Reflections on Chekhov

Abstract

-T-HE present short essay is, of course, in no way intended as a biographical sketch. Biographies of Chekhov, in many languages, exist in profusion; the first one appeared in Russia some forty years ago. The literature of reminiscences of him is immense; so is the critical literature. His enormous talent as a creative artist has long been beyond dispute. This writer would, without hesitation, assign him fourth place in Russian prose (artificial and useless as such a tabulation of ranks in art may be): Pushkin and Lermontov, primarily great poets, however exquisite their prose writings, are not included in this count; among the prose writers proper, Chekhov, in my judgment, would come right after Tolstoy, Gogol, Dostoevsky, ahead even of Turgenev and Goncharov. Both in the short story and the drama Chekhov has created his own peculiar form, his own rhythm, his own idiom. Much has been said about the influence of Maupassant on him; yet, if ever there was any, it has been greatly exaggerated. It has also been repeatedly said that in Chekhov's writings nothing ever happens. Not so long ago, a similar view was expressed by Somerset Maugham, whose generally perceptive and valuable comments on Chekhov are still unknown to Russian readers. Russian critics have never made reference to them. The famous British author, himself a past master of the short story, quotes Chekhov's own words as evidence: Why write about a man getting into a submarine and going to the North Pole to reconcile himself to the world, while his beloved throws herself with a hysterical shriek from a belfry? All this is untrue and does not happen in real life. One must write about simple things: how Piotr Semionovich married Maria Ivanovna. That is all. To this Somerset Maugham adds: I have little doubt that Chekhov would have written stories with an ingenious, original and strong if he had been able to. It was not in his temperament. Like all good writers he made a merit of his limitations. Still one may ask whether there is much factual truth in the allegation itself. Is there really as little plot as that in Chekhov's stories and plays? Really so much less than in the works of many other writers who have never