{"id":23308,"date":"2025-07-27T07:51:03","date_gmt":"2025-07-27T11:51:03","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/lecturia.org\/?p=23308"},"modified":"2025-07-27T07:51:05","modified_gmt":"2025-07-27T11:51:05","slug":"anton-chekhov-the-man-in-a-case","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/lecturia.org\/en\/short-stories\/anton-chekhov-the-man-in-a-case\/23308\/","title":{"rendered":"Anton Chekhov: The Man in a Case"},"content":{"rendered":"\n

Synopsis<\/strong>: \u201cThe Man in a Case\u201d (Chelovek v futlyare<\/em>) is a short story by Russian writer Anton Chekhov, published in July 1898 in the magazine Russkaya Mysl<\/em>\u02bc<\/em>. Through the account of a high school teacher, we meet Byelikov, a Greek teacher who lives with obsessive rigidity. He fears everything new, avoids any emotion, and takes refuge in rules and prohibitions. Even his clothes seem like armor against the world. The story, told among hunters during a quiet night, becomes a subtle critique of those who live prisoners of fear, locked in a case that separates them from life.<\/p>\n\n\n

\n
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\"Anton<\/figure>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n\n\n

The Man in a Case<\/h2>\n\n\n\n

Anton Chekhov
(Full story)<\/p>\n\n\n\n

AT the furthest end of the village of Mironositskoe some belated sportsmen lodged for the night in the elder Prokofy\u2019s barn. There were two of them, the veterinary surgeon Ivan Ivanovitch and the schoolmaster Burkin. Ivan Ivanovitch had a rather strange double-barrelled surname \u2014 Tchimsha-Himalaisky \u2014 which did not suit him at all, and he was called simply Ivan Ivanovitch all over the province. He lived at a stud-farm near the town, and had come out shooting now to get a breath of fresh air. Burkin, the high-school teacher, stayed every summer at Count P**\u2018s, and had been thoroughly at home in this district for years.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

They did not sleep. Ivan Ivanovitch, a tall, lean old fellow with long moustaches, was sitting outside the door, smoking a pipe in the moonlight. Burkin was lying within on the hay, and could not be seen in the darkness.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

They were telling each other all sorts of stories. Among other things, they spoke of the fact that the elder\u2019s wife, Mavra, a healthy and by no means stupid woman, had never been beyond her native village, had never seen a town nor a railway in her life, and had spent the last ten years sitting behind the stove, and only at night going out into the street.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cWhat is there wonderful in that!\u201d said Burkin. \u201cThere are plenty of people in the world, solitary by temperament, who try to retreat into their shell like a hermit crab or a snail. Perhaps it is an instance of atavism, a return to the period when the ancestor of man was not yet a social animal and lived alone in his den, or perhaps it is only one of the diversities of human character \u2014 who knows? I am not a natural science man, and it is not my business to settle such questions; I only mean to say that people like Mavra are not uncommon. There is no need to look far; two months ago a man called Byelikov, a colleague of mine, the Greek master, died in our town. You have heard of him, no doubt. He was remarkable for always wearing goloshes and a warm wadded coat, and carrying an umbrella even in the very finest weather. And his umbrella was in a case, and his watch was in a case made of grey chamois leather, and when he took out his penknife to sharpen his pencil, his penknife, too, was in a little case; and his face seemed to be in a case too, because he always hid it in his turned-up collar. He wore dark spectacles and flannel vests, stuffed up his ears with cotton-wool, and when he got into a cab always told the driver to put up the hood. In short, the man displayed a constant and insurmountable impulse to wrap himself in a covering, to make himself, so to speak, a case which would isolate him and protect him from external influences. Reality irritated him, frightened him, kept him in continual agitation, and, perhaps to justify his timidity, his aversion for the actual, he always praised the past and what had never existed; and even the classical languages which he taught were in reality for him goloshes and umbrellas in which he sheltered himself from real life.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201c \u2018Oh, how sonorous, how beautiful is the Greek language!\u2019 he would say, with a sugary expression; and as though to prove his words he would screw up his eyes and, raising his finger, would pronounce \u2018Anthropos!