Chekhov and Dostoevsky

[MikeK]

This is an excerpt from my favorite Chekhov short story "In The Ravine".  (For those of you who may want to read the story fresh, there will be SPOILERS coming right now, AND THEY WILL RUIN THE STORY FOR YOU.)  Lipa, the female character in this scene, is walking back to her village at night from the hospital.  She is carrying her dead baby son who was scalded with boiling water, and she comes across two men travelling in a cart.  This is an amazing passage, but what I finally realized after reading it a few times now (that I can't believe I didn't see right away) are the amazing similarities to so many themes and aspects of The Brothers Karamazov.  I almost feel that Chekhov must have had TBK in mind when writing this scene.  See if you agree...or just enjoy Chekhov's mastery.  Here it is:



"I have been at the hospital," said Lipa after a pause. "My little son died there. Here I am carrying him home."

It must have been unpleasant for the old man to hear this, for he moved away and said hurriedly:

"Never mind, my dear. It's God's will. You are very slow, lad," he added, addressing his companion; "look alive!

"Your yoke's nowhere," said the young man; "it is not to be seen."

"You are a regular Vavila."

The old man picked up an ember, blew on it -- only his eyes and nose were lighted up -- then, when they had found the yoke, he went with the light to Lipa and looked at her, and his look expressed compassion and tenderness.

"You are a mother," he said; "every mother grieves for her child."

And he sighed and shook his head as he said it. Vavila threw something on the fire, stamped on it -- and at once it was very dark; the vision vanished, and as before there were only the fields, the sky with the stars, and the noise of the birds hindering each other from sleep. And the landrail called, it seemed, in the very place where the fire had been.

But a minute passed, and again she could see the two carts and the old man and lanky Vavila. The carts creaked as they went out on the road.

"Are you holy men?" Lipa asked the old man.

"No. We are from Firsanovo."

"You looked at me just now and my heart was softened. And the young man is so gentle. I thought you must be holy men."

"Are you going far?"

"To Ukleevo."

"Get in, we will give you a lift as far as Kuzmenki, then you go straight on and we turn off to the left."

Vavila got into the cart with the barrel and the old man and Lipa got into the other. They moved at a walking pace, Vavila in front.

"My baby was in torment all day," said Lipa. "He looked at me with his little eyes and said nothing; he wanted to speak and could not. Holy Father, Queen of Heaven! In my grief I kept falling down on the floor. I stood up and fell down by the bedside. And tell me, grandfather, why a little thing should be tormented before his death? When a grown-up person, a man or woman, are in torment their sins are forgiven, but why a little thing, when he has no sins? Why?"

"Who can tell?" answered the old man.

They drove on for half an hour in silence.

"We can't know everything, how and wherefore," said the old man. "It is ordained for the bird to have not four wings but two because it is able to fly with two; and so it is ordained for man not to know everything but only a half or a quarter. As much as he needs to know so as to live, so much he knows."

"It is better for me to go on foot, grandfather. Now my heart is all of a tremble."

"Never mind, sit still."

The old man yawned and made the sign of the cross over his mouth.

"Never mind," he repeated. "Yours is not the worst of sorrows. Life is long, there will be good and bad to come, there will be everything. Great is mother Russia," he said, and looked round on each side of him. "I have been all over Russia, and I have seen everything in her, and you may believe my words, my dear. There will be good and there will be bad. I went as a delegate from my village to Siberia, and I have been to the Amur River and the Altai Mountains and I settled in Siberia; I worked the land there, then I was homesick for mother Russia and I came back to my native village. We came back to Russia on foot; and I remember we went on a steamer, and I was thin as thin, all in rags, barefoot, freezing with cold, and gnawing a crust, and a gentleman who was on the steamer -- the kingdom of heaven be his if he is dead -- looked at me pitifully, and the tears came into his eyes. 'Ah,' he said, 'your bread is black, your days are black. . . .' And when I got home, as the saying is, there was neither stick nor stall; I had a wife, but I left her behind in Siberia, she was buried there. So I am living as a day labourer. And yet I tell you: since then I have had good as well as bad. Here I do not want to die, my dear, I would be glad to live another twenty years; so there has been more of the good. And great is our mother Russia!" and again he gazed to each side and looked round.

"Grandfather," Lipa asked, "when anyone dies, how many days does his soul walk the earth?"

"Who can tell! Ask Vavila here, he has been to school. Now they teach them everything. Vavila!" the old man called to him.

"Yes!"

"Vavila, when anyone dies how long does his soul walk the earth?

