Chekhov Short Story Thread

[Janine]

Is this some sort of a glitch in the new programs? When I click on the last page of this thread it just returns to this one everytime; now I see this was posted tonight. Why, then, does it say '55' to 'last' on the top of my screen?

I love that poem, Dark Muse. Where and how did you ever find it? Wow, it does fit the story well.

[Dark Muse]

Yeah it does that too me, but if you just post, the post comes up fine. Not sure why it says that, but it does not seem to affect the forum

I found the poem here:

http://theotherpages.org/poems/poem-cd.html

[Pensive]

But the way the characters were described it made them sound more like caricatures and well I could not help but to find the story a bit amusing.

Just completed the story and I can't help agreeing with you here. And Quark that's a good way of putting it, we are surely laughing with Chekhov, not at Chekhov.

Also I think the contrast between the two constables has been just for the sake of humour...

[Janine]

Yeah it does that too me, but if you just post, the post comes up fine. Not sure why it says that, but it does not seem to affect the forum

I found the poem here:

http://theotherpages.org/poems/poem-cd.html

Well, it might not in here but I posted a reply to your post in the Lawrence thread and it would not let me go to the following page. I don't know if my post is lost or what. Anyway, how can one find the right page. I am a big confused with this new upgrade. Maybe they just have to refine it in the next few days.

Pensive, so glad to see you here again. I haven't downloaded my IM yet but I should do that now. Send me your ID's in a PM so I can put you in my list or contact me when I am online and then we can chat.

[Dark Muse]

I think when you post it is acutally on the right page, it just highlights the wrong page at the bottom.

[Janine]

I think when you post it is acutally on the right page, it just highlights the wrong page at the bottom.

I don't know about that. In the L thread I had to start on the first page and keep working back until I found the last page that was a number, not last page - that seemed odd to me.

[Quark]

Perception is a funny thing and a big part of this story.

I think so, too. Chekhov appears to be talking more about daydreams than actual dreams. The dream that entices the three in this story is more about hopes than about a deep subconscious experience. Perception--or the distortion of perception--plays a large role in the creation of daydreams, and these characters are no exception.

In the same way that Kovrin hung onto the image of the black monk, this tramp holds dearly to his dream of life in Siberia.

Yeah, this is the main link between the tramp and Kovrin. They both share the same highs and lows, as they're stuck between dream and reality. "The Black Monk" might be considered different in the fact the story ends more ambiguously than this one, but the characters and moods are very similar.

See the movie; at least looking at gorgeous Audrey Hepburn is worth it and some scenes are quite commentable for an old epic film.

I found you can download it from online. I'll have to look for the fog scene.

Yes, for some reason the first thing I thought of midway through was how limiting it was. Of course 'fog' would always represent obscurity and a dreamworld atmosphere.

Yeah, the fog is probably the main symbol in the story, so we'll have to watch how Chekhov uses it. It's safe to say that it has more than one meaning.

I think the tramp dreams because he has nothing else to hold onto. He is all alone so dreams help him to go out past that restricting fog - take that away from him and he has nothing to keep himself going and alive.

He certainly has a good motive for daydreaming. He's not just trying to pass the time in a boring class. No, he's about to die without really having ever lived. I would be fantasizing too, if it were my only way to live a full life.

I have noticed the Chekhov uses isolatation a lot within his stories. Particuarly using nature as an isolatation device for the characaters. In a way I can see the fog here as isolating the characters and the fact that they are trudging through this baren muddy land with no sign of civilization, or anyone else in sight.

That's odd. You seem them as isolated? I thought they connected, toward the end at least. The part where they're all dreaming makes it seem like the tramp got through to the two constables.

It did make me think of Varka's dream in sleepy, in which she kept seeing the men who were walking through the mud.

This story certainly casts some light on that "liquid mud" we encountered in the last one. I couldn't figure out what Chekhov was trying to get at before, but I now I have a slightly better idea. The mud conveys the monotony that these characters live in. The scenery never changes, and it makes us feel like no matter what these characters do they will always be treading mud.

Though Sapozhnikov came off as being rather cold, I did not find Ptaha as truly beging very callous.

Ptaha is in a better mood, but isn't he making light of the tramp's circumstances?