\u2019<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cAnd Byelikov tried to hide his thoughts also in a case. The only things that were clear to his mind were government circulars and newspaper articles in which something was forbidden. When some proclamation prohibited the boys from going out in the streets after nine o\u2019clock in the evening, or some article declared carnal love unlawful, it was to his mind clear and definite; it was forbidden, and that was enough. For him there was always a doubtful element, something vague and not fully expressed, in any sanction or permission. When a dramatic club or a reading-room or a tea-shop was licensed in the town, he would shake his head and say softly:<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cIt is all right, of course; it is all very nice, but I hope it won\u2019t lead to anything!\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cEvery sort of breach of order, deviation or departure from rule, depressed him, though one would have thought it was no business of his. If one of his colleagues was late for church or if rumours reached him of some prank of the high-school boys, or one of the mistresses was seen late in the evening in the company of an officer, he was much disturbed, and said he hoped that nothing would come of it. At the teachers\u2019 meetings he simply oppressed us with his caution, his circumspection, and his characteristic reflection on the ill-behaviour of the young people in both male and female high-schools, the uproar in the classes.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cOh, he hoped it would not reach the ears of the authorities; oh, he hoped nothing would come of it; and he thought it would be a very good thing if Petrov were expelled from the second class and Yegorov from the fourth. And, do you know, by his sighs, his despondency, his black spectacles on his pale little face, a little face like a pole-cat\u2019s, you know, he crushed us all, and we gave way, reduced Petrov\u2019s and Yegorov\u2019s marks for conduct, kept them in, and in the end expelled them both. He had a strange habit of visiting our lodgings. He would come to a teacher\u2019s, would sit down, and remain silent, as though he were carefully inspecting something. He would sit like this in silence for an hour or two and then go away. This he called \u2018maintaining good relations with his colleagues\u2019; and it was obvious that coming to see us and sitting there was tiresome to him, and that he came to see us simply because he considered it his duty as our colleague. We teachers were afraid of him. And even the headmaster was afraid of him. Would you believe it, our teachers were all intellectual, right-minded people, brought up on Turgenev and Shtchedrin, yet this little chap, who always went about with goloshes and an umbrella, had the whole high-school under his thumb for fifteen long years! High-school, indeed \u2014 he had the whole town under his thumb! Our ladies did not get up private theatricals on Saturdays for fear he should hear of it, and the clergy dared not eat meat or play cards in his presence. Under the influence of people like Byelikov we have got into the way of being afraid of everything in our town for the last ten or fifteen years. They are afraid to speak aloud, afraid to send letters, afraid to make acquaintances, afraid to read books, afraid to help the poor, to teach people to read and write. . . .\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Ivan Ivanovitch cleared his throat, meaning to say something, but first lighted his pipe, gazed at the moon, and then said, with pauses:<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cYes, intellectual, right minded people read Shtchedrin and Turgenev, Buckle, and all the rest of them, yet they knocked under and put up with it. . . that\u2019s just how it is.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cByelikov lived in the same house as I did,\u201d Burkin went on, \u201con the same storey, his door facing mine; we often saw each other, and I knew how he lived when he was at home. And at home it was the same story: dressing-gown, nightcap, blinds, bolts, a perfect succession of prohibitions and restrictions of all sorts, and\u2014 \u2018Oh, I hope nothing will come of it!\u2019 Lenten fare was bad for him, yet he could not eat meat, as people might perhaps say Byelikov did not keep the fasts, and he ate freshwater fish with butter \u2014 not a Lenten dish, yet one could not say that it was meat. He did not keep a female servant for fear people might think evil of him, but had as cook an old man of sixty, called Afanasy, half-witted and given to tippling, who had once been an officer\u2019s servant and could cook after a fashion. This Afanasy was usually standing at the door with his arms folded; with a deep sigh, he would mutter always the same thing:<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201c \u2018There are plenty of them<\/em> about nowadays!