Prelude In December 1899 Anton Chekhov finished a story entitled “The Lady with the Little Dog” (also known in some translations into English as “The Lady with the Dog.”) The story is a story in the Chekhovian sense: there is not a clear path from one point to another, rather there are musings, lulls, side steps, but also sharp, unavoidable feelings. Gurov, the protagonist, meets a woman under not especially propitious circumstances. They have something like a dalliance. She departs, he returns to his life in Moscow but cannot forget her. He pursues her, finds her and discovers she has not forgotten him. On the contrary, she loves him and he discovers that he loves her. Thereafter, they have to meet clandestinely. They chafe at the time they must spend apart (each is married) and the furtiveness their love entails but don’t know what to do. I quote the ending sentences of the story in the Pevear/Volokhonsky translation:
"..so many wonderful distractions and material conveniences that unhappiness would not have a place anymore..." This seems the saddest line in this essay to me. Perhaps because just the opposite has happened... the technology, the newest toy or phone or convenience foisted on us every month or so...meanwhile our children feel alone, we feel alone, no matter how "connected" they tell us we are.... (they being corporate America)
Confounding anyone would think unhappiness could be banished “by the busyness of nation-states, scientific enterprises, and corporations.” And yet, here we are - busy, nationalistic, corporate-centric and unhappy.
"..so many wonderful distractions and material conveniences that unhappiness would not have a place anymore..." This seems the saddest line in this essay to me. Perhaps because just the opposite has happened... the technology, the newest toy or phone or convenience foisted on us every month or so...meanwhile our children feel alone, we feel alone, no matter how "connected" they tell us we are.... (they being corporate America)
Confounding anyone would think unhappiness could be banished “by the busyness of nation-states, scientific enterprises, and corporations.” And yet, here we are - busy, nationalistic, corporate-centric and unhappy.
Thanks, Baron, for connecting the dots.
You ask a great question, if Chekhov felt the "untimely chill at the century's end." I believe he did. Thank you for writing about him.
Ah, Chekhov & the inconvenience of love in these perfected, parlous times...
“…so much sensitive dust.” Ah, don’t we know it.
You powers of observation are keen in this, as usual. I love how you chose Chekhov to illustrate our time’s malaise.