Is this some sort of a glitch in the new programs? When I click on the last page of this thread it just returns to this one everytime; now I see this was posted tonight. Why, then, does it say '55' to 'last' on the top of my screen?

The page glitch is a result of the deleted posts. They must not have deleted the page count when they lowered the post count.

Just completed the story and I can't help agreeing with you here.

Good to see you again Pensive. How are things going? What did you make of "Dreams?"

I responded to some posts above.

More from "Dreams:"

The travellers had been a long while on their way, but they seemed to be always on the same small patch of ground. In front of them there stretched thirty feet of muddy black-brown mud, behind them the same, and wherever one looked further, an impenetrable wall of white fog. They went on and on, but the ground remained the same, the wall was no nearer, and the patch on which they walked seemed still the same patch. They got a glimpse of a white, clumsy-looking stone, a small ravine, or a bundle of hay dropped by a passer-by, the brief glimmer of a great muddy puddle, or, suddenly, a shadow with vague outlines would come into view ahead of them; the nearer they got to it the smaller and darker it became; nearer still, and there stood up before the wayfarers a slanting milestone with the number rubbed off, or a wretched birch-tree drenched and bare like a wayside beggar. The birch-tree would whisper something with what remained of its yellow leaves, one leaf would break off and float lazily to the ground. . . . And then again fog, mud, the brown grass at the edges of the road. On the grass hung dingy, unfriendly tears. They were not the tears of soft joy such as the earth weeps at welcoming the summer sun and parting from it, and such as she gives to drink at dawn to the corncrakes, quails, and graceful, long-beaked crested snipes. The travellers' feet stuck in the heavy, clinging mud. Every step cost an effort.

Andrey Ptaha was somewhat excited. He kept looking round at the tramp and trying to understand how a live, sober man could fail to remember his name.

"You are an orthodox Christian, aren't you?" he asked.

"Yes," the tramp answered mildly.

"H'm. . . then you've been christened?"

"Why, to be sure! I'm not a Turk. I go to church and to the sacrament, and do not eat meat when it is forbidden. And I observe my religious duties punctually. . . ."

"Well, what are you called, then?"

"Call me what you like, good man."

Ptaha shrugged his shoulders and slapped himself on the haunches in extreme perplexity. The other constable, Nikandr Sapozhnikov, maintained a staid silence. He was not so naïve as Ptaha, and apparently knew very well the reasons which might induce an orthodox Christian to conceal his name from other people. His expressive face was cold and stern. He walked apart and did not condescend to idle chatter with his companions, but, as it were, tried to show everyone, even the fog, his sedateness and discretion.

"God knows what to make of you," Ptaha persisted in addressing the tramp. "Peasant you are not, and gentleman you are not, but some sort of a thing between. . . . The other day I was washing a sieve in the pond and caught a reptile -- see, as long as a finger, with gills and a tail. The first minute I thought it was a fish, then I looked -- and, blow it! if it hadn't paws. It was not a fish, it was a viper, and the deuce only knows what it was. . . . So that's like you. . . . What's your calling?"

Oh, and I liked the poem you posted, DM. Did you just run across that recently, or is that something you read a while back?

[Dark Muse]

That's odd. You seem them as isolated? I thought they connected, toward the end at least. The part where they're all dreaming makes it seem like the tramp got through to the two constables.

I think it could be debateble if they truly connected with each other, they might to some degree be having a shared experince, but I do not think eitherof them empahtieis with the others circumstance or condition, they each are only thinking about thier own situation.

But truly what I was originally was trying to say, is that the tree of them are isolated together. The fog sort of closes them out from everything else. There is no sign of civilization, there is only the three of them out there in the cold baren landscape.

This story certainly casts some light on that "liquid mud" we encountered in the last one. I couldn't figure out what Chekhov was trying to get at before, but I now I have a slightly better idea. The mud conveys the monotony that these characters live in. The scenery never changes, and it makes us feel like no matter what these characters do they will always be treading mud.

Good observations

Ptaha is in a better mood, but isn't he making light of the tramp's circumstances?

I am not sure I would consider that the same thing as being callous though.

I think I will have to give this story another read.

