Listed high among the masters of short story is Russian writer Anton Chekhov. Even if you haven’t read his work, there’s a good chance that you’ve heard of his technique in Chekhov’s gun. Instead of living in mystery, I have decided to finally dig into the author’s work and understand just what makes him an essential voice in the written word. Is he more than a simple gimmick and, if so, what does he have to say about the larger world around him? Like everything I’ve covered in the Short Stop column, his is a series defined by searching bookstores to find whatever speaks to me. At long last, I hope to better understand a name I’ve known seemingly since before I was a writing major but never had context for. Is Chekhov as great as they say? Follow along as I try to see if the payoff is worth the set-up.
As a first time reader to Chekhov, there’s a lot that jumped out when reading “The Witch” immediately after “The Cook’s Wedding.” While they take place in different areas of Russia with very different intentions, they both share a familiar sense of misery surrounding the topic of marriage. Similarly, the woman seems to be at odds with the husband in ways that make her much more compelling than her spouse. If anything, “The Witch” feels downright miserable. Some could chalk it up to locale. They are trying to survive the winter in a cabin as a storm swirls outside. However, one has to believe that this is a problem that has been brewing for more than one season.
Chekhov’s writing is also more explicit this time around. Whereas there is a lot necessary to infer the greater meaning of “The Cook’s Wedding,” here the characters are so at odds with each other that they can’t help but express their animosity. It’s a miracle that they make it to the final page without murdering each other. In a dark comic moment, Chekhov ends the story by having wife Raissa elbow husband Savely in the nose so hard that he begins to see stars. The pent-up aggression is palpable. While Savely accuses her of being evil, the real devil is in the details.
Who are these people and why should we care? Most people know somebody in a bad marriage. In fact, this is the second one Chekhov has introduced. What makes this one different is the rich irony that surrounds this point. They are miserable, yes, but they’re also supposed to be figures of hope. Savely is a sexton, a caretaker for the nearby church where he helps to provide hospitality for those seeking shelter. He is a servant to the clergy that is supposed to symbolize the purity that comes with faith. Within the second sentence is a clever wordplay where Chekhov describes Savely as “lying in his huge bed.” While I can’t speak for the Russian translation, the English version brings a delicious entendre that could suggest despite his virtuous intentions, he’s the one readers should be worried about.
The origin of the short story derives from a line often repeated by Savely. To him, Raissa is a witch. Why? The couple have had multiple visitors and each have become a terrible fate. He believes that it is her fault as he believes the intensity of the winds were influenced by some unforeseen forces. Like most witches, this is less a proven fact and more a dishonor men give women that they deem too powerful and thus a threat to the patriarchal order. Even the fact that Raissa is seen sewing sacks while Savely is in bed suggests a power imbalance. She has the most responsibilities and, because he doesn’t witness the gusts of wind doing damage outside, he blame the destruction on her.
Chekhov is less interested in explaining what causes the noise outside so much as using it as a chance to explore the way that Savely and Raissa are at wit’s end. With this in mind, Chekhov’s descriptions of nature are delightfully layered with allegory. Along with snow making everyone feel more trapped than usual, the proximity to the church suggests how faith cannot protect them from incoming disaster. In the most compelling detail, Chekhov describes two layers of snow. He claims that the lower layer is melting while the fresh patches falling on the ground don’t mix well. If taken as a metaphor for foundation, it suggests that things are about to fall apart immediately.
There are threats for each character to leave their circumstance. Given how heated the tensions are, even the reader is eager to get a sense of relief. However, to walk out the door would be to acquire a fate worthy of a Jack London short story. They are together more out of necessity, and they need to make the most of a terrible situation. Given that they’re expecting company, the paranoia of Savely rises as he contemplates whether a mailman and his driver will suffer a fate alluded to twice before in the text. Again, the irony of being a sexton who refuses to help strangers is an irony befitting someone who doesn’t take “The Good Samaritan” seriously. Savely’s accusations may be up for debate, but Chekhov makes it difficult to argue against whether he’s is an upstanding citizen.
On some level, accusing your wife of being a witch always comes across as exaggeration at first blush. While there’s coincidental evidence that gives the readers some doubt, I struggled to believe he was ever telling the truth. Even with the anecdotal clues of guests befalling bad fates, his tone quickly shifted from confidence to something more delusional. After all, he was stuck at home during a winter storm. Most people would go crazy in that time. He was merely trying to sleep when the story started, making him more susceptible to irrationality. In fact, his larger arc seems to be less anything to do with the postman and more that he just wants to sleep in peace.
There is no sacrifice on his part. In fact, his marriage came about in the laziest, if most morbid, of ways. Unlike “The Cook’s Wedding” that at least could be argued to have some semblance of process, Raissa comes to Savely out of necessity. The story she shares involves her father dying. As he takes care of the loose ends, she finds herself being married off at the same time. Chekhov puts it succinctly when noting it’s killing two birds with one stone. Maybe he means that she’s going to kill Savely, or it’s just using popular nomenclature for humorous effect. Either way, there’s clear regret out of being married off solely to be considered upstanding.