\u2019<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cByelikov had a little bedroom like a box; his bed had curtains. When he went to bed he covered his head over; it was hot and stuffy; the wind battered on the closed doors; there was a droning noise in the stove and a sound of sighs from the kitchen \u2014 ominous sighs. . . . And he felt frightened under the bed-clothes. He was afraid that something might happen, that Afanasy might murder him, that thieves might break in, and so he had troubled dreams all night, and in the morning, when we went together to the high-school, he was depressed and pale, and it was evident that the high-school full of people excited dread and aversion in his whole being, and that to walk beside me was irksome to a man of his solitary temperament.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201c \u2018They make a great noise in our classes,\u2019 he used to say, as though trying to find an explanation for his depression. \u2018It\u2019s beyond anything.\u2019<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cAnd the Greek master, this man in a case \u2014 would you believe it? \u2014 almost got married.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Ivan Ivanovitch glanced quickly into the barn, and said:<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cYou are joking!\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cYes, strange as it seems, he almost got married. A new teacher of history and geography, Milhail Savvitch Kovalenko, a Little Russian, was appointed. He came, not alone, but with his sister Varinka. He was a tall, dark young man with huge hands, and one could see from his face that he had a bass voice, and, in fact, he had a voice that seemed to come out of a barrel\u2014 \u2018boom, boom, boom!\u2019 And she was not so young, about thirty, but she, too, was tall, well-made, with black eyebrows and red cheeks \u2014 in fact, she was a regular sugar-plum, and so sprightly, so noisy; she was always singing Little Russian songs and laughing. For the least thing she would go off into a ringing laugh\u2014 \u2018Ha-ha-ha!\u2019 We made our first thorough acquaintance with the Kovalenkos at the headmaster\u2019s name-day party. Among the glum and intensely bored teachers who came even to the name-day party as a duty we suddenly saw a new Aphrodite risen from the waves; she walked with her arms akimbo, laughed, sang, danced. . . . She sang with feeling \u2018The Winds do Blow,\u2019 then another song, and another, and she fascinated us all \u2014 all, even Byelikov. He sat down by her and said with a honeyed smile:<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201c \u2018The Little Russian reminds one of the ancient Greek in its softness and agreeable resonance.\u2019<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cThat flattered her, and she began telling him with feeling and earnestness that they had a farm in the Gadyatchsky district, and that her mamma lived at the farm, and that they had such pears, such melons, such kabaks!<\/em> The Little Russians call pumpkins kabaks<\/em> (i.e., pothouses), while their pothouses they call shinki,<\/em> and they make a beetroot soup with tomatoes and aubergines in it, \u2018which was so nice \u2014 awfully nice!\u2019<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cWe listened and listened, and suddenly the same idea dawned upon us all:<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201c \u2018It would be a good thing to make a match of it,\u2019 the headmaster\u2019s wife said to me softly.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cWe all for some reason recalled the fact that our friend Byelikov was not married, and it now seemed to us strange that we had hitherto failed to observe, and had in fact completely lost sight of, a detail so important in his life. What was his attitude to woman? How had he settled this vital question for himself? This had not interested us in the least till then; perhaps we had not even admitted the idea that a man who went out in all weathers in goloshes and slept under curtains could be in love.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201c \u2018He is a good deal over forty and she is thirty,\u2019 the headmaster\u2019s wife went on, developing her idea. \u2018I believe she would marry him.\u2019<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cAll sorts of things are done in the provinces through boredom, all sorts of unnecessary and nonsensical things! And that is because what is necessary is not done at all. What need was there for instance, for us to make a match for this Byelikov, whom one could not even imagine married? The headmaster\u2019s wife, the inspector\u2019s wife, and all our high-school ladies, grew livelier and even better-looking, as though they had suddenly found a new object in life. The headmaster\u2019s wife would take a box at the theatre, and we beheld sitting in her box Varinka, with such a fan, beaming and happy, and beside her Byelikov, a little bent figure, looking as though he had been extracted from his house by pincers. I would give an evening party, and the ladies would insist on my inviting Byelikov and Varinka. In short, the machine was set in motion. It appeared that Varinka was not averse to matrimony. She had not a very cheerful life with her brother; they could do nothing but quarrel and scold one another from morning till night. Here is a scene, for instance. Kovalenko would be coming along the street, a tall, sturdy young ruffian, in an embroidered shirt, his love-locks falling on his forehead under his cap, in one hand a bundle of books, in the other a thick knotted stick, followed by his sister, also with books in her hand.