Betrothed
I have seen similar stories in my Chekhov journey. At least the theme seems the same.
Someone is stuck in a provincial town and feels trapped. They long to escape. To live. In many other stories they can't get out. Here Nadya, becomes the runaway bride and is able to break free.
Nadya is betrothed to Andrey Andreitch who doesn't do much of anything except play the fiddle. She lives with her grandmother and mother. Her mother, Nina Ivanovna who didn't love her husband is now dependent on her mother-in-law.
Nadya has only one voice of clarity when she realizes she doesn't love her fiancé. Sasha, who the grandmother helped pay for his studies in art and stays with the family for several weeks in the summer, encourages Nadya to turn her "life upside down."
Looking at the life she will live if she stays -- it all seems oppressive to Nadya. Barren -- meaningless -- she desperately doesn't want to become like her mom -- dependent -- not doing anything with her life -- and she finally decides to break all conventions and leave.
A difficult decision for a young woman. It just wasn't done. Her reputation in the town and the family honor would be ruined. But she feels she has no alternative. Selfish? Yes. But so what? When you are drowning you have to grab any lifeline that is offered.
The question that is not answered is who would pay for her studies in Petersburg. Her room and board? Sometimes you have the desire and you're willing to go but you just don't have the means.
I imagine once she got to Petersburg she wrote home and they agreed to send her money. What if the grandmother refused to wire her the funds? Instead of studying at a university she may have had to become some rich man's mistress or worse. Like I said -- not an easy decision.
This story was most likely controversial in its time. Young women were not expected to leave their fiancés behind and go off on their own to study. Let's be honest -- this story is still quite controversial in many parts of the world even today -- where women are expected just to serve their husbands and their personal happiness is never considered.
Chekhov eloquently makes the argument for people to break free from tired traditions and not to feel encumbered by their surroundings and the expectation of others.
You only have one life to live so live it on your own terms -- it is the only way to be free and happy. It's never painless to do that -- there's many obstacles to overcome and family you may have to disappoint and most people take the easy road only to feel stifled and unhappy for much of their life.
Self-empowerment. Modern in Chekhov's day and still vital today and always.
The Goal: Read. Reflect. Respond. Over two hundred Chekhov stories. Constance Garnett translations.
Sunday, November 27, 2011
Saturday, November 26, 2011
THE EXAMINING MAGISTRATE
The Examining Magistrate
As Al Gore knows very well, truth is inconvenient. Therefore, you believe what is convenient. What is convenient for the examining magistrate is to believe in the paranormal.
There are things out there beyond our comprehension. Forces out of our control.
Not so fast, says the district doctor. "There's no effect without a cause."
What proceeds is an argument between faith and reason. Rationality versus superstition.
No matter how hard the examining magistrate tries to convince the doctor a woman in prime health had a premonition she would die right after delivering her baby -- the doctor doesn't buy it. There has to be a logical answer.
A lot is at stake for the examining magistrate -- and when the doctor starts to ask some pertinent questions -- the mystery begins to unravel. Unfortunately for the examining magistrate his life is now poisoned by the truth just as the life of his own wife -- the woman with the premonition -- became poisoned when she found out he was cheating on her.
The truth is a powerful drug and very few have the stomach for it. Most of the time we prefer palliatives -- to keep us going painlessly into oblivion.
The examining magistrate might have been better off not bringing up the subject with the doctor -- yet somehow one would think there was something bothering him -- his own guilt -- or a deep-seated need for clarity.
We all make friends with lies in one fashion or another -- we have to -- who really wants to see the unblemished truth? That would force us not only to look at the world around us differently but more importantly to truly see ourselves in the mirror. Uggh!
What we discover in this story is truth can set you free but it can also kill you.
As Al Gore knows very well, truth is inconvenient. Therefore, you believe what is convenient. What is convenient for the examining magistrate is to believe in the paranormal.
There are things out there beyond our comprehension. Forces out of our control.
Not so fast, says the district doctor. "There's no effect without a cause."
What proceeds is an argument between faith and reason. Rationality versus superstition.
No matter how hard the examining magistrate tries to convince the doctor a woman in prime health had a premonition she would die right after delivering her baby -- the doctor doesn't buy it. There has to be a logical answer.
A lot is at stake for the examining magistrate -- and when the doctor starts to ask some pertinent questions -- the mystery begins to unravel. Unfortunately for the examining magistrate his life is now poisoned by the truth just as the life of his own wife -- the woman with the premonition -- became poisoned when she found out he was cheating on her.
The truth is a powerful drug and very few have the stomach for it. Most of the time we prefer palliatives -- to keep us going painlessly into oblivion.