Chekhov’s view of marriage so far seems to be critical. It may be a condensed way of taking down institutions that he deems broken. He wonders why people wouldn’t want to express independence. Given that Raissa probably didn’t have a lot of agency under her father, it makes sense that she’s concerned for her fate under Savely. Maybe being called a witch is less reality and more an easy way to drown her in a lake or burn her at the stake. It’s a comical narrative that feels relatable as a domestic squabble. The catharsis is in jumping to the vilest conclusion in hopes of distancing oneself from their insecurities.
Something to consider is that Raissa only comes across as a witch if one is willing to believe that anything Savely does in the final stretch of the story is considered useful. While he helps the postman get out the door, he’s superstitious. The postman is only stopping over for 10 minutes, and yet he’s insistent on sleeping. Savely won’t allow this. Maybe it’s a projection the postman shares with Raissa in which they’re all keeping him from peace. Is it possible that Savely is just a really terrible sexton who doesn’t want the job? Given that postmen are symbolic of messengers, it could be extrapolated to suggest that Savely would turn away his religion’s most revered messenger if it meant he could be left in peace.
This is all hilarious when considering their history within the church. Many would assume that sextons would be of upstanding reputation. However, to hear Savely share the story is to see the holes starting to poke through. He considers himself to be a great servant. However, the very definition of a witch is antithetical to faith. If Raissa is in fact wiccan, then religion isn’t grounded in truth. She would’ve been excised a lot sooner. While they would eventually have that dishonor, it only comes after they establish themselves as meaningful members. Also, if Raissa is a witch, could she have spiritual forces akin to the saints they worship? Is this all a way of Savely admitting that his faith is shaky?
I also think there’s something amusing about the idea of Savely and Raissa being isolated from larger story. The postman symbolizes the arrival of information from the outside world. While this could help to ground them with the reality, this could be Savely’s way to embrace his own delusions. Without anyone to refute him, he can accuse his wife of whatever he wants. They’re more likely to believe him anyway.
Raissa’s journey is fascinating. Whereas Savely is covered in oil, she is complimented by the men for being clean. She is pure in a way that the masculine characters aren’t. She serves her guests without conflict. In fact, she’s the one encouraging them to stay longer. While there’s the risk of missing the train, there’s a shared agreement that they need to rest. She has a maternal nature that doesn’t come through when talking to Savely. If anything, he suppresses it in favor of self-destruction. The only evidence that she could be a witch is her nursing behavior. It’s not much of a good excuse, but if Savely is to be believed she is waiting to prey on them at a very vulnerable state.
Chekhov is keen on reflecting women who feel trapped in their environments. It’s a fairly radical perspective, especially for late 19th century literature. Raissa is a more compelling character than anyone in “The Cook’s Wedding.” She embodies a commentary on women that are struggling to get by and have irrationality thrust upon them. Their only defense is to elbow men in the face and hope they eventually see their way. Much like the institution that they’ve entered, there is something useless about the partnership. Even with their involvement with the clergy, there’s not a lot of reason to believe any of it matters.
I’m not yet sure that Chekhov has written a great short story that ranks among my personal favorites. Even then, “The Witch” gives me hope that we’re at least heading in the right direction. I love the infectious way he writes interpersonal banter, filling every exchange with doubt and humor as he gets to the heart of how flawed both characters are. They are products of faith, but they lack it at the same time. When the messenger arrives, only one chooses to listen. The other rejects hospitality and believes that the worst is yet to happen. There’s a lot of odd twists and turns as Chekhov finds them ending the story in bed. Even the choice to end with Savely getting his nose knocked in to the point he sees stars feels like some hallucinatory symbolism of how he sees the larger world. Chekhov sprinkles enough clues throughout to show how it’s a feeling in his biology that is holding him back, as if giving oneself over to faith isn’t natural and, in fact, something thrust upon him by outside forces.
Some things to consider about “The Witch” in Chekhov’s larger body of work is how renowned it is. Along with being reprinted in 13 editions of Russia’s In the Twilight, famed author Leo Tolstoy considered it among his favorite of the author. It’s easy to see why, especially as there’s no convenient interpretation and has a lot of basis in one’s personal faith. Are witches real, or is the greater point that Chekhov is commenting on systems that are holding everyone back from a greater sense of happiness? I don’t have the answers. What I do know is that this is an infectious story that never lets up and, if anything, fills the reader with enough doubt and suspense to assume where things could be going. In reality, nothing really witchy actually goes down. That is unless you want to drown your wife. Then you can believe Savely and lie comfortably with him in bed.
Coming Up Next: “A Dead Body”
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