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201c \u2018But you haven\u2019t read it, Mihalik!\u2019 she would be arguing loudly. \u2018I tell you, I swear you have not read it at all!\u2019<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201c \u2018And I tell you I have read it,\u2019 cries Kovalenko, thumping his stick on the pavement.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201c \u2018Oh, my goodness, Mihalik! why are you so cross? We are arguing about principles.\u2019<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201c \u2018I tell you that I have read it!\u2019 Kovalenko would shout, more loudly than ever.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cAnd at home, if there was an outsider present, there was sure to be a skirmish. Such a life must have been wearisome, and of course she must have longed for a home of her own. Besides, there was her age to be considered; there was no time left to pick and choose; it was a case of marrying anybody, even a Greek master. And, indeed, most of our young ladies don\u2019t mind whom they marry so long as they do get married. However that may be, Varinka began to show an unmistakable partiality for Byelikov.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cAnd Byelikov? He used to visit Kovalenko just as he did us. He would arrive, sit down, and remain silent. He would sit quiet, and Varinka would sing to him \u2018The Winds do Blow,\u2019 or would look pensively at him with her dark eyes, or would suddenly go off into a peal\u2014 \u2018Ha-ha-ha!\u2019<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cSuggestion plays a great part in love affairs, and still more in getting married. Everybody \u2014 both his colleagues and the ladies \u2014 began assuring Byelikov that he ought to get married, that there was nothing left for him in life but to get married; we all congratulated him, with solemn countenances delivered ourselves of various platitudes, such as \u2018Marriage is a serious step.\u2019 Besides, Varinka was good-looking and interesting; she was the daughter of a civil councillor, and had a farm; and what was more, she was the first woman who had been warm and friendly in her manner to him. His head was turned, and he decided that he really ought to get married.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cWell, at that point you ought to have taken away his goloshes and umbrella,\u201d said Ivan Ivanovitch.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cOnly fancy! that turned out to be impossible. He put Varinka\u2019s portrait on his table, kept coming to see me and talking about Varinka, and home life, saying marriage was a serious step. He was frequently at Kovalenko\u2019s, but he did not alter his manner of life in the least; on the contrary, indeed, his determination to get married seemed to have a depressing effect on him. He grew thinner and paler, and seemed to retreat further and further into his case.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201c \u2018I like Varvara Savvishna,\u2019 he used to say to me, with a faint and wry smile, \u2018and I know that every one ought to get married, but . . . you know all this has happened so suddenly. . . . One must think a little.\u2019<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201c \u2018What is there to think over?\u2019 I used to say to him. \u2018Get married \u2014 that is all.\u2019<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201c \u2018No; marriage is a serious step. One must first weigh the duties before one, the responsibilities . . . that nothing may go wrong afterwards. It worries me so much that I don\u2019t sleep at night. And I must confess I am afraid: her brother and she have a strange way of thinking; they look at things strangely, you know, and her disposition is very impetuous. One may get married, and then, there is no knowing, one may find oneself in an unpleasant position.\u2019<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cAnd he did not make an offer; he kept putting it off, to the great vexation of the headmaster\u2019s wife and all our ladies; he went on weighing his future duties and responsibilities, and meanwhile he went for a walk with Varinka almost every day \u2014 possibly he thought that this was necessary in his position \u2014 and came to see me to talk about family life. And in all probability in the end he would have proposed to her, and would have made one of those unnecessary, stupid marriages such as are made by thousands among us from being bored and having nothing to do, if it had not been for a kolossalische scandal.