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96 pages, Paperback
First published January 1, 1903
“I’m leaving for Paris, I will live there on the money that your grandmother from Yaroslavl sent to buy the estate - long live your grandmother! - and this money won’t last me for long.”¹
“If only my father and my grandfather could rise from their graves and see what is happening - how their Ermolay, beaten and barely literate Ermolay who used to go barefoot in winter, how this Ermolay bought the most beautiful estate in the world. I bought the estate where father and grandfather used to be slaves, where they weren’t even allowed in the kitchens.”¹
(Side note: Unlike many contemporary Russian writers, Anton Chekhov did not come from aristocracy. His grandfather was a serf who bought freedom for himself and his family. Chekhov had to work for a living, and trained to be a medical doctor.)
“What she can’t get into her narrow mind is that we are above love. To bypass the small and illusory things that prevent us from freedom and happiness - that’s the goal and the meaning of our lives. Forward! We are unstoppably heading towards the bright star that is burning so far ahead! Forward! Keep up, my friends!”¹The new vulgar class of servants, with overinflated egos due to their self-perceived importance by “association” with old ruling classes. The new self-made middle class, whose practicality and pragmatism, although obviously successful, can easily seem crass in the face of the old aristocratic refinery and gloss. The former serf, now a devoted servant, who is so unable to move on from the life he remembers and idolizes, that he seems content to meekly lie down and die when abandoned by his masters. They all are targets of his wit and satire, and you, the reader, can make out whatever suits you out of this.
Lopakhin: “You know, I get up at five in the morning, work all day, always deal with money, mine and others’, and I see how people are. You just need to start doing anything and you’ll realize how few of honest, honorable people there are. Sometimes, when I can’t sleep, I think - dear Lord, you have us enormous forests, unmeasurable fields, deepest horizons, and living here we should have been giants…”
Lyubov Andreevna: “What do you need giants for?.. They are only fine in fairytales, and otherwise are frightening.”¹