The examining magistrate might have been better off not bringing up the subject with the doctor -- yet somehow one would think there was something bothering him -- his own guilt -- or a deep-seated need for clarity.
We all make friends with lies in one fashion or another -- we have to -- who really wants to see the unblemished truth? That would force us not only to look at the world around us differently but more importantly to truly see ourselves in the mirror. Uggh!
What we discover in this story is truth can set you free but it can also kill you.
Friday, November 25, 2011
ENEMIES
Enemies
I sit in front of my computer in silence. Just as Chekhov writes: " . . . dumbness is most often the highest expression of happiness or unhappiness." And I am very unhappy. Jealous. How can one man write with such power while the rest of us struggle to make even one sentence barely legible?
From beginning to end this story is flawlessly constructed. There is so much going on. First he has to capture the doctor's mood after just seeing his only son die. That alone is like climbing Mount Everest -- then he describes the eerie stillness of the room and his helpless wife clutching her dead son -- the image of the mother completely wiped out -- beyond grief -- is sublime.
He trumps what he writes: ". . . almost elusive beauty of human sorrow which men will not for a long time learn to understand and describe, and which seems only music can convey." Well, then Chekhov is Beethoven. His words brings to life the atmosphere of the room. The scene of the wife and child brings to mind the mother holding her dead child in Picasso's masterpiece Guernica.
And we're just getting started. In comes Abogin. Now we have a moral dilemma. The doctor's child has died five minutes ago and Abogin is pleading with him to come and save his wife. At first, one thinks Abogin is completely inappropriate -- but we begin to sympathize with him -- he is desperately trying to save his young wife whom he dearly loves.
Both of their arguments make sense -- the doctor is not capable of anything right now -- he's numb -- but Abogin can't give up -- his only hope to save his wife is to get the doctor to come with him.
Finally, the doctor relents. What convinces him is not big speeches but practicality. Abogin can get him there and back in an hour. Chekhov is brilliantly conveying the psychology involved in the competing crises. This is a duel loaded with moral and spiritual weight -- but Chekhov doesn't lose sight of what makes humans tick.
During the carriage ride to Abogin's home -- Chekhov juggles between the imagery of the surrounding landscape which is rendered with the brushstrokes of a Cézanne and the mindset of two people at the razor's edge. I'm tired already. But Chekhov is just gearing up.
In the home we get a fine description of the ugliness of the doctor and the elegance of Abogin. And now comes the twist. Abogin's wife is not dead. She is not even sick. It was all a ruse to escape with her lover. Abogin's whole life has been shattered. This is worse news to him than his wife having an aneurysm. This is about him. His life. All he has done and all he has given to his wife has been for nothing. He has been kicked in the gut. He forgets all about the doctor's suffering. He can only think about his pain. Selfish. Without a doubt. But here is Chekhov guiding us through this: "The unhappy are egoistic, spiteful, unjust, cruel, and less capable of understanding each other than fools."
So we witness two of the most unhappy people on the planet go at each other. Each feeling his unhappiness is more worthy than the other. Reminds me of the Israeli-Palestinian conflict. Each side lashing out their you-can't-beat-my-tragedy at each other.
You can decide to take a side in this conflict. You can say the doctor has the moral high ground. His son has just died -- he was decent enough to go with Abogin and now is being subjected needlessly to Abogin's marital woes -- or you can feel for Abogin who was desperately trying to save his wife only to find out it was all a ruse and now he has lost his senses -- and the doctor should not take it personally but simply ask Abogin to please get the carriage so he can go home.
In this case, is there a right and a wrong? Does morality play a role here? Both are justifiably unhappy and angry -- does one tragedy beat another?
Enemies. At some point there is a divide -- and because of circumstance or history -- does the ability to reach out and forgive become impossible?
I sit in front of my computer in silence. Just as Chekhov writes: " . . . dumbness is most often the highest expression of happiness or unhappiness." And I am very unhappy. Jealous. How can one man write with such power while the rest of us struggle to make even one sentence barely legible?
From beginning to end this story is flawlessly constructed. There is so much going on. First he has to capture the doctor's mood after just seeing his only son die. That alone is like climbing Mount Everest -- then he describes the eerie stillness of the room and his helpless wife clutching her dead son -- the image of the mother completely wiped out -- beyond grief -- is sublime.
He trumps what he writes: ". . . almost elusive beauty of human sorrow which men will not for a long time learn to understand and describe, and which seems only music can convey." Well, then Chekhov is Beethoven. His words brings to life the atmosphere of the room. The scene of the wife and child brings to mind the mother holding her dead child in Picasso's masterpiece Guernica.