<\/em> I must mention that Varinka\u2019s brother, Kovalenko, detested Byelikov from the first day of their acquaintance, and could not endure him.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201c \u2018I don\u2019t understand,\u2019 he used to say to us, shrugging his shoulders\u2014 \u2018I don\u2019t understand how you can put up with that sneak, that nasty phiz. Ugh! how can you live here! The atmosphere is stifling and unclean! Do you call yourselves schoolmasters, teachers? You are paltry government clerks. You keep, not a temple of science, but a department for red tape and loyal behaviour, and it smells as sour as a police-station. No, my friends; I will stay with you for a while, and then I will go to my farm and there catch crabs and teach the Little Russians. I shall go, and you can stay here with your Judas \u2014 damn his soul!\u2019<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cOr he would laugh till he cried, first in a loud bass, then in a shrill, thin laugh, and ask me, waving his hands:<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201c \u2018What does he sit here for? What does he want? He sits and stares.\u2019<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cHe even gave Byelikov a nickname, \u2018The Spider.\u2019 And it will readily be understood that we avoided talking to him of his sister\u2019s being about to marry \u2018The Spider.\u2019<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cAnd on one occasion, when the headmaster\u2019s wife hinted to him what a good thing it would be to secure his sister\u2019s future with such a reliable, universally respected man as Byelikov, he frowned and muttered:<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201c \u2018It\u2019s not my business; let her marry a reptile if she likes. I don\u2019t like meddling in other people\u2019s affairs.\u2019<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cNow hear what happened next. Some mischievous person drew a caricature of Byelikov walking along in his goloshes with his trousers tucked up, under his umbrella, with Varinka on his arm; below, the inscription \u2018Anthropos in love.\u2019 The expression was caught to a marvel, you know. The artist must have worked for more than one night, for the teachers of both the boys\u2019 and girls\u2019 high-schools, the teachers of the seminary, the government officials, all received a copy. Byelikov received one, too. The caricature made a very painful impression on him.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cWe went out together; it was the first of May, a Sunday, and all of us, the boys and the teachers, had agreed to meet at the high-school and then to go for a walk together to a wood beyond the town. We set off, and he was green in the face and gloomier than a storm-cloud.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u2018What wicked, ill-natured people there are!\u2019 he said, and his lips quivered.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cI felt really sorry for him. We were walking along, and all of a sudden \u2014 would you believe it? \u2014 Kovalenko came bowling along on a bicycle, and after him, also on a bicycle, Varinka, flushed and exhausted, but good-humoured and gay.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201c \u2018We are going on ahead,\u2019 she called. \u2018What lovely weather! Awfully lovely!\u2019<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cAnd they both disappeared from our sight. Byelikov turned white instead of green, and seemed petrified. He stopped short and stared at me. . . .<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201c \u2018What is the meaning of it? Tell me, please!\u2019 he asked. \u2018Can my eyes have deceived me? Is it the proper thing for high-school masters and ladies to ride bicycles?\u2019<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201c \u2018What is there improper about it?\u2019 I said. \u2018Let them ride and enjoy themselves.\u2019<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201c \u2018But how can that be?\u2019 he cried, amazed at my calm. \u2018What are you saying?\u2019<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cAnd he was so shocked that he was unwilling to go on, and returned home.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cNext day he was continually twitching and nervously rubbing his hands, and it was evident from his face that he was unwell. And he left before his work was over, for the first time in his life. And he ate no dinner. Towards evening he wrapped himself up warmly, though it was quite warm weather, and sallied out to the Kovalenkos\u2019. Varinka was out; he found her brother, however.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201c \u2018Pray sit down,\u2019 Kovalenko said coldly, with a frown. His face looked sleepy; he had just had a nap after dinner, and was in a very bad humour.