Lights Page #6

"Lives" is a poignant short story by Anton Pavlovich Chekhov that explores the complexities of human emotion and relationships. Set against the backdrop of ordinary life, the narrative delves into the introspections of its characters, revealing their innermost thoughts and struggles. Chekhov masterfully employs his signature style, blending subtle humor with deep pathos, as he examines themes of love, loss, and the fleeting nature of happiness. The story invites readers to reflect on the intricacies of human connections and the quiet moments that define our existence.

								

was married. Married women are better material for temporary love
affairs than girls. I was also pleased that her husband was not at home.
At the same time I felt that the affair would not come off. . . .

"We went into the house. The rooms were smallish and had low ceilings,
and the furniture was typical of the summer villa (Russians like having
at their summer villas uncomfortable heavy, dingy furniture which they
are sorry to throw away and have nowhere to put), but from certain
details I could observe that Kisotchka and her husband were not badly
off, and must be spending five or six thousand roubles a year. I
remember that in the middle of the room which Kisotchka called the
dining-room there was a round table, supported for some reason on six
legs, and on it a samovar and cups. At the edge of the table lay an open
book, a pencil, and an exercise book. I glanced at the book and
recognised it as 'Malinin and Burenin's Arithmetical Examples.' It was
open, as I now remember, at the 'Rules of Compound Interest.'

"'To whom are you giving lessons?' I asked Kisotchka.

"'Nobody,' she answered. 'I am just doing some. . . . I have nothing to
do, and am so bored that I think of the old days and do sums.'

"'Have you any children?'

"'I had a baby boy, but he only lived a week.'

"We began drinking tea. Admiring me, Kisotchka said again how good it
was that I was an engineer, and how glad she was of my success. And the
more she talked and the more genuinely she smiled, the stronger was my
conviction that I should go away without having gained my object. I was
a connoisseur in love affairs in those days, and could accurately gauge
my chances of success. You can boldly reckon on success if you are
tracking down a fool or a woman as much on the look out for new
experiences and sensations as yourself, or an adventuress to whom you
are a stranger. If you come across a sensible and serious woman, whose
face has an expression of weary submission and goodwill, who is
genuinely delighted at your presence, and, above all, respects you, you
may as well turn back. To succeed in that case needs longer than one
day.

"And by evening light Kisotchka seemed even more charming than by day.
She attracted me more and more, and apparently she liked me too, and the
surroundings were most appropriate: the husband not at home, no servants
visible, stillness around. . . . Though I had little confidence in
success, I made up my mind to begin the attack anyway. First of all it
was necessary to get into a familiar tone and to change Kisotchka's
lyrically earnest mood into a more frivolous one.

"'Let us change the conversation, Natalya Stepanovna,' I began. 'Let us
talk of something amusing. First of all, allow me, for the sake of old
times, to call you Kisotchka.'

"She allowed me.

"'Tell me, please, Kisotchka,' I went on, 'what is the matter with all
the fair sex here. What has happened to them? In old days they were all
so moral and virtuous, and now, upon my word, if one asks about anyone,
one is told such things that one is quite shocked at human nature. . . .
One young lady has eloped with an officer; another has run away and
carried off a high-school boy with her; another--a married woman--has run
away from her husband with an actor; a fourth has left her husband and
gone off with an officer, and so on and so on. It's a regular epidemic!
If it goes on like this there won't be a girl or a young woman left in
your town!'

"I spoke in a vulgar, playful tone. If Kisotchka had laughed in response
I should have gone on in this style: 'You had better look out,
Kisotchka, or some officer or actor will be carrying you off!' She would
have dropped her eyes and said: 'As though anyone would care to carry me
off; there are plenty younger and better looking . . . .' And I should
have said: 'Nonsense, Kisotchka--I for one should be delighted!' And so
on in that style, and it would all have gone swimmingly. But Kisotchka
did not laugh in response; on the contrary, she looked grave and sighed.

"'All you have been told is true,' she said. 'My cousin Sonya ran away
from her husband with an actor. Of course, it is wrong. . . . Everyone
ought to bear the lot that fate has laid on him, but I do not condemn
them or blame them. . . . Circumstances are sometimes too strong for
anyone!'

"'That is so, Kisotchka, but what circumstances can produce a regular
epidemic?'

"'It's very simple and easy to understand,' replied Kisotchka, raising
her eyebrows. 'There is absolutely nothing for us educated girls and
women to do with ourselves. Not everyone is able to go to the
University, to become a teacher, to live for ideas, in fact, as men do.
They have to be married. . . . And whom would you have them marry? You
boys leave the high-school and go away to the University, never to
return to your native town again, and you marry in Petersburg or Moscow,
while the girls remain. . . . To whom are they to be married? Why, in
the absence of decent cultured men, goodness knows what sort of men they
marry--stockbrokers and such people of all kinds, who can do nothing but
drink and get into rows at the club. . . . A girl married like that, at
random. . . . And what is her life like afterwards? You can understand:
a well-educated, cultured woman is living with a stupid, boorish man; if
she meets a cultivated man, an officer, an actor, or a doctor--well, she
gets to love him, her life becomes unbearable to her, and she runs away
from her husband. And one can't condemn her!'

"'If that is so, Kisotchka, why get married?' I asked.

"'Yes, of course,' said Kisotchka with a sigh, 'but you know every girl
fancies that any husband is better than nothing. . . . Altogether life
is horrid here, Nikolay Anastasyevitch, very horrid! Life is stifling
for a girl and stifling when one is married. . . . Here they laugh at
Sonya for having run away from her husband, but if they could see into
her soul they would not laugh. . . .'"

Azorka began barking outside again. He growled angrily at some one, then
howled miserably and dashed with all his force against the wall of the
hut. . . . Ananyev's face was puckered with pity; he broke off his story
and went out. For two minutes he could be heard outside comforting his
dog. "Good dog! poor dog!"

"Our Nikolay Anastasyevitch is fond of talking," said Von Schtenberg,
laughing. "He is a good fellow," he added after a brief silence.

Returning to the hut, the engineer filled up our glasses and, smiling
and stroking his chest, went on:

"And so my attack was unsuccessful. There was nothing for it, I put off
my unclean thoughts to a more favourable occasion, resigned myself to my
failure and, as the saying is, waved my hand. What is more, under the
influence of Kisotchka's voice, the evening air, and the stillness, I
gradually myself fell into a quiet sentimental mood. I remember I sat in
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