And we're just getting started. In comes Abogin. Now we have a moral dilemma. The doctor's child has died five minutes ago and Abogin is pleading with him to come and save his wife. At first, one thinks Abogin is completely inappropriate -- but we begin to sympathize with him -- he is desperately trying to save his young wife whom he dearly loves.
Both of their arguments make sense -- the doctor is not capable of anything right now -- he's numb -- but Abogin can't give up -- his only hope to save his wife is to get the doctor to come with him.
Finally, the doctor relents. What convinces him is not big speeches but practicality. Abogin can get him there and back in an hour. Chekhov is brilliantly conveying the psychology involved in the competing crises. This is a duel loaded with moral and spiritual weight -- but Chekhov doesn't lose sight of what makes humans tick.
During the carriage ride to Abogin's home -- Chekhov juggles between the imagery of the surrounding landscape which is rendered with the brushstrokes of a Cézanne and the mindset of two people at the razor's edge. I'm tired already. But Chekhov is just gearing up.
In the home we get a fine description of the ugliness of the doctor and the elegance of Abogin. And now comes the twist. Abogin's wife is not dead. She is not even sick. It was all a ruse to escape with her lover. Abogin's whole life has been shattered. This is worse news to him than his wife having an aneurysm. This is about him. His life. All he has done and all he has given to his wife has been for nothing. He has been kicked in the gut. He forgets all about the doctor's suffering. He can only think about his pain. Selfish. Without a doubt. But here is Chekhov guiding us through this: "The unhappy are egoistic, spiteful, unjust, cruel, and less capable of understanding each other than fools."
So we witness two of the most unhappy people on the planet go at each other. Each feeling his unhappiness is more worthy than the other. Reminds me of the Israeli-Palestinian conflict. Each side lashing out their you-can't-beat-my-tragedy at each other.
You can decide to take a side in this conflict. You can say the doctor has the moral high ground. His son has just died -- he was decent enough to go with Abogin and now is being subjected needlessly to Abogin's marital woes -- or you can feel for Abogin who was desperately trying to save his wife only to find out it was all a ruse and now he has lost his senses -- and the doctor should not take it personally but simply ask Abogin to please get the carriage so he can go home.
In this case, is there a right and a wrong? Does morality play a role here? Both are justifiably unhappy and angry -- does one tragedy beat another?
Enemies. At some point there is a divide -- and because of circumstance or history -- does the ability to reach out and forgive become impossible?
Thursday, November 24, 2011
THE SCHOOLMASTER
The Schoolmaster
The schoolmaster is dying. But he's in denial. The story is seen mostly through the schoolmaster's point of view. He keeps hearing people tell him he is ill and he doesn't understand it. He's convinced himself he was ill and now he's recovered but still weak.
Denial is very strong and people hear and think only what they choose to. The story illustrates this point to an extreme. But we have denial all around us. From failed politicians to aging athletes.
One of my favorite examples of denial occurred in a comedy club. The comedian told the most lame jokes I'd ever heard. I vaguely remember one of them being about Elizabeth Taylor. Nobody laughed. He bombed. I was sitting near the exit of the stage when the comedian came off the stage and all he did was complain about the crowd. It's wasn't his pathetic attempt at humor that was the problem but the thickness of the crowd. We all do denial in one form of another.
The schoolmaster looks in the mirror and doesn't see himself with sunken cheeks and dark circles under his eyes and when he is finally confronted with the truth at the party he becomes despondent for a while but then he convinces himself he is not seriously ill.
Elisabeth Kübler-Ross in her book, On Death and Dying, describes the five stages of dying. They start with denial, then anger, then bargaining, depression and finally acceptance. The schoolmaster needs to work fast to get through these stages because the doctors think he's only got a week left to live.
The schoolmaster is dying. But he's in denial. The story is seen mostly through the schoolmaster's point of view. He keeps hearing people tell him he is ill and he doesn't understand it. He's convinced himself he was ill and now he's recovered but still weak.
Denial is very strong and people hear and think only what they choose to. The story illustrates this point to an extreme. But we have denial all around us. From failed politicians to aging athletes.
One of my favorite examples of denial occurred in a comedy club. The comedian told the most lame jokes I'd ever heard. I vaguely remember one of them being about Elizabeth Taylor. Nobody laughed. He bombed. I was sitting near the exit of the stage when the comedian came off the stage and all he did was complain about the crowd. It's wasn't his pathetic attempt at humor that was the problem but the thickness of the crowd. We all do denial in one form of another.
The schoolmaster looks in the mirror and doesn't see himself with sunken cheeks and dark circles under his eyes and when he is finally confronted with the truth at the party he becomes despondent for a while but then he convinces himself he is not seriously ill.