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cByelikov sat in silence for ten minutes, and then began:<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201c \u2018I have come to see you to relieve my mind. I am very, very much troubled. Some scurrilous fellow has drawn an absurd caricature of me and another person, in whom we are both deeply interested. I regard it as a duty to assure you that I have had no hand in it. . . . I have given no sort of ground for such ridicule \u2014 on the contrary, I have always behaved in every way like a gentleman.\u2019<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cKovalenko sat sulky and silent. Byelikov waited a little, and went on slowly in a mournful voice:<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201c \u2018And I have something else to say to you. I have been in the service for years, while you have only lately entered it, and I consider it my duty as an older colleague to give you a warning. You ride on a bicycle, and that pastime is utterly unsuitable for an educator of youth.\u2019<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201c \u2018Why so?\u2019 asked Kovalenko in his bass.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201c \u2018Surely that needs no explanation, Mihail Savvitch \u2014 surely you can understand that? If the teacher rides a bicycle, what can you expect the pupils to do? You will have them walking on their heads next! And so long as there is no formal permission to do so, it is out of the question. I was horrified yesterday! When I saw your sister everything seemed dancing before my eyes. A lady or a young girl on a bicycle \u2014 it\u2019s awful!\u2019<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201c \u2018What is it you want exactly?\u2019<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201c \u2018All I want is to warn you, Mihail Savvitch. You are a young man, you have a future before you, you must be very, very careful in your behaviour, and you are so careless \u2014 oh, so careless! You go about in an embroidered shirt, are constantly seen in the street carrying books, and now the bicycle, too. The headmaster will learn that you and your sister ride the bicycle, and then it will reach the higher authorities. . . . Will that be a good thing?\u2019<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201c \u2018It\u2019s no business of anybody else if my sister and I do bicycle!\u2019 said Kovalenko, and he turned crimson. \u2018And damnation take any one who meddles in my private affairs!\u2019<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cByelikov turned pale and got up.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201c \u2018If you speak to me in that tone I cannot continue,\u2019 he said. \u2018And I beg you never to express yourself like that about our superiors in my presence; you ought to be respectful to the authorities.\u2019<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201c \u2018Why, have I said any harm of the authorities?\u2019 asked Kovalenko, looking at him wrathfully. \u2018Please leave me alone. I am an honest man, and do not care to talk to a gentleman like you. I don\u2019t like sneaks!\u2019<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cByelikov flew into a nervous flutter, and began hurriedly putting on his coat, with an expression of horror on his face. It was the first time in his life he had been spoken to so rudely.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201c \u2018You can say what you please,\u2019 he said, as he went out from the entry to the landing on the staircase. \u2018I ought only to warn you: possibly some one may have overheard us, and that our conversation may not be misunderstood and harm come of it, I shall be compelled to inform our headmaster of our conversation . . . in its main features. I am bound to do so.\u2019<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201c \u2018Inform him? You can go and make your report!\u2019<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cKovalenko seized him from behind by the collar and gave him a push, and Byelikov rolled downstairs, thudding with his goloshes. The staircase was high and steep, but he rolled to the bottom unhurt, got up, and touched his nose to see whether his spectacles were all right. But just as he was falling down the stairs Varinka came in, and with her two ladies; they stood below staring, and to Byelikov this was more terrible than anything. I believe he would rather have broken his neck or both legs than have been an object of ridicule. \u2018Why, now the whole town would hear of it; it would come to the headmaster\u2019s ears, would reach the higher authorities \u2014 oh, it might lead to something! There would be another caricature, and it would all end in his being asked to resign his post. . . .