Dramas, such as The Seagull (1896, revised 1898), and including "A Dreary Story" (1889) of Russian writer Anton Pavlovich Chekhov, also Chekov, concern the inability of humans to communicate.
Born (袗薪褌芯薪 袩邪胁谢芯胁懈褔 效械褏芯胁) in the small southern seaport of Taganrog, the son of a grocer. His grandfather, a serf, bought his own freedom and that of his three sons in 1841. He also taught to read. A cloth merchant fathered Yevgenia Morozova, his mother.
"When I think back on my childhood," Chekhov recalled, "it all seems quite gloomy to me." Tyranny of his father, religious fanaticism, and long nights in the store, open from five in the morning till midnight, shadowed his early years. He attended a school for Greek boys in Taganrog from 1867 to 1868 and then Taganrog grammar school. Bankruptcy of his father compelled the family to move to Moscow. At the age of 16 years in 1876, independent Chekhov for some time alone in his native town supported through private tutoring.
In 1879, Chekhov left grammar school and entered the university medical school at Moscow. In the school, he began to publish hundreds of short comics to support his mother, sisters and brothers. Nicholas Leikin published him at this period and owned Oskolki (splinters), the journal of Saint Petersburg. His subjected silly social situations, marital problems, and farcical encounters among husbands, wives, mistresses, and lust; even after his marriage, Chekhov, the shy author, knew not much of whims of young women.
Nenunzhaya pobeda, first novel of Chekhov, set in 1882 in Hungary, parodied the novels of the popular M贸r J贸kai. People also mocked ideological optimism of J贸kai as a politician.
Chekhov graduated in 1884 and practiced medicine. He worked from 1885 in Peterburskaia gazeta.
In 1886, Chekhov met H.S. Suvorin, who invited him, a regular contributor, to work for Novoe vremya, the daily paper of Saint Petersburg. He gained a wide fame before 1886. He authored The Shooting Party, his second full-length novel, later translated into English. Agatha Christie used its characters and atmosphere in later her mystery novel The Murder of Roger Ackroyd. First book of Chekhov in 1886 succeeded, and he gradually committed full time. The refusal of the author to join the ranks of social critics arose the wrath of liberal and radical intelligentsia, who criticized him for dealing with serious social and moral questions but avoiding giving answers. Such leaders as Leo Tolstoy and Nikolai Leskov, however, defended him. "I'm not a liberal, or a conservative, or a gradualist, or a monk, or an indifferentist. I should like to be a free artist and that's all..." Chekhov said in 1888.
The failure of The Wood Demon, play in 1889, and problems with novel made Chekhov to withdraw from literature for a period. In 1890, he traveled across Siberia to Sakhalin, remote prison island. He conducted a detailed census of ten thousand convicts and settlers, condemned to live on that harsh island. Chekhov expected to use the results of his research for his doctoral dissertation. Hard conditions on the island probably also weakened his own physical condition. From this journey came his famous travel book.
Chekhov practiced medicine until 1892. During these years, Chechov developed his concept of the dispassionate, non-judgmental author. He outlined his program in a letter to his brother Aleksandr: "1. Absence of lengthy verbiage of political-social-economic nature; 2. total objectivity; 3. truthful descriptions of persons and objects; 4. extreme brevity; 5. audacity and originality; flee the stereotype; 6. compassion." Because he objected that the paper conducted against Alfred Dreyfus, his friendship with Suvorin ended
'Oh, how easy and simple it all is! But you are mistaken, doctor; in each one of us there are too many springs, too many wheels and cogs for us to judge each other by first impressions or by two or three external indications. I cannot understand you, you cannot understand me, and neither of us can understand himself.'
Anton Chekhov鈥檚 was the first play I attended in out-of- school context, and I was blown away by it (and not just by the gun shot). It affected me so deeply tears rolled down my cheeks by the end of the play. So when I discovered that Chekhov鈥檚 1887 play Ivanov was on the program of the local cultural centre, I jumped on the chance - it looked the perfect occasion as a means to reconnect with theatre, after a pause of seventeen years without attending any play.
As the performance was presented as an adaptation and even a deconstruction of Chekhov, afterwards I was curious to discover the original text 鈥搕o which the performance stayed remarkably true, apart from removing a few of the numerous minor characters from the plot 鈥� and with it obliterating the symbolism of the card playing in the backdrop of the play which serves as a commentary on the unpredictability of life and fate.