Vavila stopped the horse and only then answered:

"Nine days. My uncle Kirilla died and his soul lived in our hut thirteen days after."

"How do you know?"

"For thirteen days there was a knocking in the stove."

"Well, that's all right. Go on," said the old man, and it could be seen that he did not believe a word of all that.

Near Kuzmenki the cart turned into the high road while Lipa went straight on. It was by now getting light. As she went down into the ravine the Ukleevo huts and the church were hidden in fog. It was cold, and it seemed to her that the same cuckoo was calling still.


That's it.  Does anyone agree?  Can you see what similarities I'm talking about?  I think there are several.  What do you think?

[omahaha]

From the little I know of Chekhov, I think he and D had different views in regards to pain and suffering. Correct me if I'm wrong, though.

I've read "The Seagull," which I thought was pretty good -- interesting use of symbolism, self-reflection, tragedy -- but I think Chekhov lacks D's touch. Like in the above passage: "and his look expressed compassion and tenderness." I could just be nit-picking here, but that line seems kind of pedestrian. It'd be better expressed in the drama than stated, which I think D does more often than not.

It seems Chekhov might be trying to do that, but then again, it's bound to seem lightweight compared to The Brothers Karamasov.  

[Childe Harold]

I prefer Chechov's writing. His character and plots are less ideologically fraught, which gives them a more real, more human quality. I wrote in the Shakespeare thread about novelists of philosophy and novelists of aesthetic. Chechov tends to the latter. If there is any philosophy in his works it is a kind of Everyman humanism. There's a heartful simplicity that pervades and underlines his stories. Such as in The Duel, when the two antagonists--now reconciled-- agree that "it's human fate to stumble on a level road; it's man's lot: if you're not mistaken in the major things, you make mistakes in the details. No one knows the real truth."

A great article about Chekhov:

http://www.weeklystandard.com/content/protected/articles/000/000/012/708glgfa.asp

[MikeK]

Thanks for the link.

[MikeK]

Since I started up a Chekhov/Dostoevsky thread, I might as well post this interesting anecdote again, which I had first posted somewhere else on this site a couple of months back:


'I came across the following passage in Richard Pevear's introduction to his collection of Chekhov stories:

"In the autumn of 1844 a young writer named Dmitri Grigorovich was sharing rooms with a friend of his from military engineering school, the twenty-three-year-old Fyodor Dostoevsky, who was at work on his first novel, 'Poor Folk'.  Through Grigorovich the finished manuscript reached the hands of Vissarion Belinsky, the most influential critic of the time, whose enthusiasm launched Dostoevsky's career.  More than four decades later, in 1886, this same Grigorovich, now an elder statesman of literature, came across the humorous sketches of someone who signed himself 'Antosha Chekhonte', brought them to the attention of the publisher Alexei Suvorin, and thus "recognized" the last great Russian writer of the nineteenth century - Anton Chekhov."

I know, I know, Dostoevsky and Chekhov would've eventually been "discovered" regardless.  But still, it's an amazing literary anecdote.  It would be very like the same baseball scout "discovering" both Babe Ruth and Hank Aaron.'

[tzar]

This is an excerpt from my favorite Chekhov short story "In The Ravine".  (For those of you who may want to read the story fresh, there will be SPOILERS coming right now, AND THEY WILL RUIN THE STORY FOR YOU.)  Lipa, the female character in this scene, is walking back to her village at night from the hospital.  She is carrying her dead baby son who was scalded with boiling water, and she comes across two men travelling in a cart.  This is an amazing passage, but what I finally realized after reading it a few times now (that I can't believe I didn't see right away) are the amazing similarities to so many themes and aspects of The Brothers Karamazov.  I almost feel that Chekhov must have had TBK in mind when writing this scene.  See if you agree...or just enjoy Chekhov's mastery.  Here it is:



"I have been at the hospital," said Lipa after a pause. "My little son died there. Here I am carrying him home."

It must have been unpleasant for the old man to hear this, for he moved away and said hurriedly:

"Never mind, my dear. It's God's will. You are very slow, lad," he added, addressing his companion; "look alive!

"Your yoke's nowhere," said the young man; "it is not to be seen."

"You are a regular Vavila."

The old man picked up an ember, blew on it -- only his eyes and nose were lighted up -- then, when they had found the yoke, he went with the light to Lipa and looked at her, and his look expressed compassion and tenderness.

"You are a mother," he said; "every mother grieves for her child."

And he sighed and shook his head as he said it. Vavila threw something on the fire, stamped on it -- and at once it was very dark; the vision vanished, and as before there were only the fields, the sky with the stars, and the noise of the birds hindering each other from sleep. And the landrail called, it seemed, in the very place where the fire had been.