The travellers had been a long while on their way, but they seemed to be always on the same small patch of ground. In front of them there stretched thirty feet of muddy black-brown mud, behind them the same, and wherever one looked further, an impenetrable wall of white fog. They went on and on, but the ground remained the same, the wall was no nearer, and the patch on which they walked seemed still the same patch.

This made me think of a dream itself. If you ever had those dreams, where you can only move in really slow motion, or it seems like you are not really getting anywhere as much as you try.

It also reflects their situation in life, and the fact that they are trapped within a dreary rut of which they have no true escape, but perhaps for their dreams.

They got a glimpse of a white, clumsy-looking stone, a small ravine, or a bundle of hay dropped by a passer-by, the brief glimmer of a great muddy puddle, or, suddenly, a shadow with vague outlines would come into view ahead of them; the nearer they got to it the smaller and darker it became; nearer still, and there stood up before the wayfarers a slanting milestone with the number rubbed off, or a wretched birch-tree drenched and bare like a wayside beggar.

I loved this description. And again it is much like a dream. It offers from a distance a glimmer of hope, but when they draw near to it, it begins to fade away, until reality is reveled. The unattainable always lingering just out of their each.

The birch-tree would whisper something with what remained of its yellow leaves, one leaf would break off and float lazily to the ground. . . . And then again fog, mud, the brown grass at the edges of the road. On the grass hung dingy, unfriendly tears. They were not the tears of soft joy such as the earth weeps at welcoming the summer sun and parting from it, and such as she gives to drink at dawn to the corncrakes, quails, and graceful, long-beaked crested snipes

Ok I agree that this passage is perhaps a tad bit much. It seems to be stretching a bit too far the idea of trying to hit you over the head with the dreariness of the scene. That bit about the tears does border upon the cheesy

Every step cost an effort.

I thought this one line was quite powerful and I loved the symbolism behind it.

Oh, and I liked the poem you posted, DM. Did you just run across that recently, or is that something you read a while back?

It was something I recently came acorss

[Janine]

I think it could be debateble if they truly connected with each other, they might to some degree be having a shared experince, but I do not think eitherof them empahtieis with the others circumstance or condition, they each are only thinking about thier own situation.

There again it is a case of perception....when one is going down a straight road such as a highway that all looks identical, then one loses the true sense of time and space - the road will appear to be endless. This happens often when one travels. A friend of mine relayed a waking experience to me about this same thing - never seeming to gain on any distance and seeing a traffic light up ahead which appeared to not get any closer. Of course, at the time I think they had partaken of something a little funny to have their perception so altered. I have had dreams in sleep that did seem like this and did seem odd or ilogical. I think everyone does and time sequences can be perceived differently.

But truly what I was originally was trying to say, is that the tree of them are isolated together. The fog sort of closes them out from everything else. There is no sign of civilization, there is only the three of them out there in the cold baren landscape.

Yes, I see your point. The fog does isolate the travelers and it seems to make them more close to each other - intimate enough for the tramp to reveal his true circumstances finally to the other two men.

I think I will have to give this story another read.

I also need to give this story another read.

I loved this description. And again it is much like a dream. It offers from a distance a glimmer of hope, but when they draw near to it, it begins to fade away, until reality is reveled. The unattainable always lingering just out of their each.

It also reflects their situation in life, and the fact that they are trapped within a dreary rut of which they have no true escape, but perhaps for their dreams.

I agree. Good observation, their lives are stagnant and not going anywhere just as the perceive that the road is staying the same, DM.

Ok I agree that this passage is perhaps a tad bit much. It seems to be stretching a bit too far the idea of trying to hit you over the head with the dreariness of the scene. That bit about the tears does border upon the cheesy

I guess I am a sap; I actually liked this part...but maybe those 'tears' are a bit much to swallow. Maybe the writing seems a little forced here.

"Every step cost an effort."

I thought this one line was quite powerful and I loved the symbolism behind it.

Yeah, that is a good line and more simple, yet effective in getting the point across.

I think so, too. Chekhov appears to be talking more about daydreams than actual dreams. The dream that entices the three in this story is more about hopes than about a deep subconscious experience. Perception--or the distortion of perception--plays a large role in the creation of daydreams, and these characters are no exception.

Quark, that is well stated; I agree.

Yeah, this is the main link between the tramp and Kovrin. They both share the same highs and lows, as they're stuck between dream and reality. "The Black Monk" might be considered different in the fact the story ends more ambiguously than this one, but the characters and moods are very similar.

