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.
After four entries, I’m seeing a uniformity that I haven’t seen since covering William Faulkner’s “Collected Stories.” Despite the limited sample size, I have felt like Chekhov has really delved into a singular theme with a variety of approaches that really exacerbates the larger purpose. I understand that “Easter Eve” is another one of his early works published between 1885 and 1886. As a short story writer myself, I understand how authors can fixate on a theme and write until every aspect has been cratered into the ground. Maybe it’s why I was underwhelmed by “A Dead Body” despite having an impressively nuanced portrait of mortality in limbo. Given that “Easter Eve” shares that nature vs. humanity aspect, I’m worried this column has developed a tedium that most other authors haven’t achieved this early in their respective series.
With that said, “Easter Eve” is far and away an improvement over “A Dead Body” not only in terms of quality, but an expansion of scope that better outlines the spirituality embedded within Chekhov’s writing. On the surface it would look like nothing out of the ordinary is happening. However, anyone who has stuck around so far will know that he’s obsessed with exploring social status alongside personal struggles. So far they seem to focus on the clergy as they relate to peasants, but I hope sometime soon we’ll return to a diverse cast of characters on par with “The Cook’s Wedding.” I think it’s adding to the redundancy so far to note that this is ultimately another story about the afterlife that’s left with enough ambiguity that the reader can’t help but speculate. It’s a great tool to have, but scrutiny in excess dulls a larger impact.
The first detail that jumps off the page is that Chekhov has chosen to express this story from a first person perspective. While he’s done a noble job of helping us understand his previous characters, this viewpoint allows for a level of introspection that has been missing so far. Along with skirting around a certain ambiguity, the protagonist is allowed to reflect on personal values that otherwise wouldn’t be available to the reader. Even if the story is largely based around observation, there is a sense that his place within the story holds some greater truth that’s not immediately evident. For as much as Chekhov reveals, this story remains coy until the very end. With that said, I’d argue that the first person perspective enhances the story as it keeps the shuffling of names from becoming too complicated and, in fact, personalizes the journey in ways that keep it from feeling more arm’s distance.
The opening paragraph is one of Chekhov’s sparser contributions so far. It’s also a perfect oversimplification of what’s to come as nothing overtly states that the story we’re about to read is about death. While some could read the title of “Easter Eve” and apply the story of Jesus’ resurrection, nothing about the opening lines would suggest a morbid text. Even as he recalls waiting for the ferryman on “the other side,” the entendre can be overlooked. Other details emerge shortly, such as how the waters have “submerging vegetable gardens” and that the skyline is “dark.” The threat of death slowly enters the frame until the protagonist is met with the first supporting character.
One thing that’s brilliant about “Easter Eve” being placed after “A Dead Body” is that the use of a peasant can be implied to be the same character. There’s nothing to suggest this other than that the area where the protagonist is standing might symbolize the afterlife. Given the peasant’s refusal to cross the lake, there is suggestion that he’s made peace with his fading mortality.
So why is he there? The peasant is eager to see a fireworks display that’s shooting towards the heavens on the other side. Given the darkness, the sight would be brilliant in its brevity. This is a fun detail because it mixes spirituality with tactile iconography that usually isn’t associated with the ascension. In fact, the violent flash of light lacks the elegance that many would associate with Jesus’ personal story. Given that the text later presupposes that anyone who dies around Easter goes immediately to heaven, it suggests that this is closer to a celebratory funeral than a mindless act of amusement.
More than anything, this is evidence of life existing on the other side of the river Goltva. There is something attractive about the gathered crowds. All that the protagonist has to do is wait for the ferryman to carry him to the other side. Given the ominous prose that preludes his entrance, the reader is already primed to worry about what lies ahead. In a fun case of irony, Chekhov will spend the next half closer to something more lighthearted, suggesting a divide between the two sides of the river. The starting point is dark, covered in fog that suggests an element of misery. Everything appears to be dead and the drowned vegetation feels like a clever nod to the river Styx by which Charon transported people to hell. Along with fleeting fiery images, the protagonist may as well be going from hell to heaven or, at very least, a return to the mortal coil.
The ferryman enters. The peasant knows his name is Ieronim. He is introduced by bells that sound closer to low-pitched double bass strings, suggesting an otherworldly figure. Chekhov’s ability to discuss this slow entrance with a lengthy description of auditory responses adds to the ultimate deconstruction of Ieronim. He begins as a figure of fear. Even if the peasant anticipates his arrival with excitement, he seems like a morose figure who bends in the shape of a question mark. He is miserable, as if he’s spent his entire existence on the ferry and unable to experience a world beyond his job.
As with every story so far, Chekhov’s commentary on the working class feels evident. Ieronim reveals that his friend Nikolai has died and he isn’t able to attend his funeral. The two appeared to be good friends and this refusal has taken a toll on his self-esteem. While the protagonist is able to get Nikolai’s backstory out of Ieronim, there’s room to suggest that the ferryman isn’t being totally honest. He might be hiding some greater truth for how he feels about Nikolai. Some have implied homosexuality, though it likely is closer to the general regret that one feels when they’re unable to experience emotional closure. They are likely to wander back and forth in their own metaphorical life and death as they wait for meaning to come back. The fact that nobody could take over his job even for a day is a damning criticism of the working class who aren’t afforded the freedoms to wander and experience basic levels of respect.