But a minute passed, and again she could see the two carts and the old man and lanky Vavila. The carts creaked as they went out on the road.

"Are you holy men?" Lipa asked the old man.

"No. We are from Firsanovo."

"You looked at me just now and my heart was softened. And the young man is so gentle. I thought you must be holy men."

"Are you going far?"

"To Ukleevo."

"Get in, we will give you a lift as far as Kuzmenki, then you go straight on and we turn off to the left."

Vavila got into the cart with the barrel and the old man and Lipa got into the other. They moved at a walking pace, Vavila in front.

"My baby was in torment all day," said Lipa. "He looked at me with his little eyes and said nothing; he wanted to speak and could not. Holy Father, Queen of Heaven! In my grief I kept falling down on the floor. I stood up and fell down by the bedside. And tell me, grandfather, why a little thing should be tormented before his death? When a grown-up person, a man or woman, are in torment their sins are forgiven, but why a little thing, when he has no sins? Why?"

"Who can tell?" answered the old man.

They drove on for half an hour in silence.

"We can't know everything, how and wherefore," said the old man. "It is ordained for the bird to have not four wings but two because it is able to fly with two; and so it is ordained for man not to know everything but only a half or a quarter. As much as he needs to know so as to live, so much he knows."

"It is better for me to go on foot, grandfather. Now my heart is all of a tremble."

"Never mind, sit still."

The old man yawned and made the sign of the cross over his mouth.

"Never mind," he repeated. "Yours is not the worst of sorrows. Life is long, there will be good and bad to come, there will be everything. Great is mother Russia," he said, and looked round on each side of him. "I have been all over Russia, and I have seen everything in her, and you may believe my words, my dear. There will be good and there will be bad. I went as a delegate from my village to Siberia, and I have been to the Amur River and the Altai Mountains and I settled in Siberia; I worked the land there, then I was homesick for mother Russia and I came back to my native village. We came back to Russia on foot; and I remember we went on a steamer, and I was thin as thin, all in rags, barefoot, freezing with cold, and gnawing a crust, and a gentleman who was on the steamer -- the kingdom of heaven be his if he is dead -- looked at me pitifully, and the tears came into his eyes. 'Ah,' he said, 'your bread is black, your days are black. . . .' And when I got home, as the saying is, there was neither stick nor stall; I had a wife, but I left her behind in Siberia, she was buried there. So I am living as a day labourer. And yet I tell you: since then I have had good as well as bad. Here I do not want to die, my dear, I would be glad to live another twenty years; so there has been more of the good. And great is our mother Russia!" and again he gazed to each side and looked round.

"Grandfather," Lipa asked, "when anyone dies, how many days does his soul walk the earth?"

"Who can tell! Ask Vavila here, he has been to school. Now they teach them everything. Vavila!" the old man called to him.

"Yes!"

"Vavila, when anyone dies how long does his soul walk the earth?

Vavila stopped the horse and only then answered:

"Nine days. My uncle Kirilla died and his soul lived in our hut thirteen days after."

"How do you know?"

"For thirteen days there was a knocking in the stove."

"Well, that's all right. Go on," said the old man, and it could be seen that he did not believe a word of all that.

Near Kuzmenki the cart turned into the high road while Lipa went straight on. It was by now getting light. As she went down into the ravine the Ukleevo huts and the church were hidden in fog. It was cold, and it seemed to her that the same cuckoo was calling still.


That's it.  Does anyone agree?  Can you see what similarities I'm talking about?  I think there are several.  What do you think?

in fact, it differs from Dostoy a lot.
D. would never combine grief and irony, sorrow and humour in the same episode.
in addition, Chekhov's works' world, unlike that of Dostoevski, is completely bereft of such a thing as the hope, instead it's full of desperation.

[Childe Harold]

No he would, in moments of black humour. Like in the scene of Marmelodov's funeral dinner in C&P. But I agree with you that his writing doesn't bear much anology to Dostoevsky's--not any of it. Not Ward No.6. This story is more about the difficulties of Stoicism rather than against philosophy in general. I can see how people make this assumption though, but they to me are bearing Dostoevsky too much in mind, making the anologies they draw between both writers somewhat strained.

[MikeK]

Thanks for the replies.  It's interesting to see your comparisons between Chekhov and Dostoevsky.

I do have to say that this thread got a little far afield from what I wanted to ask (that's ok though - the comments are interesting).  I was specifically referring to that passage from "In The Ravine" that I quoted.  After reading it several times many similarities to The Brothers Karamazov struck me, and I kind of wanted to see if anyone else would pick up on what I did - or if I was just crazy.

