The Beauties (Chekhov)
Short summary
Rural Russia, late 19th century. As a high school boy, the narrator traveled with his grandfather to Rostov-on-Don. During a rest stop at an Armenian's house, he encountered a beautiful Armenian girl named Masha. Despite her ordinary features, her harmonious appearance captivated him completely, dispelling his earlier irritation from the hot, dusty journey.
The narrator watched Masha moving around the yard, feeling an inexplicable sadness.
For some reason I felt sorry for myself, for my grandfather and for the Armenian, even for the girl herself, and I had a feeling as though we all four had lost something important and essential to life which we should never find again.
Years later, as a university student, the narrator encountered another beautiful girl at a train station. Though her features were irregular, her beauty lay in her movements, expressions, and youthful grace. He observed how everyone around her was affected by her presence. A fellow passenger, an artillery officer, remarked on the sad irony that the station's telegraph clerk, an ordinary man, might be hopelessly in love with this ethereal beauty who would never notice him. The narrator saw the same melancholy on the guard's face as the train departed, leaving the beautiful girl behind on the platform.
Detailed summary by sections
Section titles are editorial.
Section 1. The Armenian girl: Beauty that causes sadness
On a hot, dusty August day, a high school boy traveled with his grandfather from the village of Bolshoe Kryepkoe in the Don region to Rostov-on-the-Don. The journey was uncomfortable, with heat and wind making them drowsy and irritable. Their driver, Karpo, occasionally lashed out with his whip, sometimes hitting the boy's cap, but the boy was too exhausted to protest.
They stopped to feed their horses at a wealthy Armenian's house in a large Armenian village. The host was a caricature-like figure with a shaven head, thick eyebrows, a beak-like nose, and long gray mustaches. He wore unusual clothing and moved with exaggerated dignity, speaking without removing the pipe from his mouth.
Inside the house, the boy sat on a green box, feeling miserable in the stifling heat. The wooden walls smelled of dry wood baked by the sun, and flies were everywhere. As the Armenian and his grandfather discussed farming matters, the boy dreaded the long wait ahead while his grandfather would drink tea and nap.
A peasant woman brought in tea things, followed by the samovar. The Armenian called for his daughter Masha to pour the tea. A sixteen-year-old girl in a simple cotton dress entered the room. When she handed the boy his tea, he was instantly captivated by her extraordinary beauty.
I saw the bewitching features of the most beautiful face I have ever met in real life or in my dreams. Before me stood a beauty, and I recognized that at the first glance as I should have recognized lightning.
The boy observed Masha's classical beauty - her straight, slightly aquiline nose, dark eyes with long lashes, black curly hair, and soft white skin. Even his grandfather, usually indifferent to beauty, remarked approvingly on her appearance. The boy felt a strange sadness while watching her, not desire or ecstasy, but a vague melancholy that affected everyone in the room.
I felt this beauty rather strangely. It was not desire, nor ecstasy, nor enjoyment that Masha excited in me, but a painful though pleasant sadness. It was a sadness vague and undefined as a dream.
After tea, the grandfather napped while the boy went outside. In the courtyard, threshing was underway, with horses circling to crush wheat straw. Masha moved gracefully through the yard, carrying bread, running between buildings and over hurdles. The Ukrainian worker driving the horses watched her with evident longing. The boy found himself captivated by her every movement, feeling an inexplicable sadness that deepened with each glimpse of her beauty.
When it was time to leave, they departed in silence. Hours later, as they approached Rostov, Karpo finally broke the silence, remarking on the fine girl at the Armenian's house.
Section 2. The Russian girl: Beauty in imperfection
Years later, as a university student, the narrator was traveling by train in May. At a station between Byelgorod and Harkov, he noticed passengers gathering around a second-class compartment. Joining his fellow traveler, an artillery officer, he discovered they were all looking at a young girl.
Standing by the carriage window was a seventeen or eighteen-year-old girl in a Russian dress with her head bare and a small shawl on one shoulder. She was remarkably beautiful, though in a different way from the Armenian girl. Her only truly lovely feature was her thick wavy fair hair, while her other features were either irregular or ordinary - her eyes were screwed up, her nose had an undecided tilt, and her mouth was small.
Yet despite these imperfections, she was undeniably beautiful. The narrator realized that the Russian face did not require strict regularity to be lovely, and that her charm lay in her movements and expressions.
The whole secret and magic of her beauty lay just in these tiny, infinitely elegant movements, in her smile, in the play of her face, in her rapid glances at us, in the combination of the subtle grace of her movements with her youth.
After the second bell, the narrator and the officer returned to their compartment. The officer sighed, suggesting he was reluctant to leave the beautiful girl. As they passed the station window, they saw a pale telegraphist sitting at his apparatus. The officer speculated about the telegraphist's unrequited love for the beautiful girl, imagining the sadness of his situation.
The train guard, looking at the girl, wore an expression of deep sadness, as though seeing in her his lost youth and happiness. When the train departed, the narrator watched the girl walk along the platform past the telegraph clerk's window and disappear into the garden. As the train moved on, melancholy settled over the spring air, the darkening sky, and the railway carriage.