Agree again. I like the analogies you have drawn here.

I found you can download it from online. I'll have to look for the fog scene.

Oh good. I bought the movie in a bargain bin; think it was at my local drugstore. I also bought one of my favorite old films with Hepburn - "Roman Holiday". The scene I speak of is of Fonda and this peasant guy who befriends a dog and they are marching along with the army. The setting does remind me somehow of the photo you posted...the atmosphere, stark.

Yeah, the fog is probably the main symbol in the story, so we'll have to watch how Chekhov uses it. It's safe to say that it has more than one meaning.

Interesting - it almost seems that the fog is another character...one that is ellusive, transparent.

He certainly has a good motive for daydreaming. He's not just trying to pass the time in a boring class. No, he's about to die without really having ever lived. I would be fantasizing too, if it were my only way to live a full life.

"No, he's about to die without really having ever lived." - that is a good way of putting it. The story is somewhat about futility of the tramp's life as well.

That's odd. You seem them as isolated? I thought they connected, toward the end at least. The part where they're all dreaming makes it seem like the tramp got through to the two constables.

I thought so also; but as DM says below, she means the three are isolated from the rest of the world in these scenes,.... and the fog surrounds them, closing them in.

This story certainly casts some light on that "liquid mud" we encountered in the last one. I couldn't figure out what Chekhov was trying to get at before, but I now I have a slightly better idea. The mud conveys the monotony that these characters live in. The scenery never changes, and it makes us feel like no matter what these characters do they will always be treading mud.

That is interesting.

Ptaha is in a better mood, but isn't he making light of the tramp's circumstances?

I didn't find him very sympathetic. I did think he was making light of his plight but I could be wrong. A second reading would be helpful, I am sure.

The page glitch is a result of the deleted posts. They must not have deleted the page count when they lowered the post count.

How do you know that? Also some of my posting seems particularly slow to go through. Is that what you have been experiencing. I guess they are all working out the glitches. I know that Logos said she was investigating it all in the L thread - that one is truly wacky with the number sequences. This thread seems ok to me. It is only the L short story thread that seems to be counting wrong.

Good to see you again Pensive. How are things going? What did you make of "Dreams?"

I can speak for Pensive - she loves dreaming! She is a bluebird isn't she? Hey, Pensy, does that bird ever get anywhere?

[Quark]

It's been a long day. Sorry I haven't been able to get to the thread until now, but I've been packing for my move. Tomorrow morning I'll try to get to everyone's posts. In the meantime, I'll at least keep posting text. Here's the first exposition of the tramp's character:

"I am a peasant and of peasant family," sighed the tramp. "My mamma was a house serf. I don't look like a peasant, that's true, for such has been my lot, good man. My mamma was a nurse with the gentry, and had every comfort, and as I was of her flesh and blood, I lived with her in the master's house. She petted and spoiled me, and did her best to take me out of my humble class and make a gentleman of me. I slept in a bed, every day I ate a real dinner, I wore breeches and shoes like a gentleman's child. What my mamma ate I was fed on, too; they gave her stuffs as a present, and she dressed me up in them. . . . We lived well! I ate so many sweets and cakes in my childish years that if they could be sold now it would be enough to buy a good horse. Mamma taught me to read and write, she instilled the fear of God in me from my earliest years, and she so trained me that now I can't bring myself to utter an unrefined peasant word. And I don't drink vodka, my lad, and am neat in my dress, and know how to behave with decorum in good society. If she is still living, God give her health; and if she is dead, then, O Lord, give her soul peace in Thy Kingdom, wherein the just are at rest."

The tramp bared his head with the scanty hair standing up like a brush on it, turned his eyes upward and crossed himself twice.

"Grant her, O Lord, a verdant and peaceful resting-place," he said in a drawling voice, more like an old woman's than a man's. "Teach Thy servant Xenia Thy justifications, O Lord! If it had not been for my beloved mamma I should have been a peasant with no sort of understanding! Now, young man, ask me about anything and I understand it all: the holy Scriptures and profane writings, and every prayer and catechism. I live according to the Scriptures. . . . I don't injure anyone, I keep my flesh in purity and continence, I observe the fasts, I eat at fitting times. Another man will take no pleasure in anything but vodka and lewd talk, but when I have time I sit in a corner and read a book. I read and I weep and weep."