'If an intelligent, educated, and healthy man begins to complain of his lot and go down-hill, there is nothing for him to do but to go on down until he reaches the bottom--there is no hope for him. Where could my salvation come from? How can I save myself? I cannot drink, because it makes my head ache. I never could write bad poetry. I cannot pray for strength and see anything lofty in the languor of my soul. Laziness is laziness and weakness weakness. I can find no other names for them. I am lost, I am lost; there is no doubt of that.'
The 35 year old Nikolai Ivanov is a complex and moody man. Is he guilty 鈥� as he repeats over and over again himself 鈥� or innocent? His environment 鈥� his moribund wife Anna, the doctor Lvov who thinks he is a cold and heartless monster and a fortune-chaser, the brash manager of Ivanov鈥檚 estate, Borkin, the Lebedevs, the cynic count Shabelsky (Ivanov鈥檚 uncle), Sasha wishing to rescue him 鈥� everyone is discussing him, criticising him, loving him 鈥� Ivanov is the anti-hero at the centre of the play, but no-one seems to hear what he is trying to say 鈥� all are too absorbed by their own dreams and little drama鈥檚. No-one understands what is eating him, why he changed into an prickly, paralyzed man outwardly indifferent to his wife dying and his estate going to ruins by debts and neglect. Ivanov鈥檚 motives might not be as low as they look at first glance. Depicting Ivanov鈥檚 unrest, melancholy, despair and subsequent inability to take care of himself and of others, pushing everyone away in his shame, Chekhov paints a nowadays utterly recognisable, poignant and convincing portrayal of a state of depression 鈥� and how difficult it is for others to respond to it in a meaningful way.
Can love save one from depression? What can one do to help a loved one who is struggling with depression cope? Some of the questions Ivanov rises seem timeless 鈥� or rather timely, thinking of present day in which so many struggle with the condition and the pharmaceutical industry grows fat on the profits from selling antidepressants. Michel Houellebecq poses similar questions in his latest novel . And as far as Houellebecq and Chekhov suggest answers to these issues, don鈥檛 expect them to be of the heartening kind.
'I am a bad, pathetic and worthless individual. One needs to be pathetic, too, worn out and drained by drink, like Pasha, to be still fond of me and to respect me. My God, how I despise myself! I so deeply loathe my voice, my walk, my hands, these clothes, my thoughts. Well, isn't that funny, isn't that shocking? Less than a year ago I was healthy and strong, I was cheerful, tireless, passionate, I worked with these very hands, I could speak to move even Philistines to tears, I could cry when I saw grief, I became indignant when I encountered evil. I knew inspiration, I knew the charm and poetry of quiet nights when from dusk to dawn you sit at your desk or indulge you mind with dreams. I believed, I looked into the future as into the eyes of my own mother... And now, my God, I am exhausted, I do not believe, I spend my days and nights in idleness.'
Ach Ivanov, poor Ivanov, how heavy life can weigh on a man鈥檚 shoulders!
'The life of a man is like a flower, blooming so gaily in a field. Then, along comes a goat, he eats it, and the flower is gone!'
Once Chekhov told Tikhonov, a young mining engineer, contemplating Russia, 鈥極ur cities are without paved streets, our villages poor, our people worn. When we鈥檙e young we all chirp fervently like sparrows on a dung heap, but we鈥檙e old by the time we鈥檙e forty and we start thinking of death. What kind of heroes are we?鈥�
Not everyone can carry the weight of the world.
(paintings by Isaac Levitan (1860-1900) - Anton Chekhov was the artist鈥檚 closest friend) 鈥�
Ivanov is a four-act drama by the Russian playwright Anton Chekhov. Ivanov was first performed in 1887, when Fiodor Korsh, owner of the Korsh Theatre in Moscow, commissioned Chekhov to write a comedy.
Chekhov, however, responded with a four-act drama, which he wrote in ten days. Despite the success of its first performance, the production disgusted Chekhov himself. In a letter to his brother, he wrote that he "did not recognise his first remarks as my own" and that the actors "do not know their parts and talk nonsense". Irritated by this failure, Chekhov made alterations to the play.
Consequently, the final version is different from that first performance. After this revision, it was accepted to be performed in St. Petersburg in 1889. Chekhov's revised version was a success and offered a foretaste of the style and themes of his subsequent masterpieces.
This 1887 four act play by Chekhov introduces us to Nicholas Ivanoff, thirty-five years old and married to Anna, who is dying of consumption. Is this the reason Ivanoff is so depressed? Or is his melancholy personality something he is simply no longer able to hide?
During the opening lines I liked Ivanoff because of a statement he makes to his uncle Borkin, who is also his estate manager. Borkin had come tiptoeing in and actually pointed a gun in Ivanoff's face as a joke. After they both settle a bit, Ivanoff says I am reading now. I shall attend to you later. I'm sure we all can imagine how satisfying it would be to say this at least once! We would have to use our best regal manner, of course, but I for one am quite willing to start practicing the proper royal tone.
