I swear I'll come to Moscow. On each side he caught glimpses of the little houses of work- people, of the faces of women, of quilts and linen on the railings. The whole secret lies ii8 The Tales of Chekhov in loving it — that is, in the sharp eye of the master; yes, and in the master's hands, and in the feeling that makes one, when one goes anywhere for an hour's visit, sit, ill at ease, with one's heart far away, afraid that something may have happened in the i garden. He took off his fur coat below, went upstairs, and softly knocked at the door. I don't know what he does there, what his work is, but I know he Is a flunkey! Going into the dining-room to breakfast, he finds there Fedya, who, at the sight of his father, gets up and looks at him helplessly. You know my father adores you. When he heard the footsteps of Yegor Semyo- nitch going out into the garden, Kovrin rang the bell and asked the footman to bring him some wine.
In the park and in the garden people were moving about quietly, in the house they were playing — so he alone had seen the monk. Dmitri Dmitritch Gurov, the center and main focus of this story, is described as being a man in his thirties, attractive and elusive, and well aware of his appeal to women. I need money, and she. They found a cab and drove to Orcanda. The room was close and smelt of the scent she had bought at the Japanese shop.
And what had he to talk of? He would pace a long time about his room, remembering It all and smiling; then his mem- ories passed Into dreams, and In his fancy the past was mingled with what was to come. At night they did not talk, but slept sound; we, our generation, sleep badly, are restless, but talk a great deal, and are always trying to settle whether we are right or not. It is tempting to view the tender relationship of Gurov and Anna in the light of Chekhov's own newfound love. They quarrelled about something that morning. We return to the concert two more times over the course of the story, learning and seeing a bit more with each return. And two peculiari- ties of a well-dressed Yalta crowd were very con- spicuous: the elderly ladies were dressed like young ones, and there were great numbers of generals.
For goodness' sake let us go into the garden. Ivan Petrovitch, seeing that his visitor was bored and preoccupied, drew some notes out of his waistcoat pocket, read a funny let- ter from a German steward, saying that all the ironmongery was ruined and the plasticity was peel- ing off the walls. Experience often repeated, truly bitter experience, had taught him long ago that with decent people, especially Moscow people -- always slow to move and irresolute -- every intimacy, which at first so agreeably diversifies life and appears a light and charming adventure, inevitably grows into a regular problem of extreme intricacy, and in the long run the situation becomes unbearable. Very opportunely a long letter came from Tanya Pesotsky, who asked him to come and stay with them at Borissovka. And of course I didn't understand you then, but after- wards in Moscow I often thought of you. Let us forget the brooch! Her parents lived far away in the provinces; they had not the money to come to her.
Useless pursuits and conversations always about the same things absorb the better part of one's time, the better part of one's strength, and in the end there is left a life grovelling and curtailed, worthless and trivial, and there is no escaping or getting away from it -- just as though one were in a madhouse or a prison. You look sunburnt and more manly, but on the whole you have changed very little. Vera losifovna wrote to Dmitri lonitch that she was miss- ing him very much, and begged him to come and see them, and to relieve her sufferings; and, by the way, It was her birthday. Her work has appeared or is forthcoming in One Story, New England Review, The Scofield, Literary Hub and elsewhere. Once In two or three months she left S , telling her husband that she was going to con- sult a doctor about an internal complaint — and her husband believed her, and did not believe her. She cannot comprehend anyone finding her existence significant, which is exacerbated by an unaffectionate relationship with her husband.
What happiness to be a district doctor; to help the suffering; to be serving the peo- ple! He was often spitting blood, but it happened two or three times a month that there was a considerable loss of blood, and then he grew extremely weak and sank into a drowsy condition. The wind had com- pletely dropped, but Gurov and Anna Sergeyevna still stood as though waiting to see some one else come from the steamer. Health is worth more than two thou- sand roubles! The little the monk had said to him had flattered, not his vanity, but his whole soul, his whole being. Once he was going to see her in this way on a winter morning the messenger had come the evening before when he was out. She talked a great deal and asked disconnected questions, forgetting next mo- ment what she had asked; then she dropped her lorgnette in the crush. And settling himself with relief In his carriage, he thought: '' Och! He walked for half a mile through the fields; the cemetery showed as a dark streak in the dis- 76 The Tales of Chekhov tance, like a forest or a big garden.
Mashenka remem- bered the excited porter, the general turmoil which was still going on, the weeping servant-girl; had It not all some connection with the search that had just been made in her room? But I tell you, my dear fellow, the worst enemy in the garden is not a hare, not a cockchafer, and not the frost, but any outside person. Why, do you think I ought to be pleased with the boy? There followed at least half an hour of silence. I told my The Lady with the Dog ii husband I was ill, and came here. She is all I have. Anna Sergeyevna was touching; there was about her the purity of a good, simple woman who had seen little of life. You are a phantom, an hallucination. Go away to-day; go away at once.
He thought of this and went to the theatre. With all that, the inhabit- ants did nothing, absolutely nothing, and took no interest In anything, and It was quite impossible to think of anything to say. She was crying from emotion, from the miserable consciousness that their life was so hard for them; they could only meet in secret, hiding themselves from people, like thieves! But when I die, who will look after it? But more than a month passed, real winter had come, and everything was still clear in his memory as though he had parted with Anna Sergeyevna only the day before. He had an extremely preoccupied air; he was always hurrying somewhere, with an expres- The Black Monk 109 slon that suggested that if he were one minute late all would be ruined! The shoulders on which his hands rested were warm and quivering. He was staying with them, and had been awakened by Tanya's sobs. But Startsev waited, and as though the moonlight warmed his passion, he waited passionately, and, in imagination, pictured kisses and embraces. He had more or less forsaken medicine for writing by 1899; Gurov may be his attempt to envision himself in the kind of staid lifestyle he had left behind.
The floors irritated him with their brilliant polish, the lustres on the chandelier irritated him, and he was reminded for some reason of the story of the 38 The Tales of Chekhov merchant who used to go to the baths with a medal on his neck. He saw a beggar go in at the gate and dogs fly at him; then an hour later he heard a piano, and the sounds were faint and in- distinct. You will Ee none the worse for It. He took off his fur coat below, went upstairs, and softly knocked at the door. Things will be clearer for them than for A Doctor's Visit 47 us. A lady arrives in town with a little white dog, which would give her her name initially since no one knew of her true identity. While a young girl is growing up, she ought to be under no influence but her mother's.
Socrates, Diogenes, and Marcus Aurelius, were joyful, not sorrowful. Anna Sergeyevna and he loved each other like people very close and akin, like husband and wife, like tender friends; it seemed to them that fate itself had meant them for one another, and they could not understand why he had a wife and she a husband; and it was as though they were a pair of birds of passage, caught and forced to live in different cages. They will believe that I could not be a thief! Kovrin arrived at Pesotsky's at ten o'clock in the evening. But that's only apparent: she is only the figurehead. Startsev thought this, and at the same time he wanted to cry out that he wanted love, that he was eager for it at all costs. To dissipate the general ill- humour in some way, he made up his mind to inter- vene, and towards evening he knocked at Tanya's door. He saw a beggar go in at the gate and dogs fly at him; then an hour later he heard a piano, and the sounds were faint and indistinct.