Elisabeth Kübler-Ross in her book, On Death and Dying, describes the five stages of dying. They start with denial, then anger, then bargaining, depression and finally acceptance. The schoolmaster needs to work fast to get through these stages because the doctors think he's only got a week left to live.
AN ACTOR'S END
An Actor's End
Did he die from an overdose of castor oil?
I know. Something snapped in Shtchiptsov the actor's chest. So we must presume it's a heart condition. Literally or figuratively. Maybe his heart just gave out. Or what snapped in his chest during the argument with the manager was a realization his life was a waste. He had no wife. No children. And all that acting to entertain audiences -- but to what end?
At some point in life you may have a realization, a satori, where one sees clearly what life is all about. During those moments you could very well decide that most of what you've done has not amounted to much. This is especially true if you are an artist -- where sacrifice is to be expected.
Acting in Chekhov's day (and nothing has changed much) -- unless you were famous -- is a profession where you would be struggling financially -- what kept you going was the love for the craft -- however even love has its limits. And the old man Shtchiptsov might have reached his limit.
He has a chance to reminisce with his fellow thespians about his adventures and through these memories we see the glory and hollowness of his life.
There must have been times when Shtchiptsov must've felt he was on top of the world -- strong, powerful and admired. He had given up the warmth of family and home. The comfort of routines and an ordinary job -- the laugh of his children -- the feeling of belonging to a community. However, he was traveling around -- doing something he loved -- meeting different people -- being part of a troupe -- every night a chance to be up on the stage and become transformed -- energized by the magic of theater. Was it a fair trade?
Yes and no. Many nights he probably experienced the wariness of the road -- the emptiness of coming back to a strange room and being all alone. Tired. Unloved. Only a bottle of booze by his side.
The old man has seen it all. He now wants to go to Vyazma. To die there. But as Thomas Wolfe once wrote: You can't go home again.
Shtchiptsov may have felt like a failure in his last days and never got to go back home -- but how can one sum up his life?
Well let us leave the final words to Thomas Wolfe:
"If a man has talent and can't use it, he's failed. If he uses only half of it, he has partly failed. If he uses the whole of it, he has succeeded, and won a satisfaction and triumph few men ever know."
Did he die from an overdose of castor oil?
I know. Something snapped in Shtchiptsov the actor's chest. So we must presume it's a heart condition. Literally or figuratively. Maybe his heart just gave out. Or what snapped in his chest during the argument with the manager was a realization his life was a waste. He had no wife. No children. And all that acting to entertain audiences -- but to what end?
At some point in life you may have a realization, a satori, where one sees clearly what life is all about. During those moments you could very well decide that most of what you've done has not amounted to much. This is especially true if you are an artist -- where sacrifice is to be expected.
Acting in Chekhov's day (and nothing has changed much) -- unless you were famous -- is a profession where you would be struggling financially -- what kept you going was the love for the craft -- however even love has its limits. And the old man Shtchiptsov might have reached his limit.
He has a chance to reminisce with his fellow thespians about his adventures and through these memories we see the glory and hollowness of his life.
There must have been times when Shtchiptsov must've felt he was on top of the world -- strong, powerful and admired. He had given up the warmth of family and home. The comfort of routines and an ordinary job -- the laugh of his children -- the feeling of belonging to a community. However, he was traveling around -- doing something he loved -- meeting different people -- being part of a troupe -- every night a chance to be up on the stage and become transformed -- energized by the magic of theater. Was it a fair trade?
Yes and no. Many nights he probably experienced the wariness of the road -- the emptiness of coming back to a strange room and being all alone. Tired. Unloved. Only a bottle of booze by his side.
The old man has seen it all. He now wants to go to Vyazma. To die there. But as Thomas Wolfe once wrote: You can't go home again.
Shtchiptsov may have felt like a failure in his last days and never got to go back home -- but how can one sum up his life?
Well let us leave the final words to Thomas Wolfe:
"If a man has talent and can't use it, he's failed. If he uses only half of it, he has partly failed. If he uses the whole of it, he has succeeded, and won a satisfaction and triumph few men ever know."
Sunday, November 20, 2011
A TROUBLESOME VISITOR
A Troublesome Visitor
A storm is coming. It is night. Two men. A dark ikon.
One of the men is Artyom, a forester. He talks about the evil of man. How some come to his hut and demand bread and rob him. All his thoughts are about how man is wicked.
The other man is a hunter. He speaks the truth (and that is always troublesome). Casually pointing out how Artyom is not feeding his cat properly.
