A Misfortune

"A Misfortune" is a short story by Anton Pavlovich Chekhov that explores themes of human suffering, irony, and the unpredictability of life. The narrative centers around a man named Yevgeny, who experiences a sudden and inexplicable misfortune that profoundly impacts his perspective on life and relationships. Through Chekhov's signature blend of humor and melancholy, the story delves into the complexities of personal crises, the absurdities of existence, and the often surprising ways in which individuals respond to adversity. With its poignant insights into the human condition, "A Misfortune" captures the essence of Chekhov's literary style and his keen understanding of life’s intricate dynamics.

								
SOFYA PETROVNA, the wife of Lubyantsev the notary, a handsome young
woman of five-and-twenty, was walking slowly along a track that had been
cleared in the wood, with Ilyin, a lawyer who was spending the summer in
the neighbourhood. It was five o'clock in the evening. Feathery-white
masses of cloud stood overhead; patches of bright blue sky peeped out
between them. The clouds stood motionless, as though they had caught in
the tops of the tall old pine-trees. It was still and sultry.

Farther on, the track was crossed by a low railway embankment on which a
sentinel with a gun was for some reason pacing up and down. Just beyond
the embankment there was a large white church with six domes and a rusty
roof.

"I did not expect to meet you here," said Sofya Petrovna, looking at the
ground and prodding at the last year's leaves with the tip of her
parasol, "and now I am glad we have met. I want to speak to you
seriously and once for all. I beg you, Ivan Mihalovitch, if you really
love and respect me, please make an end of this pursuit of me! You
follow me about like a shadow, you are continually looking at me not in
a nice way, making love to me, writing me strange letters, and . . . and
I don't know where it's all going to end! Why, what can come of it?"

Ilyin said nothing. Sofya Petrovna walked on a few steps and continued:

"And this complete transformation in you all came about in the course of
two or three weeks, after five years' friendship. I don't know you, Ivan
Mihalovitch!"

Sofya Petrovna stole a glance at her companion. Screwing up his eyes, he
was looking intently at the fluffy clouds. His face looked angry, ill-
humoured, and preoccupied, like that of a man in pain forced to listen
to nonsense.

"I wonder you don't see it yourself," Madame Lubyantsev went on,
shrugging her shoulders. "You ought to realize that it's not a very nice
part you are playing. I am married; I love and respect my husband. . . .
I have a daughter . . . . Can you think all that means nothing? Besides,
as an old friend you know my attitude to family life and my views as to
the sanctity of marriage."

Ilyin cleared his throat angrily and heaved a sigh.

"Sanctity of marriage . . ." he muttered. "Oh, Lord!"

"Yes, yes. . . . I love my husband, I respect him; and in any case I
value the peace of my home. I would rather let myself be killed than be
a cause of unhappiness to Andrey and his daughter. . . . And I beg you,
Ivan Mihalovitch, for God's sake, leave me in peace! Let us be as good,
true friends as we used to be, and give up these sighs and groans, which
really don't suit you. It's settled and over! Not a word more about it.
Let us talk of something else."

Sofya Petrovna again stole a glance at Ilyin's face. Ilyin was looking
up; he was pale, and was angrily biting his quivering lips. She could
not understand why he was angry and why he was indignant, but his pallor
touched her.

"Don't be angry; let us be friends," she said affectionately. "Agreed?
Here's my hand."

Ilyin took her plump little hand in both of his, squeezed it, and slowly
raised it to his lips.

"I am not a schoolboy," he muttered. "I am not in the least tempted by
friendship with the woman I love."

"Enough, enough! It's settled and done with. We have reached the seat;
let us sit down."

Sofya Petrovna's soul was filled with a sweet sense of relief: the most
difficult and delicate thing had been said, the painful question was
settled and done with. Now she could breathe freely and look Ilyin
straight in the face. She looked at him, and the egoistic feeling of the
superiority of the woman over the man who loves her, agreeably flattered
her. It pleased her to see this huge, strong man, with his manly, angry
face and his big black beard--clever, cultivated, and, people said,
talented--sit down obediently beside her and bow his head dejectedly. For
two or three minutes they sat without speaking.

"Nothing is settled or done with," began Ilyin. "You repeat copy-book
maxims to me. 'I love and respect my husband . . . the sanctity of
marriage. . . .' I know all that without your help, and I could tell you
more, too. I tell you truthfully and honestly that I consider the way I
am behaving as criminal and immoral. What more can one say than that?
But what's the good of saying what everybody knows? Instead of feeding
nightingales with paltry words, you had much better tell me what I am to
do."

"I've told you already--go away."

"As you know perfectly well, I have gone away five times, and every time
I turned back on the way. I can show you my through tickets --I've kept
them all. I have not will enough to run away from you! I am struggling.
I am struggling horribly; but what the devil am I good for if I have no
backbone, if I am weak, cowardly! I can't struggle with Nature! Do you
understand? I cannot! I run away from here, and she holds on to me and
pulls me back. Contemptible, loathsome weakness!"

Ilyin flushed crimson, got up, and walked up and down by the seat.

"I feel as cross as a dog," he muttered, clenching his fists. "I hate
and despise myself! My God! like some depraved schoolboy, I am making
love to another man's wife, writing idiotic letters, degrading myself .
. . ugh!"

Ilyin clutched at his head, grunted, and sat down. "And then your
insincerity!" he went on bitterly. "If you do dislike my disgusting
behaviour, why have you come here? What drew you here? In my letters I
only ask you for a direct, definite answer--yes or no; but instead of a
direct answer, you contrive every day these 'chance' meetings with me
and regale me with copy-book maxims!"

Madame Lubyantsev was frightened and flushed. She suddenly felt the
awkwardness which a decent woman feels when she is accidentally
discovered undressed.

"You seem to suspect I am playing with you," she muttered. "I have
always given you a direct answer, and . . . only today I've begged you .
. ."

"Ough! as though one begged in such cases! If you were to say straight
out 'Get away,' I should have been gone long ago; but you've never said
that. You've never once given me a direct answer. Strange indecision!
Yes, indeed; either you are playing with me, or else . . ."

Ilyin leaned his head on his fists without finishing. Sofya Petrovna
began going over in her own mind the way she had behaved from beginning
to end. She remembered that not only in her actions, but even in her
secret thoughts, she had always been opposed to Ilyin's love-making; but
yet she felt there was a grain of truth in the lawyer's words. But not
knowing exactly what the truth was, she could not find answers to make
to Ilyin's complaint, however hard she thought. It was awkward to be
silent, and, shrugging her shoulders, she said:

So I am to blame, it appears."

								Rate this book:0.0 / 0 votes