Title: "The Black Monk"

By Anton Chekhov

Nature: Fiction

Genre: Short Story / Novella

Sub-genre: Fantasy

Nationality: - Russian

Time Period: - 19th / 20th Century

First  read by Dr. Rearick:  Fall 1998

Rated: A+

Location: - Dr. Rearick's Office and an E-text is Available

Used for: Creative Writing

Scripture which Comes to Mind:

Comments:  This is an interesting work since Chekhov is known primarily as writer in the realist camp.  And yet this story contains strong elements of fantasy.  However while the haunting of the young man by the black monk is interesting, Chekhov seems far more interested in character interaction:

Andrey Vassilitch Kovrin: a young man with a Masters degree--probably heading towards professional work. He lectures "on psychology. . .[and is ] working at philosophy  in general."  Orphaned when a child he was brought up by Pesotsky, the famed horticulturist, and in the company of Pesotsky's and young daughter, Tanya.

Yegor Semyonitch Pesotsky". . .was a tall, broad-shouldered, corpulent man, and he suffered from asthma, yet he walked so fast that it was hard work to hurry after him. He had an extremely preoccupied air; he was always hurrying somewhere, with an expression that suggested that if he were one minute late all would be ruined!"  Somyonitch is very found of Kovrin, to the point that his daughter thinks her prefers the young man to her.  He is a very intense man who tends to overstate.  For example when an unthinking servant ties a horse to an apple tree through which the tree's bark is rubbed off, it's not the tree which is ruined it's the entire orchid:

"Who is the low scoundrel who has dared to tie this
horse to an apple-tree? My God, my God!
They have ruined everything; they have spoilt everything;
they have done everything filthy, horrible, and abominable.
The orchard's done for, the orchard's ruined. My God!"

A monk, dressed in black, with a grey head and black
eyebrows, his arms crossed over his breast, floated by him. . . .
His bare feet did not touch the earth. After he had floated
 twenty feet beyond him, he looked round at Kovrin, and
nodded to him with a friendly but sly smile. But what a pale,
fearfully pale, thin face! Beginning to grow larger again, he
flew across the river, collided noiselessly with the clay bank
and pines, and passing through them, vanished like smoke.

 It occurred to him that if this strange, supernatural
monk had appeared to him only, that meant that he was il
and had reached the point of having hallucinations. This
reflection frightened him, but not for long.
 

"I have just passed through an exalted, wonderful,
          unearthly moment. But I can't tell you all about it or you
          would call me mad and not believe me. Let us talk of you.

In the midst of all this he proposes and asks her to come away with him (something which will certainly dismay the old man) and is not even aware of her agaony as he goes on about how happy he is.

Notice the biblical echo

"The devils! They have spoilt everything! They have
          ruined everything! They have spoilt everything! The
          garden's done for, the garden's ruined!"

Notice also the pride which the black monk instills in Kovrin.  But I may be misreading this.  Perhaps the Black Monk is actually the voice of divine love which knows the remarkable potential which exists in all of us.  Certainly as long as he is haunted by the black monk K is happy.  He is productive excited by life and joyful.  But others see him talking to air and they begin to work for his cure:

        "Why, why have you cured me?. . .I went out of my mind, I
          had megalomania; but then I was cheerful, confident, and
          even happy; I was interesting and original. Now I have
          become more sensible and stolid, but I am just like every
          one else: I am--mediocrity; I am weary of life. . . . Oh, how
          cruelly you have treated me! . . . I saw hallucinations, but
          what harm did that do to any one? I ask, what harm did
          that do any one?". . . Doctors and kind relations
          will succeed in stupefying mankind, in making mediocrity
          pass for genius and in bringing civilisation to ruin. If only
          you knew," Kovrin said with annoyance, "how grateful I
          am to you."

From that point on his life spirals down into mediocrity. . .even the illness which he eventually suffers is one which forces him to live a "calm life."  His mother had the same thing and this is ironic since it was her extrodinary qualities which had drawn old to her.

           This illness did not particularly frighten him, as he knew
          that his mother had lived for ten years or longer suffering
          from the same disease, and the doctors assured him that
          there was no danger, and had only advised him to avoid
          excitement, to lead a regular life, and to speak as little as
          possible.

         Kovrin recognised
          clearly, now, that he was a mediocrity, and readily
          resigned himself to it, as he considered that every man
          ought to be satisfied with what he is.

Then in the end the divine magic returns:

Kovrin caught his breath and there was a pang of sadness
          at his heart, and a thrill of the sweet, exquisite delight he
          had so long forgotten began to stir in his breast.

             A tall black column, like a whirlwind or a waterspout,
          appeared on the further side of the bay. It moved with
          fearful rapidity across the bay, towards the hotel, growing
          smaller and darker as it came, and Kovrin only just had
          time to get out of the way to let it pass. . . . The monk with
          bare grey head, black eyebrows, barefoot, his arms crossed
          over his breast, floated by him, and stood still in the
          middle of the room.