Hi, everyone. This is John Haggardorn. Our show themes every Sunday from now through December

will be turning to family and honor. Welcome, dear listeners, to another journey into the

world of classic short stories. Before we delve into today's tale, I must share that I, Chiselle Erickson, am happily

stepping in for John Haggardorn, who is recovering quickly from back surgery, and will be

behind the mic again soon.

Now, let us turn our attention to Anton Chekhov's Rye Contemplation of Domestic Bliss,

a country cottage. Our story opens on the platform of a little country station where two

young newlyweds, Sasha and Huaria, revel in their profound happiness. The evening is idyllic.

The moon peers down from the drifting cloudlets, and the still airs heavy with the sweet

fragrance of lilac and wild cherry. They anticipate a perfect quiet supper, a chicken just big

enough for two, along with salmon and sardines,

and Sasha remarks that the splendid time they are having seems almost too good to be true.

But alas, Chekhov teaches us that happiness, particularly when tied to domestic solitude, is fragile indeed.

And now, our story.

Two young people who had not been long married were walking up and down the platform of a little country station.

His arm was around her waist, her head was almost on his shoulder, and both were happy.

The moon peeped up from the driftless cloudlets and frowned, as it seemed, envying their happiness

and regretting her tedious and utterly superfluous virginity. The still air was heavy,

with the fragrance of lilac and wild cherry, somewhere in the distance beyond the line, a corncric was calling.

How beautiful it is, Sasha, how beautiful, murmured the young wife.

It all seems like a dream.

See how sweet and inviting that little copse looks.

...