I have arranged the stories chronologically in order to show the direction of Chekhov’s development. The second section, “This and That,” brings together some of the shorter humorous vignettes that Chekhov published in magazine columns tided “This and That,” “Something,” or “Thoughts and Aphorisms.”
In The Undiscovered Chekhov, one sees exuberance and energy, but also the technique of a young writer of genius. These are the stories that made Chekhov famous in his day.
* From “Versuch ueber Tschechow,” by Thomas Mann, written July 15, 1954. The essay ini' rially appeared in the German literary magazine SINN UND FORM, and was included in Thomas Mann’s GESAMMELTE WAKE (S. Fischer, 1960). Excerpt translated by Peter Constantine with the permission of Alfred A. Knopf Inc.
Acknowledgments
My warmest thanks to Anneta Greenlee for her scholarly input and for checking my translations. Her knowledge of nineteenth-century Russian literature and the nuances of the language of the time was invaluable. I would also like to thank the Chekhov specialist Julie de Sherbinin for her recommendations. Her advice on the fine points of Chekhov’s early work were especially helpful. I am grateful to Barbara Jones, senior editor of Harper’s Magazine, for her editorial advice on the stories that appeared in the magazine, to Linda Asher for her editorial advice on the story “On Mortality: A Carnival Tale,” which appeared in the New Yorker, and also to Bradford Morrow, who made many extremely helpful suggestions. Edward Kasinec, chief of the Slavic and Baltic Division of the New York Public Library, and Tatiana Gizdavcic, librarian, for their help in locating often-hard-to-find material.
I am very grateful to my agent, Jessica Wainwright, who enthusiastically encouraged me, and to my editor, Dan Simon, for his help and support.
My very special thanks to Burton Pike, who inspired me to begin this project, and encouraged, helped, and advised me throughout it.
SARAH
BERNHARDT
COMES
TO TOWN
TELEGRAM
Have been drinking to Sarah’s health all week! Enchanting! She actually dies standing up! Our actors can’t touch the Parisians! Sitting there, you feel you’re in Paradise! Regards to Mankya.
Petrov
TELEGRAM
Lieutenant Egorov. Come, you can have my ticket— I’m not going again. It’s just rubbish. Nothing special. A waste of money.
FROM DR. KLOPSON,M.D.,
TO DR. VERFLUCHTERSCHWEIN, M.D.
Dear friend. Last night I saw S.B. Her chest—paralytic and flat. Skeletal and muscular structure—unsatisfactory. Neck—so long and thin that both the venae jugulares and even the arteriae carotides are clearly visible. Her musculi sternocleido-mastoidei are barely noticeable. Sitting in second row orchestra I could detect clear signs of anemia. No cough. On stage she was all wrapped up, which led me to deduce that she must be feverish. My diagnosis: anemia and atrophia musculorum. What is quite amazing is that her lachrymal glands react to voluntary stimuli: Tears flowed from her eyes, and her nose showed signs of hyperemia whenever she was called upon to weep.
FROM NADIA N. TO KATYA H.
Dear Katya. Last night I went to the theater and saw Sera Burnyard. Oh Katya, how many diamonds that woman has! All night I cried at the thought that I’ll never ever own such a heap of diamonds. (I’ll tell you later all about her dress). Oh how I’d love to be Sera Burnyard! They were drinking real champagne on stage! But what was strange Katya I speak excellent French but I didn’t get a word they were saying. Their French was funny. I had to sit in the gallery! That monster of mine couldn’t get me a better ticket. The monster! Now
I regret I was so cold to S. on Monday, he could have got orchestra seats. S. will do anything for a kiss. Just to spite that monster, tomorrow I’ll have S. get both you and me a ticket.
Your N.
FROM A NEWSPAPER EDITOR TO A REPORTER
Ivan Mikhailovitch! This is an abomination! Every evening you traipse down to the theater with a press ticket, and I have yet to see a single line about the show! What are you waiting for? Right now Sarah Bernhardt is the hottest— and we need to cover her now. For God’s sake, get a move on!
Answer: I don’t quite know what to write. Should I praise her? Let’s see what everyone else writes—time’s on our side.
Yours, K.
P.S. I’ll be at the office today, get my pay ready. If you want the press tickets back, send someone over.
LETTER SENT BY MISS N. TO THE SAME REPORTER
You are a darling, Ivan Mikhailovitch! Thank you for the ticket! I have feasted my eyes on Sarah, and I absolutely insist that you praise her to the skies. Can you check with your office to see if my sister can also get a press ticket? I’ll be most grateful to you.
Your N.
Answer: It can be done... but there will be a slight fee. The fee is minimaclass="underline" permission to visit you on Saturday.
TO THE NEWSPAPER EDITOR FROM HIS WIFE
If you don’t send me a ticket for Sarah Bernhardt tonight, don’t bother coming home. It’s quite obvious your reporters are more important to you than your own wife. I want to go to the theater!
FROM THE NEWSPAPER EDITOR TO HIS WIFE
Please, dear! Be reasonable! As it is, this whole Sarah Bernhardt business is driving me to distraction!
FROM AN USHER’S NOTEBOOK
Let in four. Fourteen rubles.
Let in five. Fifteen r.
Let in three and one madame. Fifteen rubles.
Thank God I didn’t go to the theater and that I sold that ticket I had. I heard Sarah Bernhardt played in French. I wouldn’t have understood a word...
Major Kovalyov
Dear Mitya! I beg of you! Can you ask your wife, tactfully, to enthuse more quietly about Sarah Bernhardt’s dresses when she’s with us in the box? At the last performance she was whispering so loud that I couldn’t hear a word of what was being said on stage. Please ask her, but tactfully. I’d be most obliged.
Your U.
FROM THE SLAVOPHILE K. TO HIS SON
My dear son. I opened my eyes and saw omens of depravity all around! Thousands of Russian Orthodox Christians heralding a union with the people—thronging to the theater to lay their gold at the feet of that Jewess... Liberals, Conservatives...!
A NOTE
Darling! When it comes to Sarah Bernhardt, as the saying goes: you can dip a frog in honey but it doesn’t mean I’ll eat it.
Sobakevitch
ON
THE
TRAIN
THE POST TRAIN RACES full speed from the Happy- Trach-Tararach station to the Run-for-Your-Life station. The locomotive whistles, hisses, puffs, snorts; the cars shake, and their unoiled wheels howl like wolves and screech like owls! Darkness is over the skies, over the earth, and in the cars... “Something-will-happen, something-will-happen,” the wagons hammer, raiding with age. “Ohohohoho!” the locomotive joins in. Pocket-friskers and cold drafts sweep through the wagons. Terrible! I stick my head out the window and look aimlessly into the endless expanse. All the lights are green, but somewhere down the line I’m sure all hell will break loose. The signal disk and the station lights are not yet visible. Darkness, anguish, thoughts of death, memories of childhood, oh God!
“I have sinned!” I whisper, “I have sinned!”
I feel a hand slip into my back pocket. The pocket is empty, but still it’s horrifying. I turn round. A stranger is standing next to me. He is wearing a straw hat and a dark gray shirt.