<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cWhen he got up, Varinka recognized him, and, looking at his ridiculous face, his crumpled overcoat, and his goloshes, not understanding what had happened and supposing that he had slipped down by accident, could not restrain herself, and laughed loud enough to be heard by all the flats:<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201c \u2018Ha-ha-ha!\u2019<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cAnd this pealing, ringing \u2018Ha-ha-ha!\u2019 was the last straw that put an end to everything: to the proposed match and to Byelikov\u2019s earthly existence. He did not hear what Varinka said to him; he saw nothing. On reaching home, the first thing he did was to remove her portrait from the table; then he went to bed, and he never got up again.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cThree days later Afanasy came to me and asked whether we should not send for the doctor, as there was something wrong with his master. I went in to Byelikov. He lay silent behind the curtain, covered with a quilt; if one asked him a question, he said \u2018Yes\u2019 or \u2018No\u2019 and not another sound. He lay there while Afanasy, gloomy and scowling, hovered about him, sighing heavily, and smelling like a pothouse.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cA month later Byelikov died. We all went to his funeral \u2014 that is, both the high-schools and the seminary. Now when he was lying in his coffin his expression was mild, agreeable, even cheerful, as though he were glad that he had at last been put into a case which he would never leave again. Yes, he had attained his ideal! And, as though in his honour, it was dull, rainy weather on the day of his funeral, and we all wore goloshes and took our umbrellas. Varinka, too, was at the funeral, and when the coffin was lowered into the grave she burst into tears. I have noticed that Little Russian women are always laughing or crying \u2014 no intermediate mood.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cOne must confess that to bury people like Byelikov is a great pleasure. As we were returning from the cemetery we wore discreet Lenten faces; no one wanted to display this feeling of pleasure \u2014 a feeling like that we had experienced long, long ago as children when our elders had gone out and we ran about the garden for an hour or two, enjoying complete freedom. Ah, freedom, freedom! The merest hint, the faintest hope of its possibility gives wings to the soul, does it not?<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cWe returned from the cemetery in a good humour. But not more than a week had passed before life went on as in the past, as gloomy, oppressive, and senseless \u2014 a life not forbidden by government prohibition, but not fully permitted, either: it was no better. And, indeed, though we had buried Byelikov, how many such men in cases were left, how many more of them there will be!\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cThat\u2019s just how it is,\u201d said Ivan Ivanovitch and he lighted his pipe.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cHow many more of them there will be!\u201d repeated Burkin.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The schoolmaster came out of the barn. He was a short, stout man, completely bald, with a black beard down to his waist. The two dogs came out with him.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cWhat a moon!\u201d he said, looking upwards.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

It was midnight. On the right could be seen the whole village, a long street stretching far away for four miles. All was buried in deep silent slumber; not a movement, not a sound; one could hardly believe that nature could be so still. When on a moonlight night you see a broad village street, with its cottages, haystacks, and slumbering willows, a feeling of calm comes over the soul; in this peace, wrapped away from care, toil, and sorrow in the darkness of night, it is mild, melancholy, beautiful, and it seems as though the stars look down upon it kindly and with tenderness, and as though there were no evil on earth and all were well. On the left the open country began from the end of the village; it could be seen stretching far away to the horizon, and there was no movement, no sound in that whole expanse bathed in moonlight.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cYes, that is just how it is,\u201d repeated Ivan Ivanovitch; \u201cand isn\u2019t our living in town, airless and crowded, our writing useless papers, our playing vint<\/em> \u2014 isn\u2019t that all a sort of case for us? And our spending our whole lives among trivial, fussy men and silly, idle women, our talking and our listening to all sorts of nonsense \u2014 isn\u2019t that a case for us, too? If you like, I will tell you a very edifying story.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cNo; it\u2019s time we were asleep,\u201d said Burkin. \u201cTell it tomorrow.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

