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 anticlimactic 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 Dog—for most of his remaining years. Although he married the famous actress Olga Knipper

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 selfdelusion. 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. Read an in-depth analysis of Olga Plemyannikov.

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 Dmitri Gurov 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 Themes 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. Analysis

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-inlaw 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. The narrative moves ahead three years in the future, when Aksinia has assumed control of the

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, dervishlike 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 shopand 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 nonaccidental 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!" Analysis

It is appropriate that this humorous and poignant story has a pitiable yet ludicrous protagonist. While Olga is endearingly sweet and unaffected, readers cannot help but be irritated by her inability to form opinions. We see that she loves the theater when she is married to Kukin but detests it when with Pustovalov; she also switches from taking an exuberant interest in life's distractions to somberly reflecting on its frivolities in accordance with her husbands' views. Consequently, we have to decide whether to pity Olga for her lack of autonomy or laugh at her ignorance. She lacks independence of mind as well as spirit and floats adrift in a sea of male opinions, ideas, and beliefs. We are left to wonder at the sheer unoriginality of a woman who, when married to a timber merchant, concludes, "the most important and necessary thing in life was timber." Essentially, Chekhov seems to use his protagonist to emblematize female disempowerment (it is deeply ironic that the anti-feminist author Tolstoy admired Olga, whom he felt personified the ideal of female selflessness.) On this point, readers see how the characters' use of the endearment "darling" patronizes and even demeans Olga. We sense that society is collectively patting the protagonist on the back for subordinating to the male intellect. But Chekhov does more than merely condemn his heroine as anti-feminist. Looking closely at the text we see that the author's treatment of his protagonist is far more complex. Chekhov first cultivates our sympathy toward his protagonist by noting that Olga felt a "deep and genuine feeling" toward her first husband; he then shows how she suffers through a string of bereavements. Olga thus emerges as a flawed yet gentle woman whose life has been blighted by disappointment. Even the sense of fulfillment she gains looking after Sasha is spurious because the child does not love her in return. We see that while Olga is prepared to die for the little boy, Sasha asks his "auntie" not to walk him into school because he is secretly ashamed of her. As a result, readers feel both sympathy and exasperation toward the protagonist. Because she has loved and lost so many times, one is tempted to forgive her for being unintelligent. Although this tale is unusual in that Chekhov introduces a female protagonist, many familiar motifs reappear. One is the repeated "hammering" of people clattering on the pavement and banging on gates. This motif also appears in On Official Duty and Gooseberries, although in slightly different form. In general, noises play a key role in Chekhov's tales as they emphasize life's irrationality and man's lack of control over the forces of nature, destiny, and fortune.

Summary

The sky is overcast with heavy clouds, but it does not rain. Two old men—Ivan, a vet, and Burkin, a teacher—walk across the fields. Ivan prepares to tell his friend a story and lights his pipe in preparation. At this point a storm breaks and the men run to shelter at their friend Aliokhin's estate. They find the forty year-old standing in one of his barns near a winnowing machine. Aliokhin is dirty from his work, and he invites his friends into the main house to bathe. A beautiful young girl named Pelageia brings the men towels and some soap, and all three start to wash. Ivan and Burkin are shocked when the water around Aliokhin turns brown, but Aliokhin makes the excuse that he has not washed for a long while. Unexpectedly, Ivan rushes outside and flings himself into the wide expanse of water in front of the house, flinging his arms around and asking god for mercy. The men return to the house, and the "lovely Pelageia" serves them tea. Ivan recounts the story he had intended to tell Burkin. He explains how he and his younger brother Nikolai spent their childhood "running wild in the country" after their dead father's estate was liquidated to pay debts and legal bills. Nikolai hated his job as a government official, which he found too restrictive, and yearned to buy himself a country estate. He then became "fearfully avaricious" and married a rich widow whom he did not love in order to raise capital. Nothing deterred the young man from his ambition to buy a townhouse where he could grow gooseberries. Following the widow's death, Nikolai purchased an estate where he planted twenty gooseberry bushes. On a visit to see his brother some years later, Ivan found that Nikolai had become insufferably supercilious. The vet comments that even his fresh gooseberries tasted "sour and unripe." Ivan remembers growing steadily depressed, because he identified in his brother's smug selfsatisfaction the "insolence and idleness of the strong." He recalls wishing that a man could stand with a hammer "at the door of every happy, contented man … reminding him with a tap that there are unhappy people." The vet ends his tale by examining his own sense of happiness and personal fulfillment. He concludes that he used to be as complacent as any other wealthy individual, believing that all men would one day become free. Sadly, Ivan admits that he is now too "old and unfit for the struggle," and he implores Aliokhin to do something. Despite Ivan's impassioned sermonizing, Aliokhin and Burkin remain "unsatisfied" by his tale. Aliokhin feels sleepy but delays going to bed in order to see if the conversation becomes more interesting. He is intrigued by something that the two men discuss, but it is not revealed what this is. The three men soon go to bed, where Burkin is kept awake by the smell of Ivan's pipe. The tale ends with a comment that the rain lashed against the windows all night. Analysis

Gooseberries was written towards the end of Chekhov's life and was first published as the middle story of The Little Trilogy in 1898. We see that the author examines two of his favorite themes within this tale: social injustice and the quest for fulfillment. Ostensibly, this story deals with the hypocrisy of landowners who ignore the suffering of those less fortunate than themselves. But Chekhov also raises a subtler issue than class divides, as we see when Ivan asserts the hollowness of personal achievement. Ivan believes that successful people are blind to reality because they believe they are insulated from misfortune. Ivan thus despairs at his own happiness as he recognizes that "life will show him her claws sooner or later." By this stroke,

