I was cheerful, confident, and even happy; I was interesting and original." Kovrin considers himself blessed by madness because it represents liberation from emotional and intellectual constraint. Kovrin is not satisfied by the mediocrity of academia or Yegor's horticultural pursuits; he desires "gigantic, unfathomable, stupendous" ideas that will elevate his own genius. In this way, Chekhov's tale is a testament to the power of the nonconformist mind: the author deliberately blurs the boundaries between mental illness and furious intellectual speculation.

Thus, depending on how one looks at the text, the monk may be understood as a vision symbolizing Kovrin's derangement or his freethinking genius. The creepy specter's "pale, thin face" and his ability to morph in size make him discomforting and distinctly eerie to us. But the changes he effects in the protagonist are initially positive: Kovrin is energized, becomes more curious about the world, and gains the confidence to confess his feelings to Tania. Unfortunately, this confidence evolves into egomania, and we see that Kovrin starts believing he is the "incarnation of the blessing of God." As in other Chekhov tales, the protagonist is characterized as a farcical yet tragic figure held in thrall to powerful forces. The author leaves us to determine whether these forces are truly divine or merely the promptings of a deranged and arrogant mind.

Typically, the author uses appropriately poetic language to convey the complexity of his subject. Chekhov's text is filled with images of momentous energy: the orchard is "plunged in smoke," characters race to get their work done, and the monk's arrival is heralded by a rapid whirlwind. The story of Kovrin's descent into madness is, thus, one of frenzied motion conveyed in harmonious prose. In this way, it is very similar to a piece of music. Rayfield notes t hat The Black Monk reminded the famous Russian composer Shostakovich of a sonata, particularly in its pacing and development, and we see how Chekhov's musical prose adds momentum to his narrative. In particular, the protagonist's description of the bay at Yalta is neatly cadenced: he notes that the sea "looked at him with its multitude of light blue, dark blue, turquoise and fiery eyes." Like a great classical composer, Chekhov tempers his drama with a

note of tranquility: the protagonist dies in the throws of a terrible and bloody fit, yet he is found with a "blissful smile … congealed on his face."

Chekhov shows how Kovrin's madness triumphs absolutely. It even destroys the last vestige of reason in his life—Yegor's prized orchard—where "the trees were arranged like chess pieces, in straight and regular rows like ranks of soldiers." The Black Monk thus introduces the theme of the ruined orchard that Chekhov would later use in his play The Cherry Orchard. As Rayfield argues, the orchard is "wrecked as it passes from the old order to the new" or from an age of reason and restraint to one of chaos and selfishness.

Summary

An anonymous narrator waits for a ferryboat to help him cross the river Goltva. He describes the beautiful night sky, filled with stars that "gently twinkled their rays." The man starts talking to a "dark figure" nearby, who explains that he is waiting to see the Easter "lumination" or display of fireworks. This old peasant tells the narrator that he cannot afford to take the ferry over to the church on the other bank. The peasant calls for Jerome the ferryman, just as voices cry out "Christ is risen." The narrator boards Jerome's boat and sets off into the "impenetrable blackness" of the river, gazing at the barrels of pitch burning at the water's edge. The ferryman and the narrator strike up a conversation, and Jerome explains that he is mourning his friend the Deacon Nicolas, who died that same day. The narrator is slightly annoyed by the man's philosophizing on death. However, he is intrigued by Jerome's comment that Nicolas had "the gift of writing akaphists"—special prayers sung to a saint on that saint's day. The ferryman explains the skill that is required to produce a beautiful akaphist, where each line must be "adorned with many things—with flowers and light and wind and sun and all the objects of the visible world." The narrator asks Jerome many questions about Deacon Nicolas's special talent but soon lapses into silence as the ferry nears the bank. He is shocked to find that Jerome—who is a lay brother at the monastery—cannot leave the ferry to worship that night because he has no one to relieve him of his post.

