This is a modest but nevertheless memorable tale of a prince, a once wealthy landowner who has fallen on hard times.
The story begins in a forest where the prince, Sergey Ivanich, is out hunting, accompanied by the unnamed narrator. They are approached by the bailiff–the manager of the land–who explains that hunting is forbidden, per the owner.
The owner of the forest, it turns out, is Nadyezhda Lvovna, and she has a history with the prince. He had once been a regular visitor to her father’s house, and she fell in love with him. The reader (like the narrator) does not know what happened then: Did the prince reject Nadyezhda because she was unattractive (she is described as “ugly, short, scraggy and round-shouldered)? Perhaps, irony of ironies, he felt she was beneath his social class (although we know that she is incredibly wealthy)? Or was his pride bruised somehow? Or did the father reject him because, despite his royalty, he didn’t have enough money? No one knows. The narrator, like the reader, can only guess at the reason. All we know is that the prince ceased visiting the home.
Having been asked to leave the forest, the prince asks his companion to approach Nadyezhda in person for special permission to hunt. He can’t do it himself, the prince says; it would be awkward. The narrator does so and Nadyezhda, after initially refusing, gives her blessing–but only after having looked out the window and seen the prince. Clearly, even after all these years, and after marrying another man, she remains in love with the prince.
It’s a subtle story. We aren’t meant to ache for the star-crossed lovers, if that’s what they are. Rather, it’s a simple sketch about the complicated paths lives take us on. The prince is affable but helpless. His debt is growing and the loss of his land is a foregone conclusion. In fact, there are days when he goes without dinner, although he remains impeccably dressed “and always smelt strongly of ylang-ylang,” a tropical floral scent. And yet, facing ruin, he finds it impossible to go out and make money. He has no fundamental hunger; no self confidence; no spine. Not to mention that he lacks any viable experience or even education.
Nadyezhda, meanwhile, seems locked in a loveless marriage. What little we know of her husband is that he is a lawyer and that, for some time now, he has been in Cairo, writing a travelog. Nadyezhda whiles away her days “in petty philanthropy.”
This tale is at the edge of greatness, but it falls shy. Chekhov is a subtle writer but this story is just a touch too subtle. Just as we never learn what passed between the prince and the lady, we never really learn how the prince lost his place in the world; he just ran through his money one way or another, lending it here and there, having it stolen by various employees.
It may just be a bit too subtle!
READ THIS? READ THAT!
“A Trivial Incident” is hardly the only tale in which Chekhov fails to provide details of a backstory. “On the Road” is another very strong tale that, nevertheless, comes up a bit short because he stints on imagining a detailed past for his characters.
A Chekhov Circus 