More than speaking the truth -- he puts his money where his mouth is. When there is a scream coming from the forest for help -- Artyom wants to bolt the door and put off the light.
The hunter says they have to go and try to help -- Artyom thinks he's crazy and won't hear of it.
The hunter lashes in to him and tells him it's his duty to help. Artyom refuses to go out. The hunter leaves with his dog and Artyom bolts the door.
The hunter comes back a short time later and tells him it was a peasant woman who had lost her way -- but the hunter is troubled. Artyom passes himself of as a man of God -- railing against evil -- while the hunter sees that the forester is a mean, selfish hypocrite. The hunter wants to get back at Artyom and tries to rob him. But when he sees how pathetic Artyom is -- how scared -- how miserable -- he just wants to get out of there. And he does.
Hypocrites are all around us. Shouting out against the evils of the world -- when all they have to do is look in the mirror. Take one recent example -- Newt Gingrich -- who was running for president. In his campaign Gingrich had been lambasting Freddie Mac and Fannie Mae and blaming these government-sponsored mortgage companies for the problems affecting housing. Until we discovered that good ole Newt profited nearly two million dollars by acting as a consultant for these very same companies.
Hypocrisy is nothing new and will always be around. I suppose as Chekhov points out in this story -- the best solution is calling out the hypocrite and then staying as far away from them as possible.
A storm is coming. It is night. Two men. A dark ikon.
One of the men is Artyom, a forester. He talks about the evil of man. How some come to his hut and demand bread and rob him. All his thoughts are about how man is wicked.
The other man is a hunter. He speaks the truth (and that is always troublesome). Casually pointing out how Artyom is not feeding his cat properly.
More than speaking the truth -- he puts his money where his mouth is. When there is a scream coming from the forest for help -- Artyom wants to bolt the door and put off the light.
The hunter says they have to go and try to help -- Artyom thinks he's crazy and won't hear of it.
The hunter lashes in to him and tells him it's his duty to help. Artyom refuses to go out. The hunter leaves with his dog and Artyom bolts the door.
The hunter comes back a short time later and tells him it was a peasant woman who had lost her way -- but the hunter is troubled. Artyom passes himself of as a man of God -- railing against evil -- while the hunter sees that the forester is a mean, selfish hypocrite. The hunter wants to get back at Artyom and tries to rob him. But when he sees how pathetic Artyom is -- how scared -- how miserable -- he just wants to get out of there. And he does.
Hypocrites are all around us. Shouting out against the evils of the world -- when all they have to do is look in the mirror. Take one recent example -- Newt Gingrich -- who was running for president. In his campaign Gingrich had been lambasting Freddie Mac and Fannie Mae and blaming these government-sponsored mortgage companies for the problems affecting housing. Until we discovered that good ole Newt profited nearly two million dollars by acting as a consultant for these very same companies.
Hypocrisy is nothing new and will always be around. I suppose as Chekhov points out in this story -- the best solution is calling out the hypocrite and then staying as far away from them as possible.
Saturday, November 19, 2011
A HAPPY MAN
A Happy Man
You get on the wrong train. A train accident. Anything can happen at anytime to put an end to your happiness. Or as an obscure playwright once wrote: Things happen quickly and with force and we are all too slow and too weak to do anything about it.
Poor bridegroom. Ivan Alexyevitch has landed in a Chekhov story where he will be a pawn to illustrate the fickleness of fate. Too bad. He seems to be having such a fine time. It truly is rare to see such unabashed happiness and we'd like to see it last.
So what do we do when we're in the same train or boat as Ivan Alexyevitch? Do we revel in our happiness and enjoy it while it lasts or do we wait for the other shoe to drop?
The story makes Ivan Alexyevitch look rather foolish for putting too much faith in happiness. But his ebullience is so damn contagious we become infected. We all need to find a few moments in life where we simply bask in happy feelings and embrace the world.
The bad and unhappiness will show up soon enough -- but as Rick tells Elsa in the classic Casablanca:"We'll always have Paris."
We need those moments of unrepentant bliss to couch us a bit from the incoming blows which fate sooner or later has in store for us.
So hurry Ivan Alexyevitch and get on that express train to Petersburg. Godspeed!
And for those who believe truth is stranger than fiction click on the attached link to check out this story of a very happy bridegroom indeed.
You get on the wrong train. A train accident. Anything can happen at anytime to put an end to your happiness. Or as an obscure playwright once wrote: Things happen quickly and with force and we are all too slow and too weak to do anything about it.
Poor bridegroom. Ivan Alexyevitch has landed in a Chekhov story where he will be a pawn to illustrate the fickleness of fate. Too bad. He seems to be having such a fine time. It truly is rare to see such unabashed happiness and we'd like to see it last.