The narrator disembarks and follows a path in the darkness toward the church. He describes the confusion of animals and people milling around the monastery gates and the bustling activity inside the church. The narrator is caught up in the "ebbing and flowing throngs" and is filled with joy as he listens to the Easter service. However, despite his exultation, he also thinks how much Jerome would appreciate the music. The service ends, and the narrator imagines Dean Nicolas's and Jerome's faces in his mind's eye. He emerges into the dreary light of a cold dawn and boards Jerome's ferry to make his return journey across the river. This time, the narrator is joined by twenty men and women. The narrator sees the ferryman for the first time in the gloomy daylight and describes him as a "tall, narrow-shouldered man of thirty-five." He watches as Jerome navigates the ferry safely across the river, all the while staring at one of his young female passengers as though he "were seeking in the woman's face the sweet and gentle features of his lost friend."

Analysis

This story introduces many themes and motifs that we see elsewhere in Chekhov's tales. In particular, the author toys with light and dark imagery to great effect. We see that the narrator is surrounded by "impenetrable darkness" which offsets the shimmering explosion of fireworks. Chekhov illustrates his mastery at succinct, poetic description in the phrase, "a rocket shot up to heaven like a golden ribbon, curved, and, as if shattering against the sky, was spilled in sparks." There is something magical about the river and the monastery: by day everything is shrouded in mist as a "chilly dampness" rolls in across the river. But at night, the riverbank and monastery come alive as though part of an enchanted landscape. The protagonist describes his surroundings as "a magician's land, smothered in choking smoke, uproarious with noise and light." The chiming of the great bell that rings to announce Christ's resurrection is similarly surreal. Thus, despite the religious overtones of Chekhov's tale—it is set on Easter day, and our

attention is drawn to the joyous celebrations at the church—we see that the author delights in shifting the boundaries between reality and ethereality. The ambiguity of his story only adds to its feeling of truthfulness: no explanation is given as to why the unnamed narrator has arrived in this place to worship, leaving us to reach our own conclusions. Typically, Chekhov appeals to our imagination, as much as to our reason, in order to flesh out the details of his tale.

In particular, the author calls on our imagination to conjure up the peculiar figure of the ferryman. Initially, Jerome appears reminiscent of the Greek mythological figure Charon, who ferries the souls of the dead across the river Styx in the underworld. The narrator furthers this theme of death when he remarks that the ferry's outline looks like a gallows. However, Jerome himself is neither sinister nor threatening. We see that he is highly sensitive to the meaning and musicality of words and that he has been deeply moved by Deacon Nicolas's death. The ferryman's speech flows freely and is poetically cadenced, as seen in his description of an akaphist, "Every line must be tender and gentle and soft; not a word must be harsh or unsuitable or rough." Chekhov thus presents Jerome as a character of great ambiguity, albeit one who seems rather unremarkable by day. As the tale concludes in the "dull" light of morning, the author leaves his readers wondering whether the ferryman is a myth, a mystic, or simply a man grieving for his dead friend.

We see how Chekhov's gift at evoking atmosphere enables him to add depth and mystery to his characters. However, the author also uses humor to lighten his text. He describes how Jerome "bent himself into the form of a question-mark" to push the boat away from the dock and writes that the narrator adopted "a monkish tone" in order to appear more pious. Chekhov thus triumphs in this short tale by conveying both the comic as well as the tragic elements of human experience.

Summary

Olga Dymov is a socialite who takes care to befriend stars of the artistic, literary, and dramatic worlds. She is praised for the variety of her talents—sketching, singing, playing musical instruments, and acting—but has never become expert at any one skill. It becomes known that Olga met her rather ordinary husband, Osip Stephanych Dymov, when the young man was attending the deathbed of her ailing father; the protagonist fell in love with the doctor's unselfishness and now admires him for his "simplicity, common sense, and good nature."