They went into the barn and lay down on the hay. And they were both covered up and beginning to doze when they suddenly heard light footsteps \u2014 patter, patter. . . . Some one was walking not far from the barn, walking a little and stopping, and a minute later, patter, patter again. . . . The dogs began growling.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cThat\u2019s Mavra,\u201d said Burkin.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The footsteps died away.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cYou see and hear that they lie,\u201d said Ivan Ivanovitch, turning over on the other side, \u201cand they call you a fool for putting up with their lying. You endure insult and humiliation, and dare not openly say that you are on the side of the honest and the free, and you lie and smile yourself; and all that for the sake of a crust of bread, for the sake of a warm corner, for the sake of a wretched little worthless rank in the service. No, one can\u2019t go on living like this.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cWell, you are off on another tack now, Ivan Ivanovitch,\u201d said the schoolmaster. \u201cLet us go to sleep!<\/p>\n\n\n\n

And ten minutes later Burkin was asleep. But Ivan Ivanovitch kept sighing and turning over from side to side; then he got up, went outside again, and, sitting in the doorway, lighted his pipe.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

THE END<\/p>\n\n\n\n\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

\u201cThe Man in a Case\u201d (Chelovek v futlyare) is a short story by Russian writer Anton Chekhov, published in July 1898 in the magazine Russkaya Mysl\u02bc. Through the account of a high school teacher, we meet Byelikov, a Greek teacher who lives with obsessive rigidity. He fears everything new, avoids any emotion, and takes refuge in rules and prohibitions. Even his clothes seem like armor against the world. The story, told among hunters during a quiet night, becomes a subtle critique of those who live prisoners of fear, locked in a case that separates them from life.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":23190,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"_acf_changed":false,"_kad_blocks_custom_css":"","_kad_blocks_head_custom_js":"","_kad_blocks_body_custom_js":"","_kad_blocks_footer_custom_js":"","footnotes":""},"categories":[559],"tags":[564,630,585],"class_list":["post-23308","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-short-stories","tag-anton-chekhov","tag-realism","tag-russia","generate-columns","tablet-grid-50","mobile-grid-100","grid-parent","grid-33"],"acf":[],"taxonomy_info":{"category":[{"value":559,"label":"Short stories"}],"post_tag":[{"value":564,"label":"Anton Chekhov"},{"value":630,"label":"Realism"},{"value":585,"label":"Russia"}]},"featured_image_src_large":["https:\/\/lecturia.org\/wp-content\/uploads\/2025\/07\/Anton-Chejov-El-hombre-en-el-estuche.webp",1024,1024,false],"author_info":{"display_name":"Juan Pablo Guevara","author_link":"https:\/\/lecturia.org\/en\/author\/spartakku\/"},"comment_info":"","category_info":[{"term_id":559,"name":"Short stories","slug":"short-stories","term_group":0,"term_taxonomy_id":559,"taxonomy":"category","description":"","parent":0,"count":419,"filter":"raw","cat_ID":559,"category_count":419,"category_description":"","cat_name":"Short stories","category_nicename":"short-stories","category_parent":0}],"tag_info":[{"term_id":564,"name":"Anton Chekhov","slug":"anton-chekhov","term_group":0,"term_taxonomy_id":564,"taxonomy":"post_tag","description":"","parent":0,"count":3,"filter":"raw"},{"term_id":630,"name":"Realism","slug":"realism","term_group":0,"term_taxonomy_id":630,"taxonomy":"post_tag","description":"","parent":0,"count":52,"filter":"raw"},{"term_id":585,"name":"Russia","slug":"russia","term_group":0,"term_taxonomy_id":585,"taxonomy":"post_tag","description":"","parent":0,"count":5,"filter":"raw"}],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/lecturia.org\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/23308","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/lecturia.org\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/lecturia.org\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/lecturia.org\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/lecturia.org\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=23308"}],"version-history":[{"count":0,"href":"https:\/\/lecturia.org\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/23308\/revisions"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/lecturia.org\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media\/23190"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/lecturia.org\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=23308"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/lecturia.org\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=23308"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/lecturia.org\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=23308"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}