Just a few of the things:

- Lipa is carrying her dead baby son and asks the old man why innocent children have to suffer.  That is the jumping off point of Ivan’s rebellion.  And of course the suffering of innocent children is prevalent throughout The Brothers Karamazov.

- The speech of the old man, which reasons similarly to the way Zosima and Alyosha reasoned about the world and about God.  What I'm saying, I guess, is that the old man's rebuttal to Ivan's arguments would've been similar to Zosima's and Alyosha's.  

- The imagery of the scene, reminding me of Dmitri's dream of the wee one.

Those are just a few of many similarities that I saw.  Anyone else agree?  Or see any others?  And of course I don’t mean to stop anyone from posting any other thoughts about Chekhov and Dostoevsky in general.  Those are always welcome.

[omahaha]

Thanks for the replies.  It's interesting to see your comparisons between Chekhov and Dostoevsky.

I do have to say that this thread got a little far afield from what I wanted to ask (that's ok though - the comments are interesting).  I was specifically referring to that passage from "In The Ravine" that I quoted.  After reading it several times many similarities to The Brothers Karamazov struck me, and I kind of wanted to see if anyone else would pick up on what I did - or if I was just crazy.

Just a few of the things:

- Lipa is carrying her dead baby son and asks the old man why innocent children have to suffer.  That is the jumping off point of Ivan’s rebellion.  And of course the suffering of innocent children is prevalent throughout The Brothers Karamazov.

- The speech of the old man, which reasons similarly to the way Zosima and Alyosha reasoned about the world and about God.  What I'm saying, I guess, is that the old man's rebuttal to Ivan's arguments would've been similar to Zosima's and Alyosha's.  

- The imagery of the scene, reminding me of Dmitri's dream of the wee one.

Those are just a few of many similarities that I saw.  Anyone else agree?  Or see any others?  And of course I don’t mean to stop anyone from posting any other thoughts about Chekhov and Dostoevsky in general.  Those are always welcome.

Hi Mike,
I definitely see the similarities in tone and certain elements of style, but the meaning is quite different. To Chekhov, like Ivan, suffering is quite meaningless.

Chekhov said that, perhaps, show people how miserable their lives are and they will want to change them. This, of course, begs the question what is misery, but Chekhov sees religion as part of it and makes religion the object of satire at the end of the above passage.

Many people would probably agree with Chekhov. Dostoevsky didn't.

[lotrlz]

while we're on the topic of comparing the two...

I've have seen essays arguing that Chekhov's character Ivan Dmitrich Gromov, from Ward No. 6  is a tribute to the Underground Man. Anyone heard anything like this? Thoughts, ideas?

[MikeK]

I just came across this quote in a book I'm reading and it seems perfect for this thread.  I forget who said it, but one translator of Chekhov wrote that (I'm paraphrasing): While Tolstoy and Dostoevsky built cathedrals, Chekhov built wells; his stories are deep, inexhaustable, and necessary.  That seems a very good analogy.

I hope I got it close to accurate.  I'll check later, and if I didn't I'll post the actual quote.

[MikeK]

The quote is actually from Robert Chandler and is:

"Chekhov did not, like Tolstoy and Dostoevsky, leave us vast cathedrals of words; his plays and stories are, however, at least a little like wells - modest, mysterious, and as necessary as they are inexhaustable."

...if anyone's interested.

[Secret Smile]

I prefer Chechov's writing. His character and plots are less ideologically fraught, which gives them a more real, more human quality. I wrote in the Shakespeare thread about novelists of philosophy and novelists of aesthetic. Chechov tends to the latter. If there is any philosophy in his works it is a kind of Everyman humanism. There's a heartful simplicity that pervades and underlines his stories. Such as in The Duel, when the two antagonists--now reconciled-- agree that "it's human fate to stumble on a level road; it's man's lot: if you're not mistaken in the major things, you make mistakes in the details. No one knows the real truth."

A great article about Chekhov:

http://www.weeklystandard.com/content/protected/articles/000/000/012/708glgfa.asp

I have the opposite impression. In some ways, Dostoevsky's characters are very eccentric, like Nastasya Filippovna. But their very dualities, their very complexity and sometimes contradictions, make them believable. Besides that, the very fact that Dostoevsky brings so many different types and personalities alive is a testament to his great talent.

I like Chekhov a lot, but I get a kick out of "An Enigmatic Nature," where (as an amateur writer) he makes fun of Dostoevsky's psychology. Kind of like plankton taking on a whale.