which comes like a sting in the tail of his text, Chekhov jolts his readers out of complacent objectivity. We are forced to question whether life is something to be sailed through without the expectation of encountering problems or setbacks, or whether it provides us with an opportunity to grasp "something greater and more rational" than happiness. Chekhov takes his opportunity to answer Tolstoy's philosophical query, "How much land does a man need?", when Ivan asserts that man requires only the freedom to roam the globe, where he can "have room to display all the qualities and peculiarities of his free spirit." Looking at Ivan's grand theorizing, we see that Chekhov raises more questions than he answers. I n Gooseberries, we are encouraged to use our own intellect and imagination to understand what motivates the characters and, additionally, to guess at the meaning behind events. But this only makes the episodes and characters depicted seem more realistic—in "real life" we also have to hypothesize about what drives people's actions. The means by which Chekhov dramatizes his narrative—the devices he uses to evoke atmosphere and create characters that feel genuine—also create an impression of a place filled with real people, living real lives. The author does not force the petty frustrations of human existence into the background of his text. In fact, he highlights such foibles in order to flesh out the personalities of his characters. For instance, we read that the "oppressive smell" of "stale tobacco" emanating from Ivan's pipe prevents Burkin from falling asleep. Similarly, we are shown how the water around Aliokhin turns brown because he has not washed in a long time. Very little escapes Chekhov's attention or fails to capture his interest; the smallest detail is used to vindicate the humanity as well as the frailty of his characters. However, although Chekhov's work is rich in important (yet seemingly inconsequential) detail, he does not force us to appreciate these wonderful touches. As the critic Maurice Baring noted in Landmarks of Russian Literature, Chekhov "never underlines his effects, he never nudges the reader's elbow." It is left to us to pick up on the minutiae and appreciate the finer subtleties of his text.

Summary

The narrator explains how he would visit his friend Savka at the Dubrovsk allotments. The two men would go on fishing trips, talk to each other, and roam "carefree about the countryside." The narrator describes Savka as tall, handsome and about twenty-five years old. He notes that Savka was incredibly strong but also unbelievably lazy, as he had declined to work a steady job in order to support his old mother. Instead, the young man lived "like a bird" on his plot of land and spent his time in "motionless contemplation" of the surrounding countryside. The narrator describes the air of "serene, innate, almost artistic passion for living about his whole figure." One evening in May, the narrator and Savka rest on a rug after a hard day's fishing. As darkness falls, the two men discuss bird migration before Savka mentions that he has invited a woman to visit him that night. The narrator recognizes the woman as Agafya, a young peasant girl married to a railway signalman named Yakov. The narrator warns Savka that he will "come to a bad end" because of all his affairs, but the young man insists that he does not care and that he cannot help it if women throw themselves at him. After watching the last sunlight fall away, the two men eat their supper. Savka explains that "the women" bring all of his food because they "pity" him. His dog starts growling at the sound of someone splashing across the river, heralding Agafya's arrival. Savka derides the young woman's excuses that her husband sent her and explains that "the gentleman" knows why she has come; he then offers her some vodka. Just as the narrator decides he should go for a walk, a nightingale starts to sing. Savka darts up and disappears into the darkness in pursuit of the bird. The narrator notes that his friend was an excellent hunter but that he wasted his talent on "mere tricks" such as catching birds with his hands. The narrator and Agafya are left alone together. The man agrees not to tell anyone about what she has done but asks Agafya if she is afraid Yakov will find out. The young woman replies that she always makes sure to get home before her husband. As time passes, Agafya grows concerned that the last train will arrive and that her husband will find out she is missing. However, even when she hears the sound of the train in the distance, Agafya cannot bring herself to leave. Savka returns and explains how he failed to catch the nightingale. The narrator goes for a walk to give Agafya and his friend time alone together and muses on the fascination Savka exerts over women. When he returns, the narrator finds Agafya "intoxicated with the vodka [and] Savka's contemptuous caresses." He reminds the girl that she should leave, and Agafya jumps to her feet. The narrator leaves to sit in a hollow in the riverbank, looks at the stars, and listens to Yakov calling for his wife. He hears laughter coming from the allotments and realizes that Agafya is trying to forget about her predicament by spending a few happy hours with Savka. The narrator is awoken the next morning by his friend, and the two men watch Agafya cross the stream to return home. Savka states callously that the girl will "get it good and proper" for being unfaithful to her husband. The dismayed narrator sees Agafya stumble across the field towards Yakov. He describes his friend's face as being "contorted with distaste and pity, as happens with people who watch animals being tortured." Suddenly, however, Agafya straightens up and strides courageously toward her husband to "face the music." Analysis

This story was published in the New Times in 1886, to the delight of the great novelist Dmitry Grigorovich. David Magarshack notes that Grigorovich praised Chekhov for the authenticity of his fiction and that the Grigorovich wrote to Chekhov, "Only a true artist could have written a story like Agafya … not in a single word or movement does one feel that the story has been "made up"—everything in it is true, everything in it is just as it could have happened in real life." Grigorovich went on to compare Chekhov to both Tolstoy and Turgenev. Certainly, the young author merited this praise: his story displays many features of a great tale. Words are used minimally but to the greatest effect, from which the author crafts rich yet laconic descriptions. Chekhov's wonderfully subtle descriptions evoke mood as well as setting, while his characters are all the more real for being deftly sketched. For example, readers immediately grasp Savka's adolescent, capricious personality in the lines, "He was precipitated into activity when the spirit moved him … catching a dog by the tail, tearing a kerchief off a woman's head, or jumping across a wide crack in the ground." We see by Savka's language—he refers to the narrator as "Sir" and tells Agafya, "I was beginning to think you wasn't coming tonight"—that he is not a member of the gentry, although the young man displays a natural refinement stemming from his affinity with nature. Similarly, Chekhov describes the beauties of landscape and the natural world in brief but fertile prose. We read, "All that was left of the sunset was a pale crimson shaft of light, and even that was beginning to be overspread with flecks of cloud, as burning coal might be with ashes." The graceful pacing of Chekhov's prose gives it the lyricism of poetry. It is as though we are listening to a piece of music, while its harmonies and rhythms also evoke the musicality of nature. Birds twitter, insects chirrup, and a nightingale sings in the evening stillness. Chekhov treats every aspect of his tale with this type of sensitivity. The author even brings the coarser elements of Savka's affair with Agafya to life, while respecting both characters' inherent humanity. We thus read that Savka "despised women" but see also that this stems from a great desire to be left alone. As Leonard Woolf wrote in the New Statesman in 1917, Chekhov was an "unflinching realist" who nevertheless "picked up with the extreme tips of his fingers a little piece of real life, and then with minute care and skill pinned it by means of words into a book." The author's ability to be simultaneously candid and delicate with prose is revealed in his account of Agafya's adultery with Savka. We see that the narrator returns from his walk to find that "Agafya, intoxicated with the vodka, Savka's contemptuous caresses, and the closeness of the night, lay on the ground beside him, her face pressed to his knee." Chekhov thus treats his characters with great tenderness but does not refrain from recording the seedy, tragic, or pathetic elements of their existence. Although Chekhov uses these same literary skills elsewhere, Agafya stands out from his other stories in one important respect. In contrast to many other tales where the ending is understated, Agafya ends on a powerful note of achievement. The young woman initially takes a slow and tortuous route back to confront her husband, but then she strides toward him with determination. Undeniably, Chekhov confounds our expectations with this sudden twist. However, because of the author's subtle feel for the motives of his characters—clearly, Agafya recognizes that she has already jeopardized her marriage and thus approaches her husband with complete abandon—this conclusion rings true. Chekhov leaves us to surmise what will happen next.