So what do we do when we're in the same train or boat as Ivan Alexyevitch? Do we revel in our happiness and enjoy it while it lasts or do we wait for the other shoe to drop?
The story makes Ivan Alexyevitch look rather foolish for putting too much faith in happiness. But his ebullience is so damn contagious we become infected. We all need to find a few moments in life where we simply bask in happy feelings and embrace the world.
The bad and unhappiness will show up soon enough -- but as Rick tells Elsa in the classic Casablanca:"We'll always have Paris."
We need those moments of unrepentant bliss to couch us a bit from the incoming blows which fate sooner or later has in store for us.
So hurry Ivan Alexyevitch and get on that express train to Petersburg. Godspeed!
And for those who believe truth is stranger than fiction click on the attached link to check out this story of a very happy bridegroom indeed.
AN ENIGMATIC NATURE
An Enigmatic Nature
Churchill when asked what he thought the role Russia would play in World War Two replied: "It is a riddle wrapped in a mystery inside an enigma."
A young writer is trying to impress a beautiful woman. He tells her he knows all about her. That nothing she could say would surprise him. He kisses her.
The pretty lady unburdens herself to the author. He listens intently and eats it up. So sure of his mastery of the human soul -- he revels in her confessions and is certain that he will own her after it's done.
But of course he's wrong. No matter how much we try to pigeonhole people -- the inner workings of the mind still eludes us.
Here the young author is riding a big wave -- loving every minute and then a wash out. The pretty lady explains how an old general had gotten in the way of her happiness and how miserable she was -- then he croaks -- she's got money and is now free to finally capture her happiness -- if it wasn't for another old general.
Go figure.
The author will eventually bow down to the vagaries of the soul -- and instead of imitating will have to resort to imagination.
We read Chekhov for insights into what drives people -- and we are not disappointed -- but just as we gain insight on people as a whole -- one person who we think we understand completely shocks us. That's how it should be. Life would be pretty boring if we could predict what every person would do at every step. It is surprises that keeps us going. Sometimes those surprises are the negative type -- and sometimes they open up a new layer in the never ending quest for truth (sorry I'm being a bit mysterious).
Either way they make us scratch our head.
Just hope you don't have dandruff.
Churchill when asked what he thought the role Russia would play in World War Two replied: "It is a riddle wrapped in a mystery inside an enigma."
A young writer is trying to impress a beautiful woman. He tells her he knows all about her. That nothing she could say would surprise him. He kisses her.
The pretty lady unburdens herself to the author. He listens intently and eats it up. So sure of his mastery of the human soul -- he revels in her confessions and is certain that he will own her after it's done.
But of course he's wrong. No matter how much we try to pigeonhole people -- the inner workings of the mind still eludes us.
Here the young author is riding a big wave -- loving every minute and then a wash out. The pretty lady explains how an old general had gotten in the way of her happiness and how miserable she was -- then he croaks -- she's got money and is now free to finally capture her happiness -- if it wasn't for another old general.
Go figure.
The author will eventually bow down to the vagaries of the soul -- and instead of imitating will have to resort to imagination.
We read Chekhov for insights into what drives people -- and we are not disappointed -- but just as we gain insight on people as a whole -- one person who we think we understand completely shocks us. That's how it should be. Life would be pretty boring if we could predict what every person would do at every step. It is surprises that keeps us going. Sometimes those surprises are the negative type -- and sometimes they open up a new layer in the never ending quest for truth (sorry I'm being a bit mysterious).
Either way they make us scratch our head.
Just hope you don't have dandruff.
Sunday, November 13, 2011
A DEFENCELESS CREATURE
A Defenceless Creature
Some say, don't negotiate with terrorists. Okay, Madame Shtchukin is not carrying a bomb -- but to Kistunov whose job is to deal with the clients of the bank who have petitions -- she is as dangerous as Carlos the Jackal.
Kistunov is not in the best of health. Maybe it's the gout, the job or his life -- but his defenses are down.
And then came Madame Shtchukin.
She is not going to take no for an answer. Why should she? She's been down this road before and the door has been shut in her face. Logic. Reason. Never mind.
What she's looking for is some compassion. Some sympathy. They are in short supply. So she'll squeeze it out -- like toothpaste in a used-up tube -- from any official she can can get her hands on.
Fortunately for Madame Shtchukin she has come to the right place.
You have here a tug of war between two defenseless creatures. One who society has turned its back on and is beyond desperate to secure whatever help she can find -- and another whose health has led him to the verge of a nervous breakdown and thus susceptible to unrelenting remonstrations.
