Sandeep Jador The story tells about a father and his great despair for his dead son. Iona, the father, is a Russian sleigh driver who desperately tried to share his grief with strangers. Iona wanted someone to listen to him, to somehow feel his grief, in order for him to feel better.
After taking off his outer garments and drinking some seltzer water, he settled himself comfortably on a couch and began reading the signatures in the list.
When his eyes reached the middle of the long list of signatures, he started, gave an ejaculation of astonishment and snapped his fingers, while his face expressed the utmost perplexity.
Again there is the signature of that fellow, goodness knows who he is! Who the devil this Fedyukov was, Navagin had not a notion. He went over in his memory all his acquaintances, relations and subordinates in the service, recalled his remote past but could recollect no name like Fedyukov.
What was so strange was that this incognito, Fedyukov, had signed his name regularly every Christmas and Easter for the last thirteen years. Neither Navagin, his wife, nor his house porter knew who he was, where he came from or what he was like. But I will find out who he is!
Misery by anton chekhov essay you see him? So he must have been in the hall. You sit gaping there in the hall. Try and remember, perhaps someone you didn't know came in?
Our clerks have been, the baroness came to see her Excellency, the priests have been with the Cross, and there has been no one else. That I will swear before the holy image. A man has been signing his name here for thirteen years and you can't find out who he is. Perhaps it's a joke?
Perhaps some clerk writes that name as well as his own for fun. The bold, florid signature in the old-fashioned style with twirls and flourishes was utterly unlike the handwriting of the other signatures. It was next below the signature of Shtutchkin, the provincial secretary, a scared, timorous little man who would certainly have died of fright if he had ventured upon such an impudent joke.
I am convinced that this Fedyukov is a spirit who has a sympathy for you.
If I were you, I would call him up and ask him what he wants. All the evening he was imagining that the incognito Fedyukov was the spirit of some long-dead clerk, who had been discharged from the service by Navagin's ancestors and was now revenging himself on their descendant; or perhaps it was the kinsman of some petty official dismissed by Navagin himself, or of a girl seduced by him.
All night Navagin dreamed of a gaunt old clerk in a shabby uniform, with a face as yellow as a lemon, hair that stood up like a brush, and pewtery eyes; the clerk said something in a sepulchral voice and shook a bony finger at him. And Navagin almost had an attack of inflammation of the brain.
For a fortnight he was silent and gloomy and kept walking up and down and thinking. In the end he overcame his sceptical vanity, and going into his wife's room he said in a hollow voice: Fedyukov did not keep them waiting long. He was busy with the saucer for four hours, and fell asleep soothed and happy that he had become acquainted with a mysterious world that was new to him.
After that he studied spiritualism every day, and at the office, informed the clerks that there was a great deal in nature that was supernatural and marvellous to which our men of science ought to have turned their attention long ago.
Hypnotism, mediumism, bishopism, spiritualism, the fourth dimension, and other misty notions took complete possession of him, so that for whole days at a time, to the great delight of his wife, he read books on spiritualism or devoted himself to the saucer, table-turning, and discussions of supernatural phenomena.
At his instigation all his clerks took up spiritualism, too, and with such ardour that the old managing clerk went out of his mind and one day sent a telegram: I feel that I am turning into an evil spirit. What's to be done? For five months he sat composing, and in the end had written a huge monograph, entitled: When he had finished this essay he determined to send it to a spiritualist journal.
The day on which it was intended to despatch it to the journal was a very memorable one for him. Navagin remembers that on that never-to-be-forgotten day the secretary who had made a fair copy of his article and the sacristan of the parish who had been sent for on business were in his study.
Nayagin's face was beaming.Anton Chekhov: Anton Chekhov, Russian playwright and master of the modern short story. He was a literary artist of laconic precision who probed below the surface of life, laying bare the secret motives of his characters.
Chekhov’s best plays and short stories . Anton Chekhov’s “Misery”, a sledge driver, Iona Petapov, grief’s the loss of his heartoftexashop.com is not able to willing to listen to his misery as he long to express his anguish. Each person that Iona makes encounters with are preoccupied and did not care to hear his story.
“Misery” by Anton Chekhov Essay Sample “Misery” by Anton Chekhov has a simple plot. The protagonist of this short story Iona Potapov, is a cab driver in . Anton Pavlovich Chekhov Russian Author/Writer (aged He is mainly known for his short stories and several plays but his stream of consciousness writing was his inventive way of wri.
Anton Chekhov was born on the feast day of St. Anthony the Great (17 January Old Style) 29 January , the third of six surviving children, in Taganrog, a port on the Sea of Azov in southern heartoftexashop.com father, Pavel Yegorovich Chekhov, the son of a former serf and his Ukrainian wife,  were from the village Vilkhovatka near Kobeliaky (Poltava Region in modern-day Ukraine) and ran a.
Anton Chekhov was a man and author who overcame many obstacles during the course of his life. His contributions to literature were immense, but it came only through hard work and many failed attempts that he became the great author he is known as today.