Anyway, I liked Ivanoff at that point, but then the doctor comes out and is very upset about how Ivanoff's treatment of his wife Anna is killing her. She needs peace and quiet, not the emotional torment the doctor seems to feel Ivanoff is causing her. I thought the doctor might possibly have been in love with Anna himself, because during the entire play he seemed much more upset than he should have been as a professional medical man. He hated Ivanoff with a passion and wanted to let the world know what a scoundrel he truly was.
There is gossip about why Ivanoff married Anna; more gossip about his debts, more gossip about his business dealings, more gossip about his relationship with young Sasha, 20 years old and very much in love with Ivanoff. I got confused about the man, and also noticed that the rest of the cast seemed to carry the story along more than he did. He was mainly silent and brooding, but when he did speak he did so with great intensity, even while he seemed as confused as I was.
I had an idea of how the play might end, but I changed my mind many times right up to the moment of the final curtain. I cannot pretend to analyze this play in any sort of intellectual way; I can only say that for me it was a fascinating glimpse at an unusual life. I am glad I read it, and I hope to read more Chekhov soon.
Chekhov's Ivanov is not a prince of Denmark, but his ennui is as potent, his existential malaise as suffocating. We encounter a man drowning in a stagnant provincial life, a Hamlet shorn of grandeur, but no less burdened. We see echoes of the Danish prince in his introspection and despair, but his existential crisis unfolds not in the grand halls of Elsinore, but amidst the petty gossip and suffocating boredom of the landed gentry. His dissatisfaction bleeds outward, poisoning his relationships and leaving a trail of devastation.
Chekhov masterfully paints a portrait of a man drowning in regret. His love for his wife, Anna, has curdled into a weary obligation. Anna, a woman who sacrificed wealth and faith for him, withers under his indifference and occasional, barbed cruelty, a tragic echo of Ophelia. Her illness becomes a constant reminder of his choices, a physical manifestation of his emotional paralysis. Ivanov's descent is laced with moments of self-loathing, his sharp intellect offering no solace, only a harsher spotlight on his failings. His anti-Semitism, a reflection of the prevalent societal prejudice, adds another layer of ugliness to his character.
Yet, Chekhov refuses to paint Ivanov as a villain. We find ourselves oscillating between repulsion and a grudging empathy. His despair is palpable, a suffocating miasma that permeates the play. The supporting characters, sketched with Chekhov's characteristic brilliance, become bystanders to this slow-motion tragedy. Their witty barbs and idle chatter only amplify the hollowness at the play's core.
The play is a tapestry of beautifully wrought dialogue. Chekhov, with his keen eye for human folly, exposes the festering discontent that lies beneath the veneer of polite society and delivers harsh truths that resonate deeply. He forces us to confront the human capacity for self-destruction and the devastating impact of unaddressed dissatisfaction. Ivanov leaves a lingering ache, a reminder of the quiet tragedies that unfold when hope withers and life loses its lustre, and the potential for tragedy that lurks within the seemingly ordinary.
ANNA. I'm beginning to think I've been unlucky, Doctor. There are lots of people, no better than me perhaps, who are happy and whose happiness costs them nothing. But I've paid for everything, every single thing. And so dearly: Why charge me such a shocking rate of interest? My dear, you're all so careful with me, so very tactful, you're afraid to tell me the truth, but do you think I don't know what's the matter with me? I know all right.
class play! making the chekhov brand of atmospheric literature my autumn/winter staple just makes perfect sense. i picked up on many themes, motives and clich茅 commentary but will bring it all up only after a second reading. and thank you to abeer for reading this with me i love you so much!! 鈥渕elancholy! noble anguish! inexplicable grief! only one thing鈥檚 lacking鈥攊 ought to write poetry.鈥�
"Anna Petrovna: I am beginning to think that fate has cheated me, Doctor. There are a great many people, perhaps no better than I, who are happy without having had to pay for their happiness. But I have paid for everything, absolutely everything! . . . And so dearly! Why should I have had to pay such terribly high interest?" Act I
This is the best of young Chekhov. All the ingredients that would characterize his later masterpieces are here, but the man is still raw. At this time he was more known for his short stories than plays. Ivanov is the moment when Chekhov the playwright starts to be fully formed. Like all Chekhov plays, it deals with the struggles of normal people trying to live.