The narrator describes Olga's daily routine and the ingenious ways in which she caters to her expensive tastes by using her husband's meager earnings. She throws parties every Wednesday night at which her guests "amused themselves with all sorts of artistic pastimes." Osip announces dinner with a gong at these events but is mostly overlooked by all famous people who attend. Having called attention to her husband's wonderful profile and his strengths of character, Olga believes that his only fault lies in the fact that he "isn't interested in art at all." However, the protagonist finds plenty of artistic companionship with her handsome painter friend Ryabovsky. She thus decides to spend the summer in the country painting and to join her artist friends on a group expedition to the Volga in the fall. The narrator shows Osip's devotion to his wife by recounting an incident on the day of White Monday when the doctor decided to bring Olga a picnic in the country. Upon arriving at their country cottage, his wife asked him to immediately return to their town home to pick up a dress that she needed for the next day.

The narrative switches to the artists' trip to the Volga, where Olga and Ryabovsky begin their affair on board a steamer. Although Olga entreats the artist to think about Osip, she begins to think of her husband as being "dull, unnecessary, and far, far away…. " Olga and Ryabovsky's tryst continues all through the summer months until September, by which time they have become thoroughly alienated from one another. Olga threatens to kill herself in despair at Ryabovsky's coldness, but she is then swayed to return home by all the endearing letters that Osip has written her. The protagonist boards a steamer and leaves to reclaim her life with her husband.

However, upon returning home, Olga finds that she cannot end her relationship with Ryabovsky. By December, Osip grows suspicious and finds it difficult to look his wife in the eye because he is ashamed at the way she has behaved. His friend Korostelev—"a crop-headed little man with a crumpled face"—is similarly embarrassed. In turn, Olga no longer feigns interest in what Osip is doing and makes no reply to the news that he has defended his thesis and thus gained promotion to "a lectureship in general pathology." Olga is entirely preoccupied by her failing relationship with Ryabovsky, behaves without caution, and often follows Ryabovsky to make sure that he is not seeing her female friends. With a typically dramatic flourish, Olga announces to the artist in reference to her husband, "That man is killing me with his magnanimity!" On the day that the protagonist discovers Ryabovsky has been unfaithful, Osip takes to his bed with diphtheria after treating a young boy for the disease. This jolts Olga out of her self-preoccupation and convinces her that she truly loves her husband. Unfortunately, Korostelev tells Olga that the doctor's prognosis is not good; despite everyone's best efforts, Osip soon dies. Korostelev sits on Olga's bed and cries and announces grandly that Osip has "sacrificed himself to science." Olga realizes, too late, what a brilliant man her husband was

and how her indifference helped to hasten his death. Analysis

The Grasshopper's protagonist is naïve, high-spirited, and solely concerned with creating the

"right kind of impression." At heart, Olga is a social snob who masks her insincerity with an affected interest in the arts. But Chekhov emphasizes that his protagonist's biggest character flaw is to mistake celebrity for genius. Although Osip Dymov may seem insipid and uninspiring in contrast to his wife's glamorous friends, his wife realizes too late that he has simply been modest about his greatness. If this tale has any moral—which would make it highly unusual for a work by Chekhov—it is that those who possess genius do not flaunt their own superiority. We see that true greatness does not have to be courted by sycophantic socialites or paraded around for others to admire: it exists in the minds of those who follow their own ambitions. The fact that Osip is prepared to acknowledge other people's interests marks him as a freethinking and enlightened intellectual—as Osip states to his wife "I don't understand landscapes and operas … but that doesn't mean that I refuse to recognize their validity." This open-mindedness contrasts noticeably with the pretentious Ryabovsky, who concludes in a fit of petulance, "everything in the world was conditional, relative, and stupid." Chekhov shifts between his many characters by telling his story in a series of short chapters. One moment we follow Osip on his trip to the countryside to visit his wife, while in the next we are sailing along the Volga in high summer with Olga and Ryabovsky. Such episodic formatting gives the narrative scope and allows us to glimpse the characters' most private, internal feelings. This is typical Chekhov, suggesting that even the most trivial events in people's lives—such as Osip's trip to the countryside to bring his wife a picnic—are worthy of examination. There is no such thing as an inconsequential incident: Chekhov describes the food people eat, the way they brush their hair, and even the tiny nuances of speech that help us to imagine a real person. Every detail of the characters' lives reveals another facet of their personalities so that more layers of their natures are revealed as we read on. Chekhov is clearly fascinated by the means and the motives behind human interaction, which he manages to explore without passing judgment. For example, when Olga decides to be unfaithful to her husband and dismisses him as a "plain, ordinary man," we see that the author qualifies this harsh sentiment by noting that the young woman's life at home seemed "far, far away." Although none of the characters are entirely admirable—there is no denying that Osip is rather unexciting and lacks sparkle—the author presents their weaknesses along with their strengths to construct real, flawed human beings. No one is without fault, yet no one remains unredeemed by a touch of humanity.