"What do you weep for?"

"They write so pathetically! For some books one gives but a five-kopeck piece, and yet one weeps and sighs exceedingly over it."

"Is your father dead?" asked Ptaha.

"I don't know, good man. I don't know my parent; it is no use concealing it. I judge that I was mamma's illegitimate son. My mamma lived all her life with the gentry, and did not want to marry a simple peasant. . . ."

"And so she fell into the master's hands," laughed Ptaha.

"She did transgress, that's true. She was pious, God-fearing, but she did not keep her maiden purity. It is a sin, of course, a great sin, there's no doubt about it, but to make up for it there is, maybe, noble blood in me. Maybe I am only a peasant by class, but in nature a noble gentleman."

The "noble gentleman" uttered all this in a soft, sugary tenor, wrinkling up his narrow forehead and emitting creaking sounds from his red, frozen little nose. Ptaha listened and looked askance at him in wonder, continually shrugging his shoulders.

After going nearly five miles the constables and the tramp sat down on a mound to rest.

"Even a dog knows his name," Ptaha muttered. "My name is Andryushka, his is Nikandr; every man has his holy name, and it can't be forgotten. Nohow."

"Who has any need to know my name?" sighed the tramp, leaning his cheek on his fist. "And what advantage would it be to me if they did know it? If I were allowed to go where I would -- but it would only make things worse. I know the law, Christian brothers. Now I am a tramp who doesn't remember his name, and it's the very most if they send me to Eastern Siberia and give me thirty or forty lashes; but if I were to tell them my real name and description they would send me back to hard labour, I know!"

[Janine]

Oh no! Now this thread is doing the same thing as the L thread did. You can't click on the 'last' page - it won't let you in. I notice they placed those symbols at the bottom of the screen - could that have anything to do with it, I wonder.

Quark, glad to see you here, but don't worry about posting quickly. We have other things going on anyway and with your move coming up it must be hard to keep up. Just post the segments of the story at your own pace. There is no rush really. I am tired out now and retiring for the night. I will look over the text tomorrow and comment.

[Quark]

Oh no! Now this thread is doing the same thing as the L thread did.

Yes, I think the problem is tied to the deletion of Antiquarian's posts. It set back the post count, and so the server thinks were on a previous page. The page count, however, hasn't updated. That's why the last page doesn't appear as the last page on the bottom. What have the mods told you about fixing this problem?

Quark, glad to see you here, but don't worry about posting quickly.

Oh, good. I feared that I was holding everyone up. I will try to get the posts tomorrow, though, because I don't want to fall too far behind. Plus, I have a point or two of my own that I'd like to add.

Edit:
I posted more of the story on the previous page.

[Janine]

Yes, I think the problem is tied to the deletion of Antiquarian's posts. It set back the post count, and so the server thinks were on a previous page. The page count, however, hasn't updated. That's why the last page doesn't appear as the last page on the bottom. What have the mods told you about fixing this problem?

No, I don't think that is the problem, Quark. I think it is those new tags or browser links at the bottom of the page. I noticed pages with them seem to run slower - like for posts to go through. The mods got the L thread straightened out so I feel sure they will get this one back to normal also. You could email them and point out the problem. I did that with the L thread. Come to think of it; now I think it is straightened out, because I just clicked the page 'last' and I got here with no problem.

Oh, good. I feared that I was holding everyone up. I will try to get the posts tomorrow, though, because I don't want to fall too far behind. Plus, I have a point or two of my own that I'd like to add.

That is fine.


Edit:

I posted more of the story on the previous page.

Oh, I did not look there yet. You are going too fast for me. I haven't addressed the above text yet or commented on it. I will check the next page out now - maybe you have made comments.

Now it is my edit - what page? I can't go any further than page 54 (this page). The last clump of text you posted started with something about peasants...and ended with..."I know". Is there anything after this portion?

[Quark]

Okay, this is a long post. I tried to quote as little as I could from your posts to keep it short. That means that I may be replying to more than just the person I quoted.

No, I don't think that is the problem, Quark. I think it is those new tags or browser links at the bottom of the page. I noticed pages with them seem to run slower - like for posts to go through.