Summary

Subtitled "The Story of a Provincial" this tale deals with the life of Misail Poloznev, a young gentleman who renounces the "privilege of capital and education" in favor of earning his living through manual labor. Misail's architect father despairs of his son's pedestrian ambitions and beats him for refusing to work as a clerk. But Misail stands firm in his goals, even when his sister Kleopatra begs him to reconsider. Consequently, Kleopatra's friend Aniuta Blagovo finds him work building a railway line for the engineer Dolzhikov. Despite his initial optimism, Misail soon grows weary of Dolzhikov's sneering attitude and persuades a painter and laborer named Radish to employ him as a workman. Society's response to the protagonist's new lifestyle is overwhelmingly negative: people throw water at him in the street and accuse him of shaming his father. Although a family friend named Dr. Blagovo congratulates Misail on his integrity of character, he argues with the young man about the merits of manual labor. These arguments do not move the protagonist, who suspects that the doctor only pays him visits in order to see Kleopatra. As time passes, Misail's father grows enraged by his son's actions and disinherits him. The protagonist discusses his dreams with Masha Dolzhikov, the engineer's daughter, who is intrigued by the Misail's idealism. She encourages him to pay her frequent visits, and the young couple soon falls "passionately in love." The lovers move to the village of Dubechnia, get married, and manage Dolzhikov's country estate there. Kleopatra offers them her blessing, although she informs Misail that their father is deeply upset. The newlyweds' happiness is also marred in other ways: the local peasantry steals from the landowners, and Masha's plans to build a school are undermined by the village council. This causes problems within the marriage—while Masha grows to detest the peasants, Misail decides that their imaginations have only been "stifled" by monotonous thoughts. Over the course of the summer, Misail notices that Masha spends more time with a handsome man named Stephan, who abuses his fellow peasants at every opportunity. It comes as no surprise when Masha tells her husband that she is disgusted by all the "filth … [and] petty, mercenary interests" of provincial life. She departs for Petersburg and leaves Misail to manage his farm. The protagonist is shocked to discover that his sister has become pregnant by Dr. Blagovo. The siblings move in together with Radish, and Masha writes asking for a divorce. Kleopatra comforts Misail by informing him that Aniuta is in love with him but that she cannot hope to marry him without compromising her respectability. The bemused Misail fills his time thinking about love and the vagaries of fate. He visits his father to tell him that Kleopatra is terminally ill, and the two men berate one another for their failures in life. After his sister dies, Misail takes his little niece to visit her mother's grave. Misail notes with sadness that although people have accepted his job as a laborer, he is now "silent, stern, and austere." Analysis

First published in censored form in 1896, this tale is one of Chekhov's longest and most politically contentious, as Donald Rayfield notes. It draws on common themes such as the town/country divide, self-realization through trial and hardship, and the disillusionment of failed ideals. Although Masha and Misail appear to be the perfect match, we see that the young

woman is more intrigued by leading an "interesting" life than she is troubled by a social conscience. As a result, it is no surprise that Masha becomes disenchanted with the coarse Russian peasantry. In her comment to her husband, "if you work, dress, eat like a peasant you legitimize, as it were … their heavy, clumsy dress, their horrible huts, their stupid beards," we see Masha's distaste for a real—as opposed to an idealized—peasant lifestyle. In contrast, Misail's hardships only strengthen his resolve to live close to the land. Misail recognizes his wife's shallow liberalism and concludes, "ideas and a fashionable intellectual movement served simply for her recreation … and I was only the coach-driver who drove her from one entertainment to the other." Chekhov thus weaves marital conflict with social tensions to emphasize the complexity of the issues he is examining. Masha is not simply a hypocritical member of the gentry, who overlooks her father's alcoholism but revolts at the peasants' fondness for vodka; she is a woman who enters into debate on issues that concern her but for reasons of self-interest rather than altruism. Within this debate, Dr. Blagovo assumes the cynical viewpoint of the intelligentsia. He is skeptical of Misail's ideals and argues vehemently that there are "no deep social currents among us." In his comment to Misail that "[w]e must study, and study, and study, and we must wait a bit for our deep social currents … to tell the truth, we don't understand anything about them," the doctor reveals his own interest in social concerns. But he is unwilling to actually do anything to help the peasantry. For Blagovo, poverty and oppression are problems to be examined and intellectualized rather than acted upon. Chekhov makes no moral judgment on this objectified stance; he merely presents it as different viewpoint on the issues. As a result, there is no apex to the ideological triangle formed by Blagovo, Masha and Misail. Each holds his or her own views and acts according to his or her personal conviction. While we may sympathize with Misail at the breakup of his marriage and feel anger towards the doctor for abandoning Kleopatra, Chekhov complicates our view of the broader sociological issues where one cannot so easily apportion blame. The tale shares many similarities with Chekhov's personal life. Set in a provincial town in southern Russia, it recalls the author's childhood home of Taganrog. Kleopatra's fatal illness recalls Chekhov's lifelong battle with tuberculosis, and he may have drawn inspiration for Masha's theatrical personality from any one of his actress-lovers. Also, the author's successful use of a first-person narrator underlines his identification with much of the plot. Although not an autobiography, My Life may be read as a fictionalized account of many of Chekhov's own anxieties and experiences.