For readers like me, “Easter Eve” feels like a story that is trying to find small parallels between Russian life and the Jesus story. To summarize the biblical tale, Jesus is crucified and dies. He is buried the following day before rising on Easter Sunday. Given that I assumed “A Dead Body” would have some supernatural Lazarus moment, I wasn’t above thinking that Nikolai would have his own second chance. While I think that “Easter Eve” is closer to the ethereal curiosity that I applied to the prior story, it’s done in such an understated manner that this story is more assumptions than actualizations. What does Nikolai have in common with Jesus? To be honest, it might start and stop at the idea that both were religious men who happened to die around Easter. Frankly, the time frame by which the story takes place, I’m not even sure it’s intentional to apply the resurrection aspect to the tale.
Nikolai in himself is a fun contrast to his environment. Given Chekhov’s reliance on dark imagery, the idea of him being a happy and lively figure feels like a contrast to the environment around him. While the church that the protagonist visits is full of comical personality, Nikolai is the only figure who seems to be indebted to faith. He is a clergy member who follows his doctrine closely. There is a peace to him that seems to be missing from everyone around him. He was the quiet type who wrote poetry that nobody read and found peace with his small form of reflection.
Something that has interested me about Nikolai being yet another priest figure is that he is another contrast type. Despite being devout, he doesn’t feel like he belongs in the same conversation of everyone around him. Nikolai aspires to live in a forward-thinking way. The suggestion is that he’s challenging his faith while those around him are comfortable interpreting the texts that came before. There is a sense that those around him are mentally dead in that there’s no effort to anticipate something new being seen as valuable.
That may explain why the protagonist arrives at the church and decides that even as everyone consumes the word of the lord, they don’t appear to be processing anything. It’s all a ritual that happens because that’s what they’ve been taught to do. Everyone there is rich with humor and personality as the protagonist shuffles around the various characters who bring color to the environment. To some extent, Nikolai is a sideshow to the central celebration. They’re more eager to recognize the teachings of Jesus. It’s not the worst thing to do in a church, but it reflects a very clever way in how Chekhov suggests that people’s stubbornness can make them closer to the living dead.
Because of all this, I was initially confused on which side could be considered the living and the dead. Was the protagonist visiting a world that Chekhov saw as hell? If so, it’s another fun sense of irony. However, I have to wonder if the greater point is that it’s closer to a purgatory. Are people on Earth stuck between the two pillars of heaven and hell waiting to settle on a final resting place? If so, why does it all feel so mindless? On some level, I’m not sure if Chekhov paints Nikolai as a good or bad person. One could suggest he was because the firework likely symbolizing his spiritual state was shot to heaven. Then again, when Chekhov produces the loophole that those who die around Easter go immediately to heaven, it asks what value a life has. Maybe mortality is a lot more left to chance. Again, Nikolai is more discussed than known, so maybe this is all Ieronom’s interpretation of events.
And yet, the story ends with the protagonist observing the ferryman once again looking at his passengers heading back to the starting point of the story. It creates a nice little cycle not that different from Dante’s structure for “The Divine Comedy.” While I’m not sure that there’s much similarity beyond a mortal protagonist travelling between the inferno, purgatorio, and paradiso, it does reflect the ways that humanity feels small compared to the larger framework. Like Dante, Chekhov is observing people he may disagree with. The difference is that this may also be an indirect commentary on the different between writing fiction and spiritual texts or poetry. Why are the forms at odds with each other? Nobody knows, but Nikolai’s relief at his creative endeavors suggests that even text that can be read as blasphemy can’t be all bad if it brings life meaning.
That may be the greater point of “Easter Eve.” Where I started my journey assuming that Nikolai was a prophet akin to Jesus, I found that this was more a study on why creativity inspires meaning and connection in life. This very well may be Chekhov’s read of Dante. I haven’t done enough research to find parallels. However, it explains why the iconography is all there over 10 pages discussing the way that people feel alive and dead all in ways that are often contradictory or more interpretive to the person.
For as much as the ferryman’s loss can be seen as a deceased lover, it may very well just be that his metaphorical light has been removed. He loved the creativity that Nikolai symbolized and enjoyed hearing those stories. There was purpose. Maybe it’s because he was the only one who saw meaning in life, which probably feels absent for a man forced to stare at two shores while drifting atop his own symbolic death. He has lost an individual purpose and mostly exists to please a greater societal function. Ieronim as a figure is tragic for many reasons, let alone because he is forced to confront mortality every second of his life. It has worn on him and Chekhov’s willingness to reflect on his humanity remains his strongest component as a writer.
For reasons that don’t make total sense to me, the story ends with him reflecting on a woman with soft features. While I get the idea that he’s eager to see something that reminds him of his dead friend, I’m unsure what is means by this decision. Maybe the softness reflects a purity that Nikolai wasn’t worn down and hardened by the world around him. Maybe his physicality hadn’t decayed to the point of reshaping his features. Maybe he’s just seeing delusions to provide some peace of mind.
For as much as I’m tired of Chekhov focusing on such a limited scope, I recognize that each story has a lot of substance to mull over. I’m not entirely sure that I covered ever base here, but it has gotten me eager to dive in and find more. He has a gift for making nature carry this greater tonal weight as he hides playful descriptors inside that allude to the greater themes of the piece. It’s a powerful tool and I love that he manages to end on a somewhat ambiguous note while having this greater core that is strong enough to give me an idea of what Chekhov is saying, but not enough to be the total truth. In that way, “Easter Eve” feels spiritual. It’s best left to one’s own interpretation and despite feeling a tad redundant thematically, this is one of his strongest pieces yet.
Coming Up Next: “On the Road”
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