Both will do whatever they can to relieve their situation. Madame Shtchukin smells weakness. She won't give up until she gets her relief. Kistunov just wants to end the torture and he's willing to pay the price to get some peace of mind.
Unfortunately, Kistunov didn't hear Madame Shtchukin last words after paying her off: "Kistunov, this is the beginning of a beautiful friendship."
Saturday, November 12, 2011
THE JEUNE PREMIER
The Jeune Premier
Young actor likes to brag. Nothing unusual there. Embellish. Live up to the image. Give people what they want. Entertain.
When he meets Klimov who dabbles a bit in theater and lives in the town where the jeune premier had performed for a couple of seasons -- the lead actor is so moved by his paramour adventures he has an Elia Kazan moment and begins to name names.
That's the thing about getting used to being the center of attention -- you lose your sense of perspective and come to the conclusion the whole world revolves around you.
Now the jeune premier has gone too far and implicated Klimov's niece in his Penthouse stories. What is an uncle to do? Duel, baby, duel. The young actor pretends not to be frightened and storms off. "You want a duel, you'll get a duel, buster!"
In the hotel room the jeune premier comes to his senses: "A duel. That's not acting. I'm too young to play Hamlet in real life."
So off he goes to Klimov and catches him alone after the party where the lead actor puts on one of his best performances. Klimov appreciates the show and ups him one by reciting the dad lecture.
All's well that ends well.
Not so fast.
Yevgeny Alexeyitch Podzharov will continue to spin his yarns. The people demand it. We wouldn't want to imagine our actors are merely leading ordinary lives. They are obligated to live out our fantasies and sooner or later -- the jeune premier will get carried away again and land in another mine field -- and if he doesn't conjure the right moves -- it's curtains.
Young actor likes to brag. Nothing unusual there. Embellish. Live up to the image. Give people what they want. Entertain.
When he meets Klimov who dabbles a bit in theater and lives in the town where the jeune premier had performed for a couple of seasons -- the lead actor is so moved by his paramour adventures he has an Elia Kazan moment and begins to name names.
That's the thing about getting used to being the center of attention -- you lose your sense of perspective and come to the conclusion the whole world revolves around you.
Now the jeune premier has gone too far and implicated Klimov's niece in his Penthouse stories. What is an uncle to do? Duel, baby, duel. The young actor pretends not to be frightened and storms off. "You want a duel, you'll get a duel, buster!"
In the hotel room the jeune premier comes to his senses: "A duel. That's not acting. I'm too young to play Hamlet in real life."
So off he goes to Klimov and catches him alone after the party where the lead actor puts on one of his best performances. Klimov appreciates the show and ups him one by reciting the dad lecture.
All's well that ends well.
Not so fast.
Yevgeny Alexeyitch Podzharov will continue to spin his yarns. The people demand it. We wouldn't want to imagine our actors are merely leading ordinary lives. They are obligated to live out our fantasies and sooner or later -- the jeune premier will get carried away again and land in another mine field -- and if he doesn't conjure the right moves -- it's curtains.
Friday, November 11, 2011
AN AVENGER
An Avenger
Husband catches wife doing the nasty.
Wants to kill her and her lover and then himself.
First he needs a gun.
The shopkeeper seems very eager to sell him one.
But the husband, Sigaev, is having second thoughts. Chekhov guides us through the mind of someone who wants to get revenge and is still able to think things though.
A crime of passion is avoided by rational thought. Fyodor Fyodorovitch seems very rational. Too rational. When the shopkeeper presents him with the perfect weapon for his crime -- he seems to think the price of the gun is too much. Finding a bargain at these moments should not be very high on the agenda.
Maybe this is Sigaev's problem and the reason his wife is cheating on him. He lacks passion. Everything is weighed. Measured. Until what's left is all rationality and no passion.
So what saves Sigaev from committing his crime is most likely the cause of his wife's hanky-panky.
Sigaev does need to pack some heat -- in his heart.
Husband catches wife doing the nasty.
Wants to kill her and her lover and then himself.
First he needs a gun.
The shopkeeper seems very eager to sell him one.
But the husband, Sigaev, is having second thoughts. Chekhov guides us through the mind of someone who wants to get revenge and is still able to think things though.
A crime of passion is avoided by rational thought. Fyodor Fyodorovitch seems very rational. Too rational. When the shopkeeper presents him with the perfect weapon for his crime -- he seems to think the price of the gun is too much. Finding a bargain at these moments should not be very high on the agenda.
Maybe this is Sigaev's problem and the reason his wife is cheating on him. He lacks passion. Everything is weighed. Measured. Until what's left is all rationality and no passion.