Summary

Olga Plemyannikov sits on the steps of her house musing in the heat of the day. The theater owner Mr. Kukin, who lives in a wing of Olga's house, worries that the coming rain will drive away more of his customers. As the days pass Kukin grows pessimistic about the fact that he is ruined. A "deep and genuine feeling" arises in Olga, and she falls in love with her fretful neighbor. The narrator describes how Olga has always been in love with someone—starting with her father as a young child—and that she inspires mutual affection from most of the people she meets. Even Olga's female friends will exclaim in the middle of conversation "Oh, you darling!" as a way of conveying their fondness for her.

Olga's father dies, bequeathing his daughter their large townhouse, and she marries Kukin. Although the couple are happy, the narrator notes that "it never stopped raining," which meant that an "expression of despair" never left Kukin's face. As his wife, Olga helps Kukin in the box office, keeps his accounts, and manages his business. She adopts his attitudes, shares his complaints, and worries about the size of their audiences. Although Olga and her husband live well, Kukin grows increasingly thin in concern over their livelihood. Kukin leaves to hire actors in Moscow, and Olga is woken one night by a loud hammering "boom! boom! boom!" on her gate. A messenger delivers a telegram informing her of Kukin's death.

Although devastated by this event, Olga spends only three months in mourning before befriending Vasily Pustovalov, the merchant of a local timber yard. The narrator notes simply that Olga "liked him very much." After a courtship lasting only a few days, during which time an old woman visits Olga and convinces her of Vasily's allure, the friends marry. Soon enough, Olga is working in her husband's office and regaling her friends with tales of timber prices as though she had worked in the business for years. She dismisses the theater as being "nonsense," becomes somber and religious-minded, and shares every opinion that Vasily holds. She even encourages her new friend, an army veterinarian named Smirnin, to forgive his adulterous wife and mend their marriage for the good of his son. The Pustovalovs enjoy a comfortable, well-fed life for six years until Vasily catches a cold in the timber yard and dies after a prolonged illness.

Olga retreats into virtual isolation, with only her cat and visits from Smirnin to occupy her. She adopts all of Smirnin's ideas and embarrasses him by parroting his opinions regarding animal diseases. Olga and Smirnin soon become lovers. Unfortunately, Smirnin is posted to a camp near Siberia and has to leave his partner "absolutely alone." The lonely widow grows thinner and frets that she no longer "knows what to talk about." Years later, Smirnin reappears and informs Olga that he has reunited with his wife and young son. Olga suggests that the family move into her home, and Olga can live in the attached cottage. The aging widow immediately falls in love with Smirnin's nine-year-old son, Sasha, who moves in with her after his mother leaves to stay with her sister. Olga enjoys taking him to school and helping him with homework, but the boy feels smothered by his "auntie's" love. Olga's moods fluctuate between joyfulness at her new lifestyle and fear that Sasha's mother will send for the little boy. The story ends on a cryptic note as Sasha cries out in his sleep at night "I'll give you on! Get out! Don't hit me!"