Summary

The story opens with a description of a lunatic asylum, ward no. six, in a provincial hospital. The ward has five pitiful inmates—including the "imbecile" Jew Moiseika—and is overseen by a coarse porter named Nikita. The narrator describes how a university-educated inmate named Ivan Gromov drove himself mad with paranoia and was admitted to the asylum. The hospital is run by Dr. Andrei Yefimich Rabin, a "strange man" who became a doctor to humor his father, after actually wanting to become a priest. Rabin begins his career as a highly motivated physician who looks after his patients with the greatest of care. However, he is soon disillusioned by the "uselessness" of his task, neglects to visit the wards, and becomes indifferent to his patients' plight. Rabin eases his conscience with the thought that every man is born to die and concludes that "suffering leads man to perfection." The doctor fills his time reading books and discussing questions of immortality with the postmaster Mikhail Averianych. Rabin proposes to his friend that life is "a vexatious trap" in which mankind's only solace is the company of other intelligent men. As Rabin grows more preoccupied with death and the meaning of life, he turns away from Mikhail and toward Gromov for intellectual companionship. Initially spiteful and hostile, the lunatic mocks Rabin for his "rationalizations" and stoic philosophy. Gromov's attitude then softens to one of "condescending irony" as he sees how the doctor values his opinions. The hospital staff grows concerned for Rabin's sanity, and even the doctor notices "an air of mystery" all around him. Things come to a head when Rabin is invited to attend a committee meeting that is actually an inquiry into his psychological health. Rabin is "insulted and angered" by this patronizing treatment and decides to go on a trip to Moscow and Warsaw with Mikhail. The trip is not a success as Rabin grows annoyed with his friend and spends all of his money on paying their expenses. On his return, the doctor finds that he has been ousted from his post by Dr. Khobotov and fired without a pension. Although Mikhail vows to pay back all the money he owes, Rabin sinks into a fatalistic depression. He decides that every facet of his life is "trivial and inconsequential" and is rudely dismissive of Dr. Khobotov's and Mikhail's offers of help. Although he later apologizes for his outbursts, Rabin finds himself tricked by Khobotov into entering ward no. 6. Once there, Rabin finds that he cannot leave and fearfully concedes that he is being shown "real life" for the first time. Egged on by Gromov, Rabin is beaten by Nikita for daring to protest at his incarceration. The doctor miserably concludes that just as he unconsciously abused the lunatics during the past, so he too is being unjustly treated. The following day, Rabin dies of an apoplectic stroke. Before he passes into "oblivion forever," the doctor rejects the philosophy of immortality and has a vision of running deer. Only the doctor's old cook and his faithful friend Mikhail attend the funeral. Analysis

As one of Chekhov's longer and more politicized stories, Ward No. six was published to universal acclaim in 1892. It explores the conflict between reality and philosophy—namely, how people intellectualize reality to justify their own inaction. These two conflicting ideas are personified in the lunatic Gromov and the apathetic Dr. Rabin. A die-hard realist, Gromov declares that Rabin's isolationism is only "laziness, fakirism and stupefaction." This is a harsh but essentially true judgment. In particular, we see that the doctor retreats into the comfort of

"rationalization" to assuage his own conscience. Rabin knows that the hospital is an "immoral institution … prejudicial to the health of the townspeople," but he feels no compassion for its patients or inmates. As he remarks to Gromov, there is "nothing but idle chance" in his being a doctor and in Gromov being an asylum patient. Rabin thus justifies his indifference to others' plight by suggesting that everything is subject to chance. This doctrine is both unconvincing and heartless, and the author seems to scorn Rabin's philosophy. We see how Rabin, a selfconfessed stoic, is forced to confront pain and loneliness. Ultimately, goaded on by Gromov, the doctor ends up condemning the senseless reality of suffering and rejecting his previous philosophy. The tale's supreme irony is that this conversion occurs within an asylum that the protagonist had held to be permissible, on the grounds that it was provided for by chance. But ward no. six is more than a setting for Rabin's moral conversion, it is also a microcosm of Russian society. The porter Nikita monitors his inmates like a prison warden; Moiseika represents the capitalist mindset with his fascination for collecting money; and Gromov personifies society's activist element, railing against injustice. This paranoid lunatic condemns the status quo: Gromov is a radical who dares to challenge what David Margarshack terms Rabin's "non- resistance to evil." To better understand Chekhov's sympathetic characterization of Gromov and his condemnation of Ragin, one should note that the author visited the notorious Sakhalin prison in 1890. Chekhov was profoundly affected by his experiences at the prison, where he surveyed the inmates and witnessed first- hand the horrors of prison life. It thus comes as no surprise to see the author challenging society's dehumanization of criminals and lunatics in Ward No. 6. In particular, he questions the abuses committed by officials whose authority is upheld by the state. However, Chekhov does not use his story to force a personal or political philosophy onto his readers. Ultimately, we are left to make up our own minds on the issue of state control and institutional corruption. Ward No. six is a work that raises important issues regarding the relationships between citizens and state, and between people in positions of power and those whom they incapacitate. Similarly, although he deals with broad philosophical and moral questions in this tale, Chekhov never overlooks his passion for details. We read that Rabin's asylum-issue shirt is too long and that his dressing gown "smelt of smoked fish." These descriptions subtly evoke the mood of the ward as well as making Rabin's experiences seem more pathetic. The scent of smoked fish lingers in our noses as it does Rabin's: it is something that cannot be reasoned away and, as such, symbolizes the miserable reality of the doctor's new life.

Summary

The tale opens with a priest, Father Khristofor Siriysky, and a merchant, Ivan Kuzmichov, traveling across the Steppe to sell some wool. The men are accompanied by Kuzmichov's young nephew, Yegorushka, who is being taken to school in another town. The little boy records the monotonous yet seemingly ever-changing sights and sounds of the Steppe with a child's nonjudgmental eye. A windmill is said to look like "a tiny man waving his arms" while scythes make "[s]wish, swish" sounds as they are wielded in unison. The priest and the merchant discuss the merits of education, particularly their own, and talk about the object of their trip, which is to find the wool-merchant Varlamov. Meanwhile, Yegorushka stares in fascination at the baked landscape surrounding him. He is particularly intrigued by the wiry peasants of the Steppe, such as the woman with "long thin legs like a heron" whom he watches sifting grain. Storm clouds gather and dissipate seemingly without reason, and the protagonist sweats under the merciless sun. Although most of the action centers on events in the natural world, Yegorushka also has a series of adventures with intriguing characters. One, a Jew named Solomon, is contemptuous of sycophants and those who believe that they are superior to others. Another is the beautiful Countess Dranitskaia, looking to find the elusive Varlamov, who thrills Yegorushka by kissing him on the cheek. When the chaise encounters a long wagon train, Yegorushka's uncle hands the boy over to one of the drivers and explains that they will travel the next leg of the journey separately. Yegorushka then spends many days traveling with the wagon band, during which time he gets to know all of the drivers by name and learns all about their characters and life stories. Yegorushka is surprised to discover that every man has "a splendid past and a very poor present." He becomes particularly friendly with an old driver named Pantelei, whose "true" tales are either made up or outrageously embellished. The little boy also meets a delighted Ukrainian named Konstantin—who rejoices in the beauty of his young wife—and a violent and vindictive wagon driver named Dymov. Yegorushka even comes across the wool-merchant Mr. Varlamov, a "short, little grey man in big boots," whom he finds to be rude and condescending. Following these events, Yegorushka is forced to endure a terrible storm in which he catches a fever. By the time he reunites with his uncle at a nearby inn, he is exhausted and delirious. Father Khristofor and Ivan Kuzmichov greet the boy and discuss the large profit they have made from selling the wool. The priest then rubs Yegorushka down with oil and vinegar and puts him to bed. When the protagonist awakes the next day he feels significantly better and is given a lecture about the importance of schooling by the priest. His uncle then takes Yegorushka to stay with a friend of his mother's named Nastasia, leaving the little boy to wonder sorrowfully about his new life. The tale ends simply with the question, "What would that life be like?" Analysis