The title character is a landowner who is perpetually depressed, while his wife is slowly dying from tuberculosis. There is also the fact that the wife is a convert from Judaism in a time when Russia was rife with anti-Semitism and this is depicted in the play as all the side characters show pity or contempt at Anna for being of Jewish ethnicity. She does her best to be as devoted and kind as possible, but Ivanov is verging on brattish and cruel in showing any concern for his wife. Like most Chekhov works, expect much tears and emotion from the men as well as women. The ending is sudden, but trademark Chekhov. I was impressed by this play as it shows the making of a master.
Life, it seems will fade away Drifting further every day Getting lost within myself Nothing matters, no one else I have lost the will to live Simply nothing more to give There is nothing more for me Need the end to set me free!
Things are not what they used to be Missing one inside of me Deathly lost, this can't be real Cannot stand this hell I feel Emptiness is filling me To the point of agony Growing darkness taking dawn I was me but now he's gone
No one but me can save myself But it's too late Now I can't think Think why I should even try Yesterday seems as though it never existed Death greets me warm Now I will just say goodbye Goodbye...
Who is Ivanov? Is he what people think about him? Like what Lebedevs, Lvov, and the others think he is? Or he is someone else? Chekhov confronts the reader with a vast amount of narratives about Nikolai Ivanov. Ivanov has only a single narrative, therefore, his own voice about himself is not heard easily. People consider him someone who was looking for his wife's dowry and when failed, his love towards her disappeared. They don't even ask Ivanov what he feels and what he thinks. They judge him without knowing his inner intentions. Lvov, the doctor who treats Ivanov's wife, is a prototype of those people who consider themselves absolutely moral and therefore, let themselves judge other people without knowing the story completely.
Everyone feels pity for Ivanov's wife because she has tuberculosis (TB), but nobody feels pity for Ivanov. That's because depression isn't considered a major illness in the society though it can somehow have more impacts on the patient, his family, and his society. He's depressed and because of that, he feels old while he's just 35. He feels guilty why he cannot love her wife anymore and it seems to be a sign of depression rather than because of his failure to achieve an expensive dowry, as the people say.
Ivanov's wife who converts to Christianity wants to meet her parents in her last months of life, but her parents reject because this is their faith. Alright, keep your faith for yourself.
Ivanov is paralyzed and cannot decide between Anna (his wife) and Sasha (Lebedev's daughter who loves him) and this makes the situation more complicated. By this way, he hurts them in addition to himself. However, it's not in a way that Ivanov shifts the responsibility on concepts like "love" and similar things. In contrast, he accepts the responsibility of his actions and it makes him feel guilty for that, thinking that he is killing his wife by not paying enough attention and love to her.
Ivanov is almost the most incomprehended person in his society. Nobody understands him and empathizes with him, maybe except Sasha. Sasha wants to help him, and I don't know why. Maybe it's due to some kind of so-called Savior complex and by this way, Sasha wants to prove herself by saving and rescuing him from his inaction and depression. In other words, some women (in contrast to the other portion of them) tend to so-called weak lost men. Maybe this is somehow a psychic defensive mechanism and by this way they want to save their own past traumatized self. This is why some statistics show that a higher than average rate of mental healthcare providers have struggled with mental illnesses even before entering the these professions.
Anyway, at last, when Ivanov understands that even Sasha, a new love, cannot save him, he decides to cancel the marriage, but Sasha and her father insist. They think his problem is something other than his mental state, like money. When Lvov comes to marriage party and insults Ivanov publicly, they defend Ivanov and this is admirable. However, Ivanov is tired of all these comedies and decides to kill himself.
Chekhov drowns the reader in the others' narratives about Ivanov, so that at last, it will be hard to hear and notice what he really feels and thinks. This makes him naked and undefended and he chose to end his life because of that. He's surrounded by many, but he is alone.
Chekhov's ability in thinking, creating characters and writing dialogues is impressive. Claps.
This entire review has been hidden because of spoilers.
Pretty somber stuff, centering on a depressed man whose sense of self has completely dissolved whilst he also battles with the guilt of no longer loving his dying wife. The people around him - who for the most part are also bored and disillusioned - are constantly pressuring him for money or questioning him about his intentions and his mental health.
All the same there's some (slight) comic relief in Borkin and Shabelsky, who are generally complete prats throughout the whole play. But for the most part this is a pretty affecting portrayal of depression - the inability of others to understand it, and its ability to destroy the individual and their surroundings. Cheery Christmas material.
A depressing play. I didn't expect the author of The Bear to write a play as this but a good play in many ways. Some very interesting themes like unhappy marriage, country life, wrong descions, lost love and confusion are all profoundly depicted in this play.