These stories are masterpieces, linked by theme and a narrative scaffolding, but essentially independent of each other.
The subject of this triptych could be said to be life itself, but that’s an absurdity – still, absurd or not, it feels fair and accurate to say it. These tales really are that rich and deep.
But, to narrow the scope: In each, a different character follows a strict path that leads, in the end, to a disappointment of some sort. Life, these tales seem to be saying, cannot provide simple satisfaction; inevitably there are failures, shortcomings, embarrassments. Even an ambition successfully attained is bittersweet.
“Gooseberries” is, I think, the most famous of the three. The main character, Nikolay Ivanovitch, unsatisfied with city life and white-collar drudgery, comes close to achieving his long-held desire of living on his own little farm. He does this by scrimping all his days and by marrying for money rather than love. Even after a joyless life of saving, the land he can afford to buy is hardly ideal. Still, his goal is a farm and a kitchen garden and, most importantly, gooseberry bushes, and this he achieves.
But the berries are bitter (and he is alone, loveless, and long separated from his brother, the narrator). It is hardly a triumphant conclusion to a life of sacrifice and single-mindedness.
“The Man in a Case” traces the story of Byelikov, a hide-bound schoolmaster whose strict adherence to the rules – all the rules – makes him a despised figure at school and in town. Late in his life, he falls in love (after a fashion) with the sister of a new teacher, Kovalenko. Even though he is taken with Varinka, Kovalenko’s sister, he can’t help but be offended by what he sees as improper behavior by her brother. Kovalenko, for his part, despises Byelikov for being a prudish busybody.
After Byelikov absurdly warns Kovalenko about his undignified behavior (riding a bike), they get in a fight and Kovalenko shoves the older man, who tumbles down the stairs. He is unharmed by the fall, but Varinka happens to walk in as he is lying in a heap at the bottom of the stairs, and she laughs at him.
Byelikov essentially dies of shame, unloved and unmourned. The narrator notes that there will be other prudes and scolds. The death of one is meaningless; there will always be irritating or even despicable people that we must deal with. That’s life.
Before turning to the third story of the group, it’s worth noting the way these stories intertwine. Each of the three stories is framed as a tale told during the country outings of two friends: Ivan Ivanovitch, an older man, a “veterinary surgeon,” and Burkin, a teacher. Burkin relates the tale of Byelikov. Ivanovitch tells the story of his brother, the ambitious and single-minded Nikolay Ivanovitch in “Gooseberries.”
The third story, “About Love,” also includes Burkin and Ivanovitch, but in this case they are listeners. The teller of the tale is Alehin, a hardworking landowner and farmer who lives a simple, possibly rather mean life. His home, like the one in “The Wife,” is divided in two. He lives downstairs, in what was formerly the bailiff’s quarters. The rooms smell of “rye bread, cheap vodka and the harness.” The finer rooms are upstairs, but this space is reserved for guests.
Saddled with the debts of his father, Alehin, though educated to be an idle gentleman, takes up the life of a farmer. At first, he tries to maintain a sort of dual existence, toiling in the fields by day but retiring in the evening to his elegant apartment and reading news magazines. But little by little, the work overcomes everything. He sleeps wherever it is convenient – in the barn, in the fields – and dines in the servants’ quarters. And he only keeps the servants on because they were in his father’s service. He feels it would be uncharitable to let them go.
Alehin’s monocolor life gets some variety when he is tapped to become a “justice of the peace,” which in this case means a sort of village selectman. In this capacity, he washes up, goes to town, and gets a chance, now and again, to interact with civil society, to sit in comfortable chairs and wear nicer (clean) clothes. And it is under these circumstances that he meets Luganovitch, another government official. They become friends and begin to spend time together. Alehin falls in love with Luganovitch’s wife, Anna, and she with him.
But their love must remain unfulfilled. Luganovitch is transferred elsewhere, taking Anna with him, and leaving Alehin to toil on in loneliness. Now he works his land “like a squirrel on a wheel,” a kind of empty exercise of life.
What a gorgeous work of art these three stories are, so subtle and delicate. Each one ends on an impossibly understated and quiet note, like a wisp of soot rising from a snuffed candle:
And ten minutes later Burkin was asleep. But Ivanovitch kept sighing and turning over from side to side; then he got up, went outside again, and sitting in the doorway, lighted his pipe. – The Man in a Case
The rain was pattering on the window-panes all night. – Gooseberries
Both of them had met [Anna] in the town, and Burkin knew her and thought her beautiful. – About Love
READ THIS? READ THAT!
There are many, many Chekhov stories that could pair with each of these three, but the best complement to any one of these stories is the other two.
Beyond that, “The Schoolmaster” makes for an interesting comparison with “The Man in the Case.” Both feature rigid, difficult old teachers. “The Schoolmaster,” though, offers an oddly sentimental ending–which is not to say that it is unrealistic or simplistic. It’s just a softer story.
“Gooseberries” has no such obvious parallels, although the theme of city denizens yearning for the country runs through many of Chekhov’s stories–and the visitors to the country rarely seem to enjoy themselves outside city limits. But “Gooseberries” stands alone among all the Chekhov stories for its consideration of ambition achieved and happiness eluded. It’s evocative and yet also abstract, and in that regard it might be paired with one of Chekhov’s prismatic, non-linear stories, such as “The Beauties.”
As for “About Love,” the story “Terror” might make an interesting contrast: An illicit love is consummated in one story and not in the other. Neither (this is Chekhov) has a happy outcome.
A Chekhov Circus 