Steppe was published in 1888, the year Chekhov was awarded the Russian Academy's prestigious Pushkin prize. Sweeping in theme and long in length, it marked a major turning point in the twenty-eight-year-old author's career. Donald Rayfield notes that this tale was Chekhov's "memorial to a wild countryside that was now engulfed … Steppe is literally a masterpiece." Readers see how the author foregrounds his environment within the story and

concentrates on descriptions of the landscape's arid beauty. For instance, his lyrical inventory of "[t]he sun-baked hills, brownish-green and violet in the distance, with their quiet shadowy tones, the plain with the misty distance and, flung above them, the sky" evidences Chekhov's profound engagement with this environment. But the author does not refrain from also conveying the dreariness and "oppressive" heat of the plains. Little ironic flourishes such as, "the disillusioned steppe began to wear its jaded July aspect," tell us much about the landscape's coarseness as well as its more poetic qualities. Thus, Chekhov's hymn to the steppe of his youth—which would later be developed by an army of western industrialists—is in keeping with the awesome majesty of its terrain. Readers both marvel and shudder at its vast scope which, if it does not entirely dwarf the characters, at least trivializes their concerns. Like young Yegorushka, we too tune out to the adult characters' dry sermonizing on education to let our eyes roam the countryside. Our reactions to the steppe's magnificence are further heightened by Chekhov's use of a child protagonist. Yegorushka's descriptions range from the endearingly naïve—he talks about how his grandmother "just slept and slept" in her coffin following her burial—to the unconsciously profound, rendered all the more impressive by their simplicity. We thus read how "[t]he blackness in the sky yawned wide and breathed white fire," while the stillness of night was troubled by a "growl of thunder." The author changes his tone with subtle sleight of hand: at one moment we listen to a small boy discussing peasant fish stew, the next we wonder along with an anonymous narrator at the "sense of loneliness" one feels staring at a night sky strewn with stars. Readers feel the alien power of the steppe through Yegorushka's awed descriptions of terrific storms, endless vistas, and strange, haunting sounds. But there is also silence on the plain, and even the occasional birdcall fails to "stir the stagnation" settling over the parched ground. We thus see how the author interweaves episodes of frenetic activity with silence to hint at the timeless immensity of the land. Even the plethora of supporting characters—the genial and diminutive priest, the refined Countess, and the sadistic wagon driver Dymov—fail to divert our attention for too long away from the landscape. Chekhov, of course, does not intend them to: it almost seems that he downplays plot in order to emphasize setting. Rayfield notes that many story lines—such as Kuzmichov's search for Varlamov, and the Countess's mysterious appearance at the inn—just "peter out," as though such action is secondary to the text's central focus. Ultimately, we see that Chekhov's tale is a testament to the boundless natural world; against the steppe, human lives seem episodic and impermanent.

Important Quotations Explained Kovrin now believed that he was one of God's chosen and a genius; he vividly recalled his conversations with the monk in the past and tried to speak, but the blood flowed from his throat onto his breast, and not knowing what he was doing, he passed his hands over his breast, and his cuffs were soaked with blood…. He called Tania, called to the great orchard with the gorgeous flowers sprinkled with dew, called to the park, the pines with their shaggy roots, the rye fields, his marvelous learning, his youth, courage, joy—called to life, which was so lovely. He could see on the floor near his face a great pool of blood, and was too weak to utter a word, but an unspeakable, infinite happiness flooded his whole being. Below, under the balcony, they were playing the serenade, and the black monk whispered to him that he was a genius, and that he was dying only because his frail human body had lost its balance and could no longer serve as the mortal garb of genius. When Varvara woke up and came out from behind the screen, Kovrin was dead, and a blissful smile had congealed on his face. This passage comes at the end of The Black Monk. It is an example of a Chekovian "surprise ending"—in that it has a definite and shocking climax—and thus contrasts with the "zero" endings that the author uses elsewhere. The passage incorporates some common themes of Chekhov including disease (tuberculosis), mental illness, and man's quest for fulfillment. We see that Kovrin's hallucinations merge with the memories of his childhood, creating a scene that is frenzied yet strangely touching. Although Kovin dies, he does so with a "blissful smile" on his lips, perfectly satisfied with his moment of supreme understanding. Thus, Chekhov presents his protagonist's mental illness with subtle ambivalence, seeing it as a disease that can destroy as well as an "infinite happiness" that can redeem. As always, details are important for Chekhov—he notes that Kovrin's cuffs are soaked with blood, and that the protagonist thinks about "shaggy roots" and the dew "sprinkled" on flowers. Chekhov thus recreates the tangled minutiae of Kovrin's final thoughts, making his death seem more authentic and more moving. The official got into his sledge and was driving away, but turned suddenly and shouted: 'Dmitri!' 'What?' 'You were right this evening: the sturgeon was a bit off!' These words, so ordinary, for some reason moved Gurov to indignation, and struck him as degrading and unclean. What savage manners, what people! What senseless nights, was uninteresting, uneventful days! The rage for playing cards, the gluttony, the drunkenness, the continual talk always about the same thing. Useless pursuits and conversations always about the same things absorb the better part of your time, the better part of your strength, and in the end you are left with a life earthbound and curtailed, just rubbish, and there is no escaping or getting away from it—just as though you were in a madhouse or penal servitude. This quote is taken from one of Chekhov's most famous tales, The Lady with the Dog. Its protagonist, Dmitri Gurov, is fed up with his small-minded existence and cannot forget his

