Chekhov has always been my favorite Russian writer - by a mile - and nothing in Troyat's long and detailed biography dampened my regard for Chekhov the man or Chekhov the writer. So subtle. So full of feeling. And compassion.
The Russia of Chekhov's time (and earlier and perhaps still) was a brutal country. Its climate harsh, its food terrible, its poverty seemingly incurable, its rulers mostly despotic and, in the face of these conditions, the boredom and helplessness and resignation among its people are palpable. Yet the love the Russians have for the motherland is so fierce and sentimental that it just tears them - and you - apart.
This is the stuff of Chekhov's life and work. He is not a man of passion such as Dostoevsky or moralistic such as Tolstoy or a fussy stylist such as Turgenev. He doesn't preach or doesn't even seem to have a point of view; he just brings his readers into the life and events that his characters face in all of their absurdity, their banality and their foolish dreams, and their fleeting moments of happiness and grief and then leaves them to their own devices and the readers to their own conclusions. We weep and wring our hands with his characters. There is not a false note anywhere.
As to biography,Chekhov grew up in poverty with a harsh and religiously fanatic father who terrorized his family verbally and physically. Before the age of five and beyond, Chekhov writes that he woke up every morning wondering if he would get a thrashing that day. His father claimed to love the family and probably, in his own distorted way, did. His mother was loving, conventional, and too weak to defend her children. All of his siblings were gifted; they were close-knit but it fell to Chekhov, the middle child, to support the family. It kept him in near poverty for a good part of his life, despite his later literary success. He was never able to turn his back on his narrow-minded parents and often cruel father or on his wayward and, in some cases, irresponsible brothers. His one sister, unlike most of her brothers, was highly responsible and was completely devoted to Chekhov, to the detriment of her own personal life.
He became a medical doctor out of admiration for a doctor who attended to him when he was very ill. His medical practice and his writing competed for his time. As he was in his personal life, so he was in his professional practice. He could not turn his back on anyone, often treating people when he was ill himself (Russia was always in the throes of some contagious disease) and often caring for people who could not pay. He himself contracted tuberculosis; it killed him at the early age of 44.
He seems to have had many friends. Women loved him and wanted to marry him; Chekhov flirted but kept them at arm's length until he was totally captivated by the actress Olga Knipper, whom he married when he was 40. Olga was in an acting company led by Stanislavsky, whose disciples became so influential in American theater. Chekhov hovered over all the rehearsals, certain that the actors were not getting it right. What Chekhov wanted was something new; no bombast, scant dramatic action; to the actors and director, that seemed static. At first outing, critics and audience were often baffled, Chekhov discouraged, and then came success.
Troyat gives us a full picture of the ups and downs of Chekhov's literary career
He was not an overnight success. His early writings were for the sole purpose of earning a little bit of money. He was fortunate to have been taken up by some wealthy and influential benefactors. He wrote and revised; he was a meticulous writer.
During the whole of the 19th century Tolstoy dominated the Russian literary world. Dostoevsky clashed with him. Turgenev, of the same or almost the same social class, had a love-hate relationship with him but Chekhov, the gentlest and most tolerant of them, mostly got along well with him. Tolstoy was much older than Chekhov (although lived much longer) and Chekhov usually deferred to him, although didn't necessarily agree with him. He admired Tolstoy the novelist but disliked and challenged Tolstoy the moralist. Chekhov, as a man of science, thought Tolstoy's views on science and medicine were ignorant. As a man who had peasant blood flowing through his veins, Chekhov disdained the way Count Tolstoy romanticized peasants and particularly disliked his authoritarian and condemning manner toward them while purporting to support and defend the downtrodden.
When his father died, Troyat tells us that Chekhov wondered how much he owed to his father: was his own religious skepticism, his all-embracing tolerance, his desire for modesty and simplicity in human relations all a reaction against his father's mean-minded bigotry and high-handed authoritarianism? Perhaps. Everything he wrote he experienced or observed in embryo under his father's roof.
In the later part of his life, Chekhov's greatest literary friend and supporter was Gorky. Gorky, the Marxist and revolutionary. Chekhov was never or never could be a Marxist but he did take a stand for Gorky against the sensors. Czar Nicholas II would be overthrown by the Bolsheviks about a decade after Chekhov's death. Chekhov would have been saddened. Not at the demise of a totalitarian regime, but at the brutality of the revolution. Chekhov hoped for transformation into enlightened liberalism through evolution. Slow, perhaps, but steady, and sure. I like to wonder what play he would have written after "The Cherry Orchard."
Troyat's biography of Chekhov does much to illuminate his life and his work and their interconnection.