So what saves Sigaev from committing his crime is most likely the cause of his wife's hanky-panky.
Sigaev does need to pack some heat -- in his heart.
Tuesday, November 8, 2011
GONE ASTRAY
Gone Astray
Don't count your chickens before they hatch.
Two lawyers are tired and sleepy.
One it seems is very happily married and he wants to share his happiness with his colleague. Maybe he is too eager. Or too preachy . We know in Chekhov's world these traits might need a little correcting.
When Kozyavkin and his friend Laev arrive home -- Kozyavkin expects his wife to be waiting for them. When she isn't there -- one assumes his wife might not be the angel he imagines her to be. The thought enters that Kozyavkin might be cuckold. And shortly we find out he is but not the way we expect.
Lesson to be learned: When arriving at a train station late at night drunk with a friend and your home is miles away -- take a cab.
Don't count your chickens before they hatch.
Two lawyers are tired and sleepy.
One it seems is very happily married and he wants to share his happiness with his colleague. Maybe he is too eager. Or too preachy . We know in Chekhov's world these traits might need a little correcting.
When Kozyavkin and his friend Laev arrive home -- Kozyavkin expects his wife to be waiting for them. When she isn't there -- one assumes his wife might not be the angel he imagines her to be. The thought enters that Kozyavkin might be cuckold. And shortly we find out he is but not the way we expect.
Lesson to be learned: When arriving at a train station late at night drunk with a friend and your home is miles away -- take a cab.
Sunday, November 6, 2011
MINDS IN FERMENT
Minds in Ferment
The heat has made the town daffy.
A mere sighting of a common starling nearly results in a riot. Like rubber neckers seeking the blood in an accident scene -- the town needs some distraction from the sweltering temperature. And at this point anything will do. Madcap mayhem follows. Laurel and Hardy meets Occupy Wall Street.
If the conditions are ripe a mob mentality can easily develop and the consequences are beyond the control of most officials.
Bureaucracies being bureaucracies they will always try to spin it to their advantage.
Isn't it just better to lower the heat when you can?
The heat has made the town daffy.
A mere sighting of a common starling nearly results in a riot. Like rubber neckers seeking the blood in an accident scene -- the town needs some distraction from the sweltering temperature. And at this point anything will do. Madcap mayhem follows. Laurel and Hardy meets Occupy Wall Street.
If the conditions are ripe a mob mentality can easily develop and the consequences are beyond the control of most officials.
Bureaucracies being bureaucracies they will always try to spin it to their advantage.
Isn't it just better to lower the heat when you can?
Saturday, November 5, 2011
A SLANDER
A Slander
Ahineev loves sturgeon. Too much so. His passion for sturgeon has apparently ruined his life.
Well, that's not entirely true. I'm not one for spreading false rumors but Ahineev seems too preoccupied with his reputation. And that's always a dangerous thing. We can never live up to what others think about us. If we strive to whitewash any unflattering accounts of ourselves we'll need more bleach than even Clorox can muster.
It's much easier to live as Popeye says: "I ams what I ams."
Ahineev instead becomes his own TMZ and trying to rectify some sweet nothings to a sturgeon creates a runaway "telephone game" that gets him into hot water.
But Ahineev doesn't seem the happy sort and if he can't even chill at his own daughter's wedding -- well, I wouldn't want to be his student handing in a paper late.
Listen, I don't want to be too hard on Ahineev because we all have a little Ahineev crawling inside -- putting too much stock on what others say about us and too little account on what we know to be the truth.
If only Ahineev had done a few sessions with Albert Ellis -- he would've saved himself a lot of trouble -- but then again -- Chekhov would've been short a story.
Ahineev loves sturgeon. Too much so. His passion for sturgeon has apparently ruined his life.
Well, that's not entirely true. I'm not one for spreading false rumors but Ahineev seems too preoccupied with his reputation. And that's always a dangerous thing. We can never live up to what others think about us. If we strive to whitewash any unflattering accounts of ourselves we'll need more bleach than even Clorox can muster.
It's much easier to live as Popeye says: "I ams what I ams."
Ahineev instead becomes his own TMZ and trying to rectify some sweet nothings to a sturgeon creates a runaway "telephone game" that gets him into hot water.
But Ahineev doesn't seem the happy sort and if he can't even chill at his own daughter's wedding -- well, I wouldn't want to be his student handing in a paper late.
Listen, I don't want to be too hard on Ahineev because we all have a little Ahineev crawling inside -- putting too much stock on what others say about us and too little account on what we know to be the truth.
If only Ahineev had done a few sessions with Albert Ellis -- he would've saved himself a lot of trouble -- but then again -- Chekhov would've been short a story.
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