innocent lover Anna. The interchange between Gurov and the official is comic yet insightful, and Chekhov uses it to show readers the shallow concerns of Moscovite society. Gurov describes his situation as though he were imprisoned or incarcerated like a lunatic. This is not unique to The Lady with the Dog: many Chekhovian tales examine the theme of incarceration and entrapment. Whether bound by impoverished circumstances or the dull monotony of their provincial lifestyles, most of Chekhov's protagonists nurture a sense of dissatisfaction with their lives. Somewhere far away a bittern cried, a hollow melancholy sound like a cow shut in a barn. The cry of that mysterious bird was heard every spring, but no one knew what it looked like or where it lived. At the top of the hill by the hospital, in the bushes by the pond, and in the nearby fields the nightingale trilled. The cuckoo kept reckoning someone's years and losing count and beginning again. In the pond the frogs called angrily to one another, straining themselves to bursting, and one could even make out the words: 'That's what you are! That's what you are!' What a noise there was! It seemed as if all these creatures were singing and shouting so that no one might sleep on that spring night, so that all, even the angry frogs, might appreciate and enjoy every minute: you only live once…. Oh, how lonely it was in the open country at night, in the midst of that singing when you cannot sing yourself; in the midst of the incessant cries of joy when you cannot yourself be joyful, when the moon, equally lonely, indifferent whether it is spring or winter, whether men are dead or alive, looks down…. This passage evidences nature's indifference to mankind, which is a common theme in Chekhov's stories. The author's descriptions of frogs calling to one another are humorously anthropomorphic, but they highlight the alienation of the natural from the manmade worlds. This quote reveals Chekhov's fascination with nature's strange noises: he describes the nightingales' "trilling" and other creatures "singing and shouting." Such seemingly inconsequential details imply that life will continue with or without mankind. In particular, the narrator's comment that the moon is "indifferent" to nature's "incessant cries of joy" suggests that while men and women lament and suffer, the natural world continues regardless. It's fashionable to say that a man needs no more than six feet of earth. But six feet are what a corpse needs, not a man. And they say, too, now, that if our intellectual classes are attracted to the land and yearn for a farm, it's a good thing. But these farms are just the same as six feet of earth. To retreat from town, from the struggle, from the bustle of life, to retreat and bury yourself in your farm—it's not life, it's egotism, laziness, it's monasticism of a sort, but monasticism without good works. A man does not need six feet of earth or a farm, but the entire globe, all nature, where he can have room to display all the qualities and peculiarities of his free spirit. This quote is taken from Ivan's diatribe in Gooseberries against the greed of the Russian landowners. We see Chekhov refuting Tolstoy's argument that an individual needs only "six feet of earth" by noting that mankind needs "the entire globe" in which to wander. The author felt that man's liberation depended upon his freedom to roam the earth, connecting with nature and exercising the authority of his free will. However, many of Chekhov's tales show people

oppressed by circumstance and suffering due to the vagaries of fate. One wonders whether the author admires but also recognizes the futility of Ivan's idealism. Loshadin went in and out several times, clearing away the tea things; smacking his lips and sighing, he kept tramping round the table; at last he took his little lamp and went out, and, looking at his long, grey headed, bent figure from behind, Lyzhin thought: 'Just like a magician in an opera.' It was dark. The moon must have been behind the clouds, as the windows and the snow on the window-frames could be seen distinctly. 'Oo-oo-oo-oo!' sang the storm, 'Oo-oo- oo-oo!' 'Ho-o-ly sa-aints!' wailed a woman in the loft, or it sounded like it. 'Ho-o-ly sa-aints!' 'Boo-oof!' something outside banged against the wall. 'Trac!' The examining magistrate listened: there was no woman up there, it was the wind howling. This quote is from the tale On Official Duty, and it evidences Chekhov's fascination with the trivialities of people's lives. The constable Loshadin, a stooped old man who suffers under his responsibility to the state, is both comic and pathetic. Although initially dismissive of the provincial peasants, the haughty magistrate seems affected by their superstitions: he is disturbed by strange noises during the night, which he thinks might be a woman in the loft. Although readers may laugh at the almost comic strip sound effects such as "Ho- o-ly sa-aints!" and "Boo-of!", Chekhov uses them to make a serious point. Ultimately, we cannot ignore the sense that the magistrate is troubled by the world around him and by the discontentment of those less fortunate than himself.

Key Facts full titles · Agafya; The Black Monk; The Darling; The Grasshopper; Gooseberries; In the Ravine; Lady with the Dog; My Life (The Story of a Provincial); On Official Duty (On Official Business); The Night Before Easter (On Easter Eve); Steppe; and Ward No. six author · Anton Chekhov type of work · Fiction genre · Short story language · Russian (first translated into English in 1903); makes use of regional dialects and class accents time and place written · Between 1886 and 1901 in Moscow and Yalta, Russia, date of first publication · Stories published in various journals and periodicals from 1886 onward; first published in English in 1903 publisher · Literary journals such as the "New Times" narrators · Mostly third-person narration, but Chekhov occasionally uses self-referential narration (e.g. in Agafya, The Night Before Easter, and Ward No. six) climaxes · There are dramatic climaxes in Chekhov's stories, but the author tends to focus on the minor details and commonalities of people's lives. Mostly these climaxes involve moments when characters question their own morality, and they occur toward the middle of tales. For example, Olga in The Grasshopper and Dr. Ragin in Ward No. six both experience moments of revelation when they realize that they have deluded themselves about the way things really are. Sometimes climaxes occur at the end of stories—as in The Black Monk, where Kovrin hallucinates while hemorrhaging to death—but this happens less often than you would expect. For the most part, Chekhov plays on our expectations and leaves us guessing about how things will work out—obvious examples being The Lady with the Dog, The Darling, and Steppe. protagonists · Chekhov's protagonists traverse the social spectrum of Russian society: they can be young or old, male or female, sane or insane, landowners or peasants. He uses a depressive physician in Ward No. six (Dr. Rabin); an artistic lunatic in The Black Monk (Kovrin); and a homesick nine year-old in Steppe (Yegorushka). To contrast, there is a social outcast in My Life (Misail); a miserly, conceited landowner in In the Ravine (Grigori Tsybukin); a man who protests against conceited landowners in Gooseberries (Ivan); and a dissatisfied young bureaucrat in On Official Duty (Lyzhin). Chekhov's female characters are just as diverse: he uses a foolish but affectionate widow in The Darling (Olga); a disaffected young wife in Lady with the Dog; and a social butterfly in The Grasshopper (Olga). There are also two anonymous narrators, both of whom seem to be members of the gentry, in Agafya and The Night Before Easter.

