“The Huntsman” is simple and short: The huntsman of the title, Yegor, makes a living as a sort of companion to a rich landowner, providing game for his table and generally, it seems, keeping him company. Yegor has abandoned his wife, Pelagea, who is now destitute. The story unfolds as a conversation between husband and wife, in which Yegor cooly and cruelly informs Pelagea that he never loved her and never will. In the end, he relents ever so slightly, giving her a rouble and striding away.
Having told you this, what more can I say? It really is that brief. It really is that cruel. The bestowing of the rouble in the final moments only underscores the lousy cruelty of it all.
Here’s a bit of trivia for you: In 1886, when this story was published, Chekhov was approached by Dmitry Grigorovitch, one of the most widely admired Russian writers of his time (but virtually unknown here in the US, as there are very few translations of him available.) In any case, Grigorovitch reached out to Chekhov to praise him and encourage him. In a long and grateful letter of reply, Chekhov admitted an almost unimaginable thing: How little time and effort he expended on his stories.
“Until now,” Chekhov wrote, “I have approached my writing in a most frivolous, irresponsible and meaningless way. I cannot recall a single story on which I spent more than a day; indeed I wrote ‘The Huntsman,’ which you liked, in a bathing hut! I’ve been writing my stories like reporters churn out pieces about fires: mechanically, half-asleep, caring as little for the reader as for myself.”
This makes me feel better about dismissing some of Chekhov’s works–and justifies my suspicion that he rarely if ever did revisions of any sort – even late in his life. So, inevitably, we are left with some works that are in essence, faulty first drafts, if not outright stinkers.
Not that “The Huntsman” is a stinker. But it has the feeling of a punch on the nose. Bang! And it’s over. There’s not much more to say.
READ THIS? READ THAT!
Chekhov wrote many (dozens, probably) of sketches like this in his early, knock-em-out-in-a-day period. Another quick and dirty sketch of a crumb-bum is “Drunk,” a brief portrait of a mean man having too much to drink. Bang! And it’s over.
A Chekhov Circus 