Short Fiction by Anton Chekhov (libby ebook reader .txt) π
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Anton Chekhov is widely considered to be one of the greatest short story writers in history. A physician by day, heβs famously quoted as saying, βMedicine is my lawful wife, and literature is my mistress.β Chekhov wrote nearly 300 short stories in his long writing career; while at first he wrote mainly to make a profit, as his interest in writingβand his skillβgrew, he wrote stories that heavily influenced the modern development of the form.
His stories are famous for, among other things, their ambiguous morality and their often inconclusive nature. Chekhov was a firm believer that the role of the artist was to correctly pose a question, but not necessarily to answer it.
This collection contains all of his short stories and two novellas, all translated by Constance Garnett, and arranged by the date they were originally published.
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- Author: Anton Chekhov
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βIn the first years I was elected here an honourary justice of the peace. I used to have to go to the town and take part in the sessions of the congress and of the circuit court, and this was a pleasant change for me. When you live here for two or three months without a break, especially in the winter, you begin at last to pine for a black coat. And in the circuit court there were frock-coats, and uniforms, and dress-coats, too, all lawyers, men who have received a general education; I had someone to talk to. After sleeping in the sledge and dining in the kitchen, to sit in an armchair in clean linen, in thin boots, with a chain on oneβs waistcoat, is such luxury!
βI received a warm welcome in the town. I made friends eagerly. And of all my acquaintanceships the most intimate and, to tell the truth, the most agreeable to me was my acquaintance with Luganovitch, the vice-president of the circuit court. You both know him: a most charming personality. It all happened just after a celebrated case of incendiarism; the preliminary investigation lasted two days; we were exhausted. Luganovitch looked at me and said:
βββLook here, come round to dinner with me.β
βThis was unexpected, as I knew Luganovitch very little, only officially, and I had never been to his house. I only just went to my hotel room to change and went off to dinner. And here it was my lot to meet Anna Alexyevna, Luganovitchβs wife. At that time she was still very young, not more than twenty-two, and her first baby had been born just six months before. It is all a thing of the past; and now I should find it difficult to define what there was so exceptional in her, what it was in her attracted me so much; at the time, at dinner, it was all perfectly clear to me. I saw a lovely young, good, intelligent, fascinating woman, such as I had never met before; and I felt her at once someone close and already familiar, as though that face, those cordial, intelligent eyes, I had seen somewhere in my childhood, in the album which lay on my motherβs chest of drawers.
βFour Jews were charged with being incendiaries, were regarded as a gang of robbers, and, to my mind, quite groundlessly. At dinner I was very much excited, I was uncomfortable, and I donβt know what I said, but Anna Alexyevna kept shaking her head and saying to her husband:
βββDmitry, how is this?β
βLuganovitch is a good-natured man, one of those simple-hearted people who firmly maintain the opinion that once a man is charged before a court he is guilty, and to express doubt of the correctness of a sentence cannot be done except in legal form on paper, and not at dinner and in private conversation.
βββYou and I did not set fire to the place,β he said softly, βand you see we are not condemned, and not in prison.β
βAnd both husband and wife tried to make me eat and drink as much as possible. From some trifling details, from the way they made the coffee together, for instance, and from the way they understood each other at half a word, I could gather that they lived in harmony and comfort, and that they were glad of a visitor. After dinner they played a duet on the piano; then it got dark, and I went home. That was at the beginning of spring.
βAfter that I spent the whole summer at Sofino without a break, and I had no time to think of the town, either, but the memory of the graceful fair-haired woman remained in my mind all those days; I did not think of her, but it was as though her light shadow were lying on my heart.
βIn the late autumn there was a theatrical performance for some charitable object in the town. I went into the governorβs box (I was invited to go there in the interval); I looked, and there was Anna Alexyevna sitting beside the governorβs wife; and again the same irresistible, thrilling impression of beauty and sweet, caressing eyes, and again the same feeling of nearness. We sat side by side, then went to the foyer.
βββYouβve grown thinner,β she said; βhave you been ill?β
βββYes, Iβve had rheumatism in my shoulder, and in rainy weather I canβt sleep.β
βββYou look dispirited. In the spring, when you came to dinner, you were younger, more confident. You were full of eagerness, and talked a great deal then; you were very interesting, and I really must confess I was a little carried away by you. For some reason you often came back to my memory during the summer, and when I was getting ready for the theatre today I thought I should see you.β
βAnd she laughed.
βββBut you look dispirited today,β she repeated; βit makes you seem older.β
βThe next day I
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