“The Darling” is one of a bare handful of stories that Chekhov wrote in the last five years of his life, when he was pretty much an invalid because of tuberculosis. But those few, late-era stories were generally among his most admired: “The Lady With the Dog,” “The New Villa,” and “The Bishop” were published in those final years. So “The Darling” is in good company.
“The Darling” is not as good as those other titles, but it’s not bad.
Olenka, the darling of the title, is a woman who essentially does not exist when she is alone. She must have someone – a husband, a father, an aunt, a teacher – to animate her. Like the moon, she can only illuminate a reflected light; she has none of her own. Her life is essentially a series of surrenders, as she gives herself over entirely to each new object of affection. Whoever it is, she takes on that person’s mannerisms, interests and opinions. And when she has no one to love, she collapses on herself, an empty human husk without thoughts or feelings of her own.
After her childhood attachments, her first love is her husband, Ivan Kukin, a theater manager and director. She becomes intensely involved in his work, to the point that the actors in the company refer to her–teasingly but fondly–as “Vanitchka and I,” for her habit of speaking of herself only as part of a couple. (“Vanitchka” being the diminutive of “Ivan,” her husband.)
(And a quick aside: Throughout Chekhov’s career, one would be hard put to find a single, positive portrayal of actors–Chekhov seemed to hate them. But in this story the actors, though not part of the story, are at least not presented as bums, cads, losers, cheats, drunks or idiots, as they mainly appear in most of his work.)
When Ivan dies, Olenka soon finds a new object of attention–the owner of a local lumber business. Very soon, they are married. And just as she once spoke animatedly about the challenges of the theater, now she becomes immersed in the world of lumber, to the point that she finds something touching about words like “post” or “plank.”
Here is how changed she is: When friends ask why she doesn’t take a night off from work and go to see a show, she says: “Vassitchka and I have no time to go to theaters. We have no time for nonsense.”
But her second husband dies, and once again she is left not only widowed but also hollowed out and lacking a personality of her own. In the end, she essentially adopts a broken family, becoming a devoted aunt to the family’s son, Sasha.
There’s a brilliant moment when Sasha reads aloud from a geography textbook: “An island is a piece of land which is entirely surrounded by water.”
Olenka repeats this: “An island is a piece of land.” And this statement, the story relates, is “the first opinion to which she gave utterance with positive conviction after so many years of silence and dearth of ideas.”
Wow, that’s a sharp, harsh and memorable dissection of her character!
“The Darling” is relatively short but manages to express a great sweep of years, as Olenka goes from attachment to attachment. Chekhov is really deft when it comes to sketching out a swath of time, and yet not making it seem rushed. It reminds me of the way that great singers somehow pack too many syllables into a line, without seeming to overfill the moment.
But “The Darling” does have a significant weakness: Olenka’s characterization is too extreme. She’s more of a concept for a character than a character. Her utter submission to each attachment object is too simple, too much. It’s not truly credible.
That’s why I would not include the story in my Chekhov Top 20.
But greater minds than mine would disagree about that. Tolstoy included “The Darling” in a special, hand-picked and hand-bound volume of Chekhov stories.
Not coincidentally, the Constance Garnett edition of Chekhov’s stories includes a brief, overwrought commentary on “The Darling” by none other than Tolstoy himself. The essay somehow manages to be thoughtful, belligerent, scholarly and misogynistic all at once. My first thought on reading the critique was, “Jesus, I hope there won’t be Tolstoy essays after every story,” and thank goodness it is in fact a one-off thing. Since it’s just the one, it’s sort of charming to find it there.
READ THIS? READ THAT!
“The Darling” stands by itself; there are no really similar stories in the Chekhov library. Olenka’s sincere assumption of each new personality stands in opposition to the most typical Chekhov shape-shifters: hypocrites and posers who will do whatever is necessary to get ahead in the world.
An interesting counterpoint to “The Darling” might be “The Grasshopper,” the story of a woman who professes great admiration and love for her husband and his heroic profession, but who in fact treats him with disdain, when she’s not ignoring him altogether.
A Chekhov Circus 