Other
Titles:
“The
Dowry”
„Приданое“
In
this short story, the narrator visits a house three times throughout the years
and reflects on the changes that had taken place within that household. Each
visit is dominated by Manetchka’s trousseau preparation – the mother and
daughter who live there are always busy making everything that a young woman
would need once she is married. But Manetchka (the daughter) is not engaged;
there is no sign of a young suitor in particular. In fact, the girl even gets
embarrassed by the topic and “vows”, every time, that she will never marry. However,
the narrator catches all the little hints in a young woman’s behavior that
point to the opposite, her secret desire to have that in her future.
The
story opens with a charming description of the house observed from the outside.
The nature surrounding the place is the symbol of tradition. The previous
generations have planted those trees and flowers, leaving their contribution to
the life that occupies the house now. In a way, their trousseau was the efforts
to build the foundation for a happy situation. But the occupants do not
appreciate the beauty outside and confine themselves to the stifling inside of
a home where they are too busy working toward an imagined future – the future
that ironically never comes.
“It
is only to the summer visitor that God has vouchsafed an eye for the beauties
of nature. The rest of mankind remain steeped in profound ignorance of the
existence of such beauties. People never prize what they have always had in
abundance. What we have, we do not treasure, and what’s more we do not even
love it.”
It
seems that we are all making our own trousseaux throughout life, living with
the expectations that the future will bring exactly what we dream of. But life
is tragic and lonely. At least this is how Chekhov describes the circumstances of
the characters in this short story. By the third visit, the young woman is dead.
And the mother, whether by habit, insanity, or in loving memory of her daughter,
continues with the work of the trousseau.
“’We
are all alone in the world.’
And
where was the daughter? Where was Manetchka? I did not ask. I did not dare to
ask the old mother dressed in her new deep mourning. And while I was in the
room, and when I got up to go, no Manetchka came out to greet me. I did not
hear her voice, nor her soft, timid footstep…
I
understood, and my heart was heavy.”
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