setting (time) · Late 19th century Imperial Russia setting (place) · Set mostly in anonymous provincial towns and the Russian countryside points of view · The author rarely adopts an authorial voice and prefers to switch between the perspectives of his characters, which can be flighty, serious, depressed, manic or innocently childlike falling action · Often, the tales end anti-climactically or Chekhov leaves us to guess what will happen next. The Lady with the Dog and Steppe conclude suddenly, forcing readers to imagine what the likely outcome to events will be tense · Immediate past, although the present tense is briefly used in the opening to Ward No. six tone · Chekhov mixes pathos with humor to evoke an ironic yet sensitive authorial tone. themes · Death and disease; disillusionment and failed ideals; the breakdown of aristocratic society motifs · Communication and non-communication; the natural world symbols · The night sky; food and drink foreshadowing · There is some use of foreshadowing in Chekhov's tales, although readers are mostly given clues to guess at what might happen next. However, some examples include Dr. Ragin's conversations with Gromov in Ward No. six, which foreshadow the doctor's later incarceration in the asylum, and Kovrin's visions of "the black monk," which prefigure his final descent into lunacy.

Study Questions and Essay Topics How does Chekhov use the natural world within his tales? Chekhov's tales are episodic and impressionistic rather than plot-driven. The natural world thus forms a changing backdrop to ordinary lives, which tend to remain the same from day to day. While the characters follow a monotonous daily existence, nature blossoms or undergoes violent transformations. In particular, Chekhov focuses on the details of nature. He delights in describing a snowstorm that is like an "orgy," the flashing hues of a sea lit by moonlight and the ceaseless murmuring of birds and insects. These features represent the true dramatic focus of Chekhov's tales. In contrast to nature, the concerns of mankind seem insignificant, while men and women themselves appear highly vulnerable. The author also focuses on his characters' relationship to the natural world across all levels of society. On a basic level, we see that the peasants are closer to nature than either the aristocrats or intelligentsia. Lipa in In the Ravine is much happier toiling in the fields than cloistered in the Tsybukin mansion, while others—such as the peasants in My Life—simply have no other option but to work the land. In contrast, Chekhov's upper-class characters take more of an aesthetic interest in nature: Anna and Gurov in The Lady with the Dog admire the majestic beauty of the sea at Yalta, while young Yegorushka marvels at the arid landscape of the plains i n Steppe. But not every character appreciates such scenic appeal. Ivan's brother in Gooseberries wants to buy an estate and grow fruit to showcase his prosperity. The author suggests that for many nobles, land is firmly equated with wealth, prestige, and aristocratic status. Chekhov thus looks at nature in two ways: he both examines the importance of the natural world to a feudal society and looks at its symbolic relationship to mankind. Chekhov was an educated professional whose grandfather was a serf. For what stylistic purpose does the author cross class boundaries within his tales and assume the perspectives of characters from different walks of life? Chekhov's style is resolutely objective, and it is difficult to identify an authorial tone within any of his works. Instead, the author shifts viewpoints easily and lets the stories unfold from his protagonists' perspectives. Tales such as Ward No.6 and In the Ravine show the author shifting between characters, as though he is watching the action unfold through different pairs of eyes. Thus, Ward No. six is told from the perspective of a reclusive doctor and a militant lunatic, while Chekhov switches between the viewpoint of a simple peasant girl and an avaricious landowner in In the Ravine. By this means, the author complicates our responses and makes his characters seem more realistic. By abandoning an authorial tone, Chekhov refrains from making a moral judgment and forces his readers to assess the characters for themselves. How does Chekhov treat romance in his tales? Why are all the characters' relationships seemingly doomed to failure? Generally, Chekhov's protagonists have relationships that peter out or end badly. There are numerous examples: Kovrin and Tania's marriage collapses in The Black Monk just as Misail and Masha divorce in My Life; Olga loses two husbands and one lover in The Darling, while

Osip's death leaves his wife a young widow The Grasshopper. Even Agafya's fling with Savka ends in complication and embarrassment. It says a lot for the harsh reality of Chekhov's tales that the only successful romance—the relationship between Anna and Gurov in The Lady with the Dog—ends on a note of uncertainty, when the characters acknowledge that their love will most likely bring them pain and disconsolation. The question remains as to why there are so few lasting relationships in these stories. Frequently, Chekhov's protagonists sacrifice love in the name of personal ambition—as we see in My Life and The Grasshopper. The author suggests that his characters are self-obsessed and do not realize when they forfeit something of value in their lives. Indirectly, therefore, Chekhov underscores the importance of open communication and selflessness within society. Unfortunately, in the closed and hierarchical culture of Imperial Russia, we see that openness and selflessness are rare virtues. Suggested Essay Topics What different roles do Chekhov's female characters play—are they primarily a background feature or a strong presence within his tales? How does the author use women to question gender relationships within society? Is it fair to say that Chekhov's older characters are either repositories of cultural wisdom or doddery fools who cling to an outdated social order? How does the author refute or uphold preconceptions about the role of the elderly within society? It has been said that Chekhov avoids adopting a strongly moral or even obvious authorial tone. How does the author's use of third-person narration and his ambivalent treatment of his characters suggest his impartiality? Chekhov's stories are comic and tragic, seemingly light-hearted yet also deeply profound. Does humor distract us from the characters' suffering or make their experiences seem more real?

Quiz What task does Osip fulfill at his wife's dinner parties in The Grasshopper? (A) He enthralls the guests with tales of advancements in medical science. (B) He cooks the meal. (C) He announces dinner by banging on a gong. (D) He joins in the discussions about art, drama and music. What river does Olga visit with her artist-lover Ryabovsky? (A) The Volga (B) The Danube (C) The Thames (D) The Seine What are the professions of the "darling's" two husbands? (A) A landowner and a priest (B) A theater-owner and a timber-merchant (C) A wool-merchant and a veterinary surgeon (D) An army doctor and a shopkeeper In what way does Olga embarrasses her lover, the veterinary surgeon Smirnin, in The Darling? (A) By kissing him in front of their guests (B) By parroting his ideas about disease that afflict livestock (C) By discussing her passion for the theater (D) By announcing her regret at not being a mother Why does Dr. Rabin cease to take an interest in his patients in Ward No. six? (A) He hopes that his indifference will get him fired and that he will receive a large pension. (B) Gromov convinces him that the lunatics are beyond help. (C) His friend Mikhail tells him not to bother. (D) He thinks that everyone should accept the necessity of suffering. What does Rabin feel after he has been tricked into entering the hospital asylum in Ward No. six? (A) He is happy that he can spend all day talking to Gromov. (B) He is worried that the other inmates will kill him. (C) He is unhappy and recognizes that he was wrong about the reality of suffering. (D) He feels optimistic that he will soon recover. Why does Savka leave his lover and the narrator alone together in Agafya?

