Listed high among the masters of short story is Russian writer Anton Chekhov. Even if you haven’t read his work, there’s a good chance that you’ve heard of his technique in Chekhov’s gun. Instead of living in mystery, I have decided to finally dig into the author’s work and understand just what makes him an essential voice in the written word. Is he more than a simple gimmick and, if so, what does he have to say about the larger world around him? Like everything I’ve covered in the Short Stop column, his is a series defined by searching bookstores to find whatever speaks to me. At long last, I hope to better understand a name I’ve known seemingly since before I was a writing major but never had context for. Is Chekhov as great as they say? Follow along as I try to see if the payoff is worth the set-up.
By now, there have been enough stories that share a similar premise to “A Doctor’s Visit.” Given that Chekhov was himself a doctor, it makes sense how much material he gets from preserving patients who are in desperate need of a cure. There’s been a fun mix of humor and morbidity throughout that perfectly aligns with his greater focus on life and the social constructs that confine everybody. In this particular case, he takes things even further by managing to turn the 12-page story into a study of how capitalism can seek to make for a joyless existence.
By itself, the commentary is a bit obvious. The idea of money providing any saving grace has long been a focus of the author’s work, and here it is given its most explicit reading since “The Princess.” To put it directly, the doctor concludes that the worksite he’s staying at is being operated by “the devil,” which has a daughter who isn’t sick but is under constant medical attention.
However, adding it to the greater worldview is to notice what makes it very smart. Chekhov has been more invested in shaping narratives of the lower class, who have no choice but to look up to the wealthy and wonder what makes them so special. There is something aspirational without holding any personal value. It’s the ironic detachment that drives every story, and to have it reflected from the very top provides a very clear piece of his puzzle. Whereas I found “The Princess” predictable, “A Doctor’s Visit” tries to add depth and emotionality that creates humanity by the end. It’s tragic in a sense, but it’s far better than hearing two people argue for several pages.
Whereas the story will come to break down the structure of a worksite in the pages to come, the funniest part of the opening paragraph is realizing that there are hierarchies in almost every field. A doctor is asked to visit Lyalikov’s factory. The issue is that it’s not the one who is asked. In his place is an assistant named Korolyov. While this by no means speaks to his inferiority, it suggests how disposable his career is that he can be sent in place of another professional. In this circumstance, he is a worker who is not dissimilar to the people overseen by Korolyov.
This may explain why Chekhov makes the choice to introduce the working class first. While none of them will have a speaking role nor impact the larger conclusion, they are the people who make Lyalikov’s life easier. From where Korolyov sits on the carriage ride over, they are weary alcoholics who look miserable as they stumble to work. The prose suggests that he’s looking down on them for failing at life, and this job is less passion and more desperation. The empathy isn’t there yet, even if the circumstances will appear differently later.
Say what you will about the working class, but there’s something that appears genuine. They are exposed, and even if they’re seen as pathetic, they can’t hide behind artifice. The same can’t be said for Lyalikov’s residence. In a comical detail, Korolyov approaches the house, which has the smell of fresh paint. Given that the master of the house finds it awkward to answer the door, there’s a lot of social malpractice that begins to creep in before the reader understands why the doctor is there.
At first, Lyalikov appears like every other widow in a Chekhov story. Her husband is recently deceased. Her duty is to take care of what he’s left behind. In some ways, it’s a prison unto itself, though the suggestion of her managing a company provides agency. She controls the direction of people’s lives. The irony is that, by the end, there’s some suggestion that nobody wants to be there making inferior cotton.
Of course, it doesn’t help that Chekhov creates a house that is closer to a haunted house by way of a funhouse mirror. The doctor is clearly used to less extravagance and thus finds a lot of the tapestry to be macabre. He is drawn to how the portraits lack any talent and that the facial responses are unnatural. Everything from the floors to the ceiling provides different levels of discomfort, suggesting that even with all the money in the world, there is no way to buy satisfaction. There is the illusion that having more would eventually lead to that, but in reality, it creates clutter that is not dissimilar from the heirlooms the dead husband no longer possesses.
Korolyov is drawn by a ticking clock scenario. He must finish the situation before the evening train arrives, which would take him home. That may explain why the initial exchange with Lyalikov’s daughter happens so abruptly that it seeks to undermine the journey. Upon taking a look at her, he declares that she is suffering from nerves. There is nothing wrong with her. Initial concern was nothing more than superstition. There is nothing to treat. It was something that could’ve been resolved in a telegram.
