In it Kovrin wavers between two poles: extreme refinement and preoccupation with the mysteries of aesthetic pleasure – the path that defines him as a genius – or capitulation to the banality and meaninglessness of the ‘herd’ – the state to which he is reduced when he is being treated for his illness. The fantastic hallucinations that cause him to see the black monk may have one source in the stimulants – wine and tobacco – that Kovrin indulges in, and in the repeated motif of the violin music, but much more substantial is the fact, gradually conveyed to the reader, that he has tuberculosis. That is to say, the moments of intense bliss that he experiences are the result of the heightened nervous state caused by the disease, and may be seen as the precursors of death. Indeed it is in death that Kovrin attains the ultimate happiness, as suggested by the last words of the text – the ‘smile’ that appears on his face as he dies.

There is evidence from Chekhov’s contemporaries that he himself experienced hallucinations (because of his illness), so that this aspect of Kovrin has certain roots in his own biography, but at the same time in the image of the old man Pesotsky we see another aspect of Chekhov’s life at Melikhovo, namely his preoccupation with horticulture – planting trees and cultivating the garden. The descriptions of the orchards and garden have a carefully detailed poetry to them that affirms Chekhov’s attachment to and interest in the scientifically perceived realia of the world, and his desire to improve that world. While evoking echoes of the myth of Eden, these descriptions also correspond to Chekhov’s socially reformist vision of a regenerated landscape, to be expressed more fully in the image of Astrov in Uncle Vanya. Related to the descriptions of the estate is the issue of inheritance and preservation of a family enterprise. Pesotsky’s only child is Tanya, who, despite her interest, will scarcely be able to maintain things after the death of the old man. Pesotsky’s desire to see Kovrin as his son-in-law is therefore ironical, since it is motivated by respect for the ‘magister’ Kovrin and his scholarly career, and not by any common interest in horticulture. (Kovrin, despite his learning, has to have explained to him why the smoke protects the orchard from frost.) It is an unspoken element of the end of the story that the earthly Eden, on which Pesotsky has lavished so much care, is destined to be destroyed.

Chekhov had begun his career in the 1880s by writing short pieces, mostly humorous, for popular magazines and newspapers. ‘The Two Volodyas’ is a minor story that harks back to this earlier phase. As in ‘The Grasshopper’, the central figure is a young woman who has married foolishly and has a brief affair with another man. Here, too, the point of the story is the moment of recognition, when the young woman realizes her error and is left to face the truth – that she is empty-headed and mediocre, and now must face alone the truth of her own worthlessness. To intensify the effect, Chekhov introduces the figure of the young nun Olga. Olga too has undergone a change – a spiritual one that is signalled by the change in her appearance. Ironically, if in ‘The Grasshopper’ Olga is the name of the foolish heroine, here the latter is called ‘Sophia’ (meaning ‘wisdom’). Another common motif of Chekhov’s stories to be found here is the sound of the church bells, a reminder of the deep presence of at least the formal aspects of religion in Chekhov’s life.

Chekhov was born in 1860, on the eve of the reforms that liberated the Russian serfs, and his life covered a period of intense social and economic transition in the country. These included the construction of the railways, a frequent motif in his stories, industrialization, with all the social ills and factory accidents that accompanied it, and the urbanization of the peasant population, which had begun to drift to the towns and cities in search of employment. Overcrowded tenements, prostitution and disease were among the undesirable byproducts of this process. The process of industrialization had created another new phenomenon – people from humble backgrounds who had become rich and moved up the social hierarchy. Himself from a family of liberated serfs, Chekhov had gone through the agonizing process of learning to be at ease socially, and knew at first hand the difficulties caused by social displacement. Such is the plight of the heroine in the tale ‘A Woman’s Kingdom’.

In the figure of Anna Akimovna in ‘A Woman’s Kingdom’ Chekhov explores one of the undeveloped topics of ‘The Black Monk’, namely the situation of an only daughter who inherits the family enterprise. The father–daughter relationship, and the fate of the daughter of a deceased father, are key, related themes in Chekhov’s oeuvre. Anna, unlike Tanya, is in a more complex situation in that she has to deal with the additional problem of social displacement, on top of the questions of financial management and social responsibility that being the owner of a factory or other enterprise entails. It would be wrong to see Chekhov’s treatment of Anna’s inadequacy as an indictment of women, even though the last word of the original story is dury – ‘silly geese’ – for the word comes from her lips, and expresses her own realization that women are foolish to seek happiness in men. In any case many of Chekhov’s male characters are in their own way as inadequate and feckless. Chekhov’s concern is simply to uncover the psychological quandary that lies at the root of her actions or lack of them. Anna has had the ownership of the factory thrust upon her by fate, and finds herself living in a strange double world. On the one hand there is the traditional Russian world of the merchant class, with its traditional food and beverages – the ‘downstairs’ world of her aunts and maids and cooks and hangers-on; and then there is the westernized world of the lawyer Lysevich, with his reading of western literature (Maupassant!), and his partiality to wine and French food.

Chekhov depicts Anna Akimovna’s inner feelings with delicacy and understanding, especially the contradiction between her social displacement and her natural search for a mate. As often happens in Chekhov this, the central question of the text, is left unresolved. What kind of husband would be appropriate for her, considering the double world she lives in? Her attraction to Pimenov is natural, given her own background and the strong masculine qualities that he exudes; moreover, as a worker like her father, he would be able to provide the strength and direction the enterprise needs: stop the director from defrauding the company, send the blood-sucker Lysevich packing – in a word, save the factory.