The early work of a Russian master

Author: By Katherine Tiernan O'Connor

Date: SUNDAY, January 31, 1999

Page: F2

Section: Books

The Undiscovered Chekhov
Thirty-Eight New Stories
Translated, from the Russian, by Peter Constantine. Seven Stories Press. 200 pp. $24.

One begins reading the ``undiscovered'' works of any great writer with both curiosity and anxiety: Will they measure up to the author's classic texts or at least not fall too far short of the mark, or will they argue eloquently for the right to remain undiscovered? Not to worry, this collection of ``new'' (all but two of the 38 stories have never before been translated into English) stories of Anton Chekhov has something to appeal to everyone.

Although decrying the artificiality and the limitations of periodization, scholars and critics inevitably resort to it, and in the case of Chekhov, the year 1886 (or thereabouts) is often referred to as the year that launches the ``mature'' Chekhov. It is not surprising, therefore, that most of the stories found here date from the early 1880s when Chekhov was a medical student at the University of Moscow, writing various short pieces for popular magazines and newspapers (under various pseudonyms), and thus providing himself and his family (his parents and younger siblings) with needed income. What is surprising, however, and pleasantly so, is the number of stories in this collection that would merit inclusion in any anthology of Chekhov's stories.

Most of the stories are, broadly speaking, satirical, taking aim at weaknesses and propensities deemed peculiarly Russian, such as laziness, stubbornness, ignorance, and xenophobia, as well as stereotypes that are the familiar butt of humor everywhere: pompous bureaucrats, drunks, old maids in pursuit, and bachelors in flight. Chekhov's satire is, however, rarely one-sided, nor is it bitter or moralistic, and the best of the stories have a lot going on.

The opening story, ``Sarah Bernhardt Comes to Town,'' consists of a series of notes or telegrams written by an assortment of people in response to the great actress's Moscow visit. Not only are the individual missives hilarious in themselves, but they combine to form a crazy quilt. We hear thanks from mistresses who have been given tickets and complaints from wives who have not, queries from editors waiting for reviews and excuses from reporters who for whatever reason (e.g., not attending the performance) are delinquent in their duty. In addition, there is the doctor who sees Bernhardt as merely a ``skeletal and muscular structure,'' and the xenophobe and anti-Semite who sees the fuss over Bernhardt as yet another indication of Russia's dangerous impressionability regarding the decadent West. In highlighting the vanities and idiocies that can characterize people's response to ``stars,'' Chekhov lampoons the Moscow public's reception of Bernhardt, and, in the process, he also does a playful number on Bernhardt herself.

Another kind of multidimensionality is found in the story ``On the Train,'' an expressionistic rendering of a train trip that conveys the visceral feel of being in motion. Trains are often lent an apocalyptic aura in Russian literature (e.g., in Tolstoy's ``Anna Karenina'' and Dostoevsky's ``The Idiot''), and that aura is present here as well, but not weighed down by the heavy anti-Western baggage that so often goes along with it. There is, in fact, the sense that the train and everyone on it is a microcosm of Russia itself, and thus has replaced Gogol's troika as the symbolic vehicle that is transporting Russia to unknown destinations. Finally, a clever and entertaining narrative frame contains the series of staccato encounters and impressions that occur throughout the story, and suffice it to say that what you don't expect to be stolen is and what you expect to remain lost is returned.

Some seemingly conventional characters and situations are also given a sufficiently nuanced or even outrageous treatment. ``Confession -- Or Olya, Zhenya, Zoya: A Letter'' is a letter to a platonic woman friend written by a 39-year-old bachelor in which he blames chance for his not being married and then proceeds to describe various ``incidents'' that speak eloquently to the power of his unconscious will. Whether it be a case of uncontrollable hiccups or a last-minute revelation about his would-be fiancee's character flaws (when attacked by ferocious geese, she falls trembling into his arms, and this he views as an act of unpardonable ``cowardice'' on her part), there is never any doubt that the bachelor has willed himself (whether he knows it or not) not to be ``fortunate'' enough to have married.

Marriage-shyness applies as well to the hero of ``From the Diary of an Assistant Bookkeeper'' whose hopes for career advancement and concerns over nagging health problems are chronicled over a 20-year period. The diary entries are both funny and sad at the same time. The years don't bring any alteration in his circumstances, but in the end, the chronicness of his situation has become rather endearing. The various prescriptions or home remedies he is currently taking for his physical maladies are always included at the end of his journal entries, and through this juxtaposition of failed ambitions and new prescriptions, Chekhov subtly conveys that medicine often functions as a hoped-for remedy for life pain as well as for physical discomfort.

The doctor rather than the patient is the focus of the more complex story ``Intrigues,'' the central figure of which is about to attend a meeting where he will have to defend himself against colleagues who have criticized his conduct during medical consultations. What is described in the story is the doctor's thoughts about his colleagues and his own defense, and finally, his dreams of leading a kind of palace coup within the Doctors' Association that would put him on top and oust his enemies. The story is unsettling in that, although we sense that the doctor's allegations of incompetence among his colleagues are justified, he is himself a highly compromised character because of his own paranoia and preoccupation with ``intrigues,'' his own as well as those of his putative enemies. Thus, by unmasking the aspiring unmasker, the story leaves us with a sense of the pervasive incompetence (and possibly mental instability as well) within the medical profession and also the lack of any satisfactory means of dealing with it.

The collection concludes (in Part 2) with some of Chekhov's short humorous sketches (vignettes, aphorisms, comic glossaries, etc.), which can be breezed through more quickly, I believe, than the stories that preceded them. Having said this, however, I should add that some of these tidbits take on added suggestiveness when read against the background of the stories that preceded them. For example, given the profusion of maritally-challenged bachelors who have passed before us, this line from ``Questions Posed by a Mad Mathematician'' stands out: ``My mother-in-law is 75, and my wife 42. What time is it?''

The translator's claim that this generally neglected work (i.e., that found in Part 2) ``is coming into its own as important experimental work that anticipated the absurdist movement'' adds a note of unwitting comic earnestness perhaps (which Chekhov himself might have enjoyed), because it suggests that it is only here that one might look for absurdist ``seeds'' in Chekhov. How absurd! They are everywhere. Likewise, the translator's claim that the story ``Intrigues'' ``anticipates modernism'' implies that it is this story in particular that lends Chekhov his modernist credentials. This too is absurd. By attempting to lend weight to a particular part of Chekhov's oeuvre, such claims have the effect of diminishing, or at least misrepresenting, the whole.

The translator's introduction, in its effort to persuade us as to why these ``undiscovered'' stories merit our attention, offers some comments that are both dubious and misleading. The stories themselves are their own best advertisement. They give us, if not a preview, at least a taste of almost everything we have come to associate with the ``mature'' Chekhov, including characters, settings and situations that reappear in more fleshed-out form in his later works.