Short Stop: #10. Anton Chekhov – “The Pipe”

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.

Over the past few stories, I’d argue that Chekhov has finally found his groove. The quality is rising and his handle of themes and symbolism has grown exponentially. This is especially true regarding “The Pipe,” which manages to turn the familiar topic of mortality into an enriched study of humanity’s relationship with nature. The very essence of a pipe alone is enough to understand the author’s worldview. In a rudimentary sense, a pipe is meant to keep one warm inside. It calms the nerves and alters one to a state of peace. However, it’s much more sinister than that.

Something that I’ve been grappling with is whether Chekhov understood the dangers of smoking. Part of me is convinced that the dangers of tobacco was a phenomenon that later generations understood. At the same time, I have to believe as a doctor he would’ve understood the side effects of heavy breathing and congestion (especially following a story as personal as “Typhus”). As a symbol of death, it’s a poignant little mark that adds a beautiful subtext to the larger theme of the piece, which centers around man’s relationship to nature.

The pipe in itself seems inconsequential to the larger work. It mostly exists as something for the character to puff on, likely to steady his nerves. However, it’s unconsciously killing him at the same time. It’s the perfect irony for someone who comes to embody the idea that man has created their own misery, which includes the destruction of the planet around them. For a story written toward the end of the 19th century, I’m surprised by how progressive Chekhov’s worldview is. There’s a sense of urgency to recognize that humans are capable of making their own decisions, and that includes making the world a better place.

Another way that Chekhov depicts this is through the character of Meliton. He is described as a bailiff. He’s on a journey through “the sultry heat” to meet a shepherd named Luka. Like everything else with this story, I’d argue that the bailiff is key to understanding his worldview as well. A bailiff offers others the chance to pay for their freedom within the legal system. It’s a manmade operation that holds only as much function as the collective puts on it. Are the people who are punished deserving of their fate? If enough people agree, then the bailiff serves a greater function. In Chekhov’s writing, it’s clear that his Russia is full of these transactions going back to his first story “The Cook’s Wedding,” which found a man moving up the social ladder by marrying a woman for no other reason than to have someone beneath him. 

In theory, Luka is beneath Meliton for no other reason than he doesn’t have a traditional job. He’s seen herding sheep while lying in a field. There once again is a perceived control over livestock that works as a symbolic balance. Luka seems noble because his job offers something accessible to the larger community. People can use livestock. Even then, the irony is that the relationship is at best transactional and relies upon availability. Once the sheep are gone, he is left to wander without purpose. Without nature, he is nothing.

That is why the disagreement between Meliton and Luka is so delicious. They both are essentially men with no power trying to determine their standings. They are in the middle of the picture, meaning that each has a higher power to attest to. It’s not necessarily the one that Luka is speaking of, but it’s still a sign of how limiting man’s ethos can be. They think they’re in control, but what happens when the sheep run loose? What happens when the villains refuse to listen to the bailiff and the system falls apart? Everything ceases to matter and all that will be left are years of yelling about what was the right way to live.

Luka is ultimately seen as the moral compass because of his ability to see the potential to achieve freedom. He has a personal connection to humanity that feels absent within the legal system. Meliton is defined by regulation and logic. There is a need for everything to be black and white, where good and bad exist as clear polarities. There is no room for people like Luka who recognize the flaws of humanity and thus feel more at peace with their shortcomings. There is something radical about his need to push away from self-enforced misery and find peace. As the pipe suggests, it’s still something robbed from the earth and created for fatal consumption. So long as one wants to give into bliss, their punishment will be tolerated.

To dig into the larger text of the story, I find “The Pipe” to be a very powerful study of two men trying to understand their place in the world. Chekhov so far comes across like a man who has explored the world and noticed its beauty. He is capable of noticing the spirituality that exists in a forest as man tries to navigate around it. It serves as a towering force that can never be dominated, and yet he recognizes mankind’s need to mull it over and find a way to feel in control. No amount of natural disasters will stop them from regrowing and attempting to stop the rain from coming and the heat from blistering through the sky. The only issue is that Chekhov knows as well as anyone else that this is not achievable. All that one can do is withstand.

In some respect, that’s how he views the life cycle of a human. Because they enforce limitations on themselves, they can never achieve freedom. But what is freedom when they have to compete with nature? They can believe that they’re free of legal confinement, but what stops them from being one with the grass under their feet? At some point, they have to decide, no matter how irrational, that alters the environment. It may come at the risk of damage, but that comes with the unpleasantness of being alive. One can live off the land, but will that be enough? 

Like the pipe, Luka may be unknowingly polluting the night air. He may accidentally be spreading disease through the rivers or crushing plants under his feet. Everything comes at the risk of ignorance. It’s not necessarily done as maliciously as the bailiff’s endgame, but they each have their own ramifications. The quest for happiness is difficult to achieve. Even with the removal of legal systems, with the removal of nature’s unblinding rage, there are still obstacles in everyday life that are interpretive. For as much as the characters can try to live an apolitical life, they won’t have the luxury of avoiding it in every facet of life. How does one raise a child? How does one interact with livestock knowing they need food? It can be learned how to coexist, but that would take an unfathomable reconsideration of community standards.

Another fun detail is that this story takes place in the wake of St. Peter’s Day. Chekhov’s fascination with religion once again shines through with this symbolic tool. In the bible, St. Peter is the figure who sits at the gate of heaven determining who gets to come in. Like Meliton, there is an order to what is deemed good and bad. It’s a more subtextual tool and one that many on Earth struggle with. How does one get the right to enter heaven? There has to be a just way. Like the legal system and the shepherd’s control over his flock, there is an order that suggests hierarchy, but is there really anything there? It’s something to be aspirational for, sure, but how much of it is just manufactured to make us feel good inside?

While this essay has been more of a study of the open-ended philosophical discussion, I’d argue that “The Pipe” is still an excellent tale of order and freedom. It has the familiar stroke of irony readers have become familiar with at this point. The paradoxical nature is unsettling and Chekhov’s desire to find a reasonable answer is not without merit. Unlike the other stories which stop short of reaching a larger point, I’d argue this one finds comfort in the opaque. There is something there that provides everybody comfort, but it’s not the most unified. Like the pipe that ends the story, sometimes it’s best to just give into one’s own indulgence and hope that it’s not going to kill you too fast.

Coming Up Next: “The Princess”