(A) He runs off to catch a nightingale. (B) He decides to go fishing. (C) He thinks Agafya's husband is coming after him. (D) He thinks the narrator has a crush on Agafya. What is the purpose of Kuzmichov's journey in Steppe, aside from taking his nephew Yegorushka to school? (A) To see the beautiful landscape of the Steppe (B) To talk to the priest without interruptions (C) To sell wool to the merchant Varlamov (D) To meet the beautiful Countess Dranitskaia What is Yegorushka's reaction on meeting Varlamov in Steppe? (A) He is impressed by the wool-merchant's large size and personable attitude. (B) He is intrigued by his small stature and attitude of self-importance. (C) He detests him for his high-handed treatment of the peasants. (D) He is upset that Varlmov ignores him. How does Yegorushka feel at the conclusion of his journey when he is left to stay at the house of his mother's friend? (A) He is happy and excited. (B) He is concerned about his mother at home. (C) He is resentful that his uncle dropped him off without saying a proper goodbye. (D) He is worried about what will happen to him in the future. In what way does Misail alienate his father in My Life? (A) He quits his job as a clerk and becomes a laborer. (B) He marries a peasant girl. (C) He falls into heavy debt through gambling. (D) He calls his father a hypocrite. Why is Masha drawn to Stephan in My Life? (A) He often pays her compliments. (B) He helps her set up a local school. (C) He frequently abuses the peasants. (D) He is a social outcast like her husband. What significance does the gooseberry fruit have in the story Gooseberries? (A) It is what the landowner Aliokhin gives his guests to eat. (B) The fruit symbolizes the peasants' suffering. (C) The fruit symbolizes a simple life lived close to nature. (D) Ivan explains how his brother became a landowner and grew gooseberries on his estate.

Who or what does Ivan wish stood behind the door of "every happy, contented man" in Gooseberries? (A) A nagging wife (B) A man with a hammer (C) An unhappy peasant (D) A psychopath with a pickax Why is Jerome the ferryman unhappy in The Night before Easter? (A) He hates rowing people across the river. (B) He is dying of tuberculosis. (C) He is in mourning for his friend Deacon Nicolas. (D) He is afraid of the dark. What does Jerome insist Deacon Nicolas was particularly good at? (A) Giving advice (B) Listening to his friends' problems (C) Ferrying people across the river (D) Writing songs for saints Who or what does "the black monk" say Kovrin is? (A) A raving lunatic (B) A mediocre professor with a tendency to hallucinate (C) A genius and one of God's elect (D) A faithless landowner Why does Kovrin and Tania's marriage collapse in The Black Monk? (A) Tania falls in love with someone else. (B) Kovrin becomes embittered and cruel after his treatment for mental illness. (C) Kovrin has an affair. (D) Tania cannot cope with her husband's sickening from tuberculosis. Why does the constable Loshadin say that he is willing to suffer in order to fulfill his office On Official Duty? (A) Because no one else will do his job (B) Because the landowners tip him well (C) Because he meets many interesting people (D) Because it is his duty Why is the inquest postponed for two days in On Official Duty? (A) Dr. Starchenko commits suicide. (B) The corpse disappears.

(C) A snowstorm hits the town. (D) Lyzhin has a nervous breakdown. How does Lipa's baby Nikifor die in In the Ravine? (A) Aksinia scalds him with boiling water. (B) Grigori strangles him. (C) He starves after Lipa forgets to feed him. (D) His father throws him out of the window. How does Chekhov describe Aksinia's smile in In the Ravine? (A) "cunning" (B) "wry" (C) "naïve" (D) "dim-witted" What does Grigori do when beggars ask him for money? (A) He throws them some coins. (B) He gives them some home-brewed vodka. (C) He rides off in his carriage and shouts "God will provide!" (D) He beats them with his stick. Who does Gurov think Anna resembles in The Lady with the Dog? (A) His daughter (B) His wife (C) A famous Russian actress (D) The Empress How does The Lady with the Dog end? (A) Gurov commits suicide. (B) Anna dies of tuberculosis. (C) Anna and Gurov leave their spouses and live happily-ever-after in Yalta. (D) Anna and Gurov confess their love to each other and look to the future with hope and uncertainty.

Suggestions for Further Reading Chekhov, Anton, The Chekhov Omnibus: Selected Stories, trans. Constance Garnett, ed. Donald Rayfield, Paperback, Charles E. Tuttle Co., 1994 Chekhov, Anton, Stories, trans. Richard Pevear, trans. Larissa Volokhonsky, Bantam Books, 2000 Chekhov, Anton, Anton Chekhov's Short Stories: Texts of the Stories, Backgrounds, Criticism, ed. Ralph E. Matlaw, Norton, W. W. and Co., 1979 Chekhov, Anton, Lady with Lapdog and Other Stories, trans. David Margarshack, The Penguin Group, 1964 Rayfield, Donald, Chekhov: A Life, HarperCollins, 1997 Nebraska Center for Writers: What the www.mockingbird.creighton.edu/NCW/chekcrit.htm

critics

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MLA “Their conversation is awkward, especially when she mentions Wickham, a subject Darcy clearly wishes to avoid” (SparkNotes Editors). APA “Their conversation is awkward, especially when she mentions Wickham, a subject Darcy clearly wishes to avoid” (SparkNotes Editors, n.d.). Footnote

The Chicago Manual of Style Chicago requires the use of footnotes, rather than parenthetical citations, in conjunction with a list of works cited when dealing with literature. 1 SparkNotes Editors. “SparkNote on Chekhov Stories.” SparkNotes http://www.sparknotes.com/lit/chekhov/ (accessed August 1, 2013).

LLC.

n.d..

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