I think we may be talking about different problems. What I was noticing is that the page count was skewed. The numbers at the bottom went up to 64, but the last page shown was on page 54. They have since fixed this problem, though, so it's no longer an issue. Now, as for slow posting, I don't know what would be causing that.

Oh, I did not look there yet. You are going too fast for me.

I probably won't post any more of the story until Sunday. I, too, am falling behind.

Now it is my edit - what page? I can't go any further than page 54 (this page).

LitNet combines posts that are by the same user when the posts are right after each other. When our posts consolidated it moved my last post back onto page 54. Before, when our previous posts were separated, my last post appeared on page 55.

I think it could be debateble if they truly connected with each other, they might to some degree be having a shared experince, but I do not think eitherof them empahtieis with the others circumstance or condition

Yeah, I think you're right. There is no actual empathy between the characters, but they do share an experience. I called that connecting, but maybe it isn't.

Whatever we call it, though, I thought that was one of the best parts of the story. It was probably the only happy event in the story, and it's a rare moment in Chekhov's fiction where a character gets through to someone else. Most of the time Chekhov has his characters stranded in their own little world, so I think the tramp accomplishes something meaningful here.

But truly what I was originally was trying to say, is that the tree of them are isolated together. The fog sort of closes them out from everything else. There is no sign of civilization

That's well put--especially the point about their distance from civilization. The fog separates them from all the rest of society, and this important because it makes it easier for them to dream. Civilization, which clearly has rules and structure, limits opportunities that the peasants might have otherwise. By placing a wall of fog between them and everything else, Chekhov makes it possible to imagine better situations.

I am not sure I would consider that the same thing as being callous though.

I might have missed the right word, but it seems like you see what I'm getting at. Affable people can be just as distant and haughty ones. That appears to be the case here.

This made me think of a dream itself. If you ever had those dreams, where you can only move in really slow motion

This part does seem almost surreal, but I think Chekhov is just stretching for effect here. He's trying to show how monotonous the journey is, and how fruitless their labor will be. As I've said before, Chekhov goes over-the-top with his language in this story. This is another instance of that. I don't think he's trying to make the journey seem dreamlike, though. This part is supposed to be contrasted with the dreams later on, so it seems like that contrast would lose its effect if this scene were dreamlike. Also, I think the title refers to daydreams more than just dreams. The copy of the story I found in my library names this story "Daydreams," too. That's probably a better translation.

It also reflects their situation in life, and the fact that they are trapped within a dreary rut of which they have no true escape, but perhaps for their dreams.

This is the sense I got from it.

I loved this description. And again it is much like a dream. It offers from a distance a glimmer of hope, but when they draw near to it, it begins to fade away, until reality is reveled.

This fog is very dreamlike. I agree. At least, I agree in a sense. The fog is dual symbol in this story. At times it refers to the cold, damp, miserable reality around them, but at other times it reflects the misty, unrealized dream world.

That bit about the tears does border upon the cheesy

Right, this story doesn't quite have the control that Chekhov will find for his later works. "The Black Monk" is much better at handling this theme without all the exaggeration.

I guess I am a sap; I actually liked this part...but maybe those 'tears' are a bit much to swallow. Maybe the writing seems a little forced here.

Oh, I liked it to. The imagery was excellent. I just found some of his analogies unnecessary. I prefer it when Chekhov just lets his setting do the work.

Interesting - it almost seems that the fog is another character...one that is ellusive, transparent.

Yes, the fog has its own characteristics and it plays a large role in the story.

"No, he's about to die without really having ever lived." - that is a good way of putting it. The story is somewhat about futility of the tramp's life as well.

It's a statement on the futility of his life, as well as the futility of his action. It shows that no matter what he does, he is still going to die unhappy.

I didn't find him very sympathetic. I did think he was making light of his plight but I could be wrong.

Yeah, that's what I was trying to get at before.

I also need to give this story another read.

Me three. I recently pulled a version of this story with a different translation. I'd like to see how things are written in the other book and compare.

[Janine]

Quark and DM, I read both your posts so now I feel I am up-to-date with this. Posting the next part on Sunday would be just fine with me, Quark. I will be busy tomorrow and may not be on here so much.