The daughter serves as the essential piece of tragic irony. The mystery around her sickness is a lot more obvious than it should be. Everything is mental. Also, despite being in her early 20s and of marrying age, she lacks any social life. She has lived her entire life in this confined space, where she has been tended to by doctors ever since she was young. There isn’t anything wrong with her, which is why everyone diagnoses her as having “nerves.” If one wants to suggest anything bigger, it could be the side effects of isolation and boredom, creating a unique level of stress that can drive any person insane. If she’s sick, it’s because of her mother.
The daughter doesn’t have any agency, and yet is designed to be the successor of the family company. There’s no sense that she’s capable of doing this, despite saying that she reads constantly during the day. At night, her brain is empty, suggesting that there’s no retention of detail and thus finds her life empty and, without other experiences to distract her, shallow. She has no engagement with the outside world, which could only help to make her leadership a complete disaster. There’s no certainty on what makes Lyalikov a great leader, but given how she treats her daughter, it’s safe to say that she’s not fulfilling everyone’s emotional needs.
That may explain why she overlooks Korolyov’s discomfort at the luxury. When they have a large dinner, he seems squeamish to indulge. She laughs it off and insists that he go beyond his comfort zone. Like the furniture, there’s nothing that really feels satisfying and, thus, makes him eager to leave even as Lyalikov commands him to stay to make sure her daughter gets better. At her behest, he does only to find that the world around him is a lot more dystopian than he had thought.
Lyalikov suggests that the workers in the factory do performances for each other. To what gain is not entirely clear. Still, Korolyov has quite the epiphany while looking out the window. There are billowing smokestacks and grating noises. When he confronts the situation, he discovers that everyone is more zombie-like than he had initially speculated, and begins to speculate on the hierarchical structure of this operation.
The question that fuels the final section of the story is whether Lyalikov qualifies as “the devil.” Korolyov believes that the factory is designed so that the workers are constantly miserable. They suffer for the benefit of one woman who is reluctantly in control of a mediocre business. Does that make Lyalikov a terrible person? While it’s easy to interpret Chekhov as being anti-capitalist, his conclusion suggests, in its own perverse way, that everyone in the story is trapped in the circumstances and must find their own way to break free of the comfort that the system has given them. For Korolyov, it’s easy. For Lyalikov’s daughter, it’s much more difficult.
The final pages shift focus back to the daughter. There is an explicit desperation that comes through as she almost demands that Korolyov take her away from this hellscape. Without ever stating in clear terms that she wants to marry him, the ending alludes to a deeper passion as she’s wearing a white dress while holding flowers. She wants to see a world beyond this redundant, soulless world. The doctor has some sense of freedom, which she couldn’t ever fully understand. As someone who has only read books, she openly admits to being lonely. Given that Korolyov also acknowledges his isolation, it makes them seem like the most bizarre star-crossed lovers that Chekhov could’ve gone with.
Whether this reading is intentional or not depends on how one sees the factory. It could theoretically provide safety, but it could also trap the daughter in a meaningless life. Lyalikov acknowledges that her choice to focus on running the business is a generational burden that won’t be there when her daughter grows up. And yet, is it worth it? Nobody wants it. Given that women had far less sway in society during the late 19th century, it would be hard to imagine them starting over as leading to anything better. In that way, they are prisoners. Korolyov probably could benefit from better paychecks as well, but he’s clearly not drawn to the debauchery.
One of the final points that the daughter makes hangs over the entire text. She claims that lonely people will read the devil in details that aren’t there. Whereas Chekhov has emphasized the factory in the prior section and thus creates that implication, it’s unclear what the daughter is talking about. It’s more than likely her mother, but it could also be some greater delusion that she formed while in closed quarters. Is this home hell? Is she having a complicated relationship with her mother and not admitting it? No matter what, she sounds absolutely depressed.
Maybe her analogy is to suggest some necessary evil in capitalism or that it’s all interpreted by every individual. Whatever it is, there’s some joy in Korolyov leaving. He’s returning to real life, where he’ll be an understudy for another doctor yet again. Is his life any less miserable than the daughter? The only difference is that, as a man, he has more opportunities to explore and contribute. In that way, the daughter is doomed. The only way to ever see him again is to continue the act of faking her sickness. She must lie to herself to achieve anything greater.
If this is a love story, it’s a bleak narrative about a woman who is trapped under several layers of oppression. There is a sense of helplessness in Korolyov to cure her, not because of any ailment, but because the only answer is to take her away. It’s a tragic irony that makes the story another powerful little tale. Despite her limitations, Chekhov gives her a strong philosophical purpose that makes one want to swoop in and save her in the dead of night. It helps them also realize how smothering capitalism can be. While the working class suffers, some are even more unsung who may deserve a few pages to get their due. Thankfully, the author has done just that and produced another masterpiece of pathos.
Coming Up Next: “Gooseberries”
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