Short Story Analysis: “The Night Before Christmas” by Nicolai Gogol, Post 3

This is the third of three posts on the short story “The Night Before Christmas” by Nicolai Gogol. 

You can find Post #1 here.

And Post #2 here. 

 

Just as an introduction to Gogol, I thought this bio video was informative and well produced.

 

 

By the way, I found the Pevear/Volokhonsky translation of The Collected Tales of Nikolai Gogol online.


"The Night Before Christmas" can be found starting on page 4. Keep clicking the "Next" link.

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One last commentary I would like to explore is the theme of sin set against the background of Christmas. 

We are introduced to sin up front when we are introduced to the character of the devil at the beginning of the story. 

Suddenly, from the opposite direction, another little spot appeared, grew bigger, began to spread, and was no longer a little spot. A nearsighted man, even if he put the wheels of the commissar's britzka on his nose for spectacles, still wouldn't have been able to make out what it was. From the front, a perfect German: the narrow little muzzle, constantly twitching and sniffing at whatever came along, ended in a round snout, as with our pigs; the legs were so thin that if the headman of Yareskov had had such legs, he'd have broken them in the first Cossack dance. To make up for that, from behind he was a real provincial attorney in uniform, because he had a tail hanging there, sharp and long as uniform coattails nowadays; and only by the goat's beard under his muzzle, the little horns sticking up on his head, and the fact that he was no whiter than a chimney sweep, could you tell that he was not a German or a provincial attorney, but simply a devil who had one last night to wander about the wide world and teach good people to sin. Tomorrow, as the first bells rang for matins, he would run for his den, tail between his legs, without looking back. 

Gogol’s footnote on “German” says, “Among us, anyone from a foreign land is called a German, whether he’s a Frenchman, a Swiss, or a Swede—they’re all German.”  Nineteenth century Russian writers have a reputation of being xenophobic, and we see it here.  They seem particularly more prejudiced against Germans.   

So this devil is introduced as having “one last night to wander about the wide world and teach good people to sin.”  Three points on this detail.  First, the devil is out to “teach good people to sin.”  The root of the sin comes from the devil.  Second, the “last night” is Christmas Eve, the night before the birth of the redeemer of sin, Jesus when presumably the devil will not be free to cause sin.  All the characters, with the possible exception of Vakula, commit sins.  We should expect some sort of redemption, and we do.  Third, sin is in the foreground of all the story’s events and is, I would say, a structural element of the story.  The subplots all revolve around sin with the main plot leading to redemption.

The motif of pranks that run through the story is related to sin.  Some of them seem to originate from the devil but some of them don’t.  Oksana is not vain because of the devil, and the devil doesn’t cause the men to go to Solokha, the witch prostitute, but given devil’s pranking with the moon and atmosphere, one could conclude that devil has bewitched the town and spread his sorcery upon the townspeople.  Here’s the paragraph that suggests that.

So it was that, as soon as the devil hid the moon in his pocket, it suddenly became so dark all over the world that no one could find the way to the tavern, to say nothing of the deacon's. The witch, seeing herself suddenly in the dark, cried out. Here the devil, sidling up to her, took her under the arm and started whispering in her ear what is usually whispered to the whole of womankind. Wondrous is the working of the world! All who live in it try to mimic and mock one another. Before, it used to be that in Mirgorod only the judge and the mayor went about during the winter in cloth-covered sheepskin coats, and all of petty clerkdom wore plain uncovered ones; but now both the assessor and the surveyor have got themselves up in new coats of Reshetilovo astrakhan covered with broadcloth. Two years ago the clerk and the local scrivener bought themselves some blue Chinese cotton for sixty kopecks a yard. The sacristan had baggy summer trousers of nankeen and a waistcoat of striped worsted made for himself. In short, everything tries to get ahead! When will these people cease their vanity! I'll bet many would be surprised to see the devil getting up to it as well. What's most vexing is that he must fancy he's a handsome fellow, whereas—it's shameful to look him in the face. A mug, as Foma Grigorievich says, that's the vilest of the vile, and yet he, too, goes philandering! But it got so dark in the sky, and under the sky, that it was no longer possible to see what went on further between them.

The darkness seems to induce sin.  Sin, in general, happens out of sight and is covered up.  The motif of not being able to see or see correctly seems to be associated with this darkness.  Included in the sinful people are officers of the Church.  We see both the deacon and the headman, which is a sort of position synonymous with a sacristan.  Notably the priest is not implicated in sin. 

Upon the return of the moon, the sin seems to spread more so. 

Wondrously the moon shines! It's hard to describe how good it is to jostle about on such a night with a bunch of laughing and singing girls and lads ready for every joke and prank that a merrily laughing night can inspire. It's warm under your thick sheepskin; your cheeks burn still brighter with the frost; and the evil one himself pushes you into mischief from behind.

Perhaps the switching of the moon on and off is part of the bewitching.

It is interesting that Vakula’s effort to obtain the boots for Oksana seems to be inspired from sinful desire.

 

But just as the blacksmith was preparing to be resolute, some evil spirit carried before him the laughing image of Oksana, saying mockingly: "Get the tsaritsa's booties for me, blacksmith, and I'll marry you!" Everything in him was stirred, and he could think of nothing but Oksana.

This is a really interesting passage.  It seems this evil spirit that stirs up the image of Oksana is suggestive of sexual desire.  This is the moment Vakula decides not to move on from Oksana but to try to win her.  Was he compelled by lust here?  Given the marriage and birth of a child at the end of the story and given the story’s sexual backdrop of the town men going to Solokha, it sounds like the blacksmith too falls into sinful desire.

It is surprising how much sexuality is suggested within the story.  Look at how the scene where a series of men individually go to Solokha and each need to hide into sacks as another man shows up.

 

The devil meanwhile was indulging himself in earnest at Solokha's: kissed her hand, mugging like an assessor at a priest's daughter, pressed his hand to his heart, sighed, and said straight out that if she did not agree to satisfy his passions and reward him in the customary way, he was ready for anything: he'd throw himself in the water and send his soul straight to hellfire. Solokha was not so cruel, and besides, the devil, as is known, acted in cahoots with her. She did like seeing a crowd dangling after her, and she was rarely without company; however, she had thought she would spend that evening alone, because all the notable inhabitants of the village had been invited for kutya at the deacon's. But everything turned out otherwise: the devil had just presented his demand when suddenly the voice of the stalwart headman was heard. Solokha ran to open the door, and the nimble devil got into one of the sacks lying there.

The devil says “straight out that if she did not agree to satisfy his passions and reward him in the customary way” he’d drown himself.  Of course that’s an indirect suggestion for sex but isn’t the threat of drowning what Vakula also contemplates when Oksana rejects him?  The scene at Solokha’s then turns into slapstick comedy as one man after another—first the devil, then the headman, then the deacon, and then Choub—hide into a sack. 

As an aside, I’m confused by this hiding into sacks.  How could it not be noticeable that a man is in a sack, how could Choub and the deacon inside the same sack not be aware of each other’s presence, and how can Vakula carry a sack with two men in it on his back?  Are the sacks magical?  This seems to defy realism.  Am I missing something? 

But Vakula’s desire for Oksana is not necessarily sinful, and he does use that desire later by manipulating the devil, obtaining the boots as a love token for Oksana, and ultimately marrying her.  Does Vakula fall into sin by forcing the devil to accommodate his needs?  Vakula himself seems to think so.  When he goes to Patsiuk to learn how to get the devil’s help, Vakula utters, "My sinful self is bound to perish! nothing in the world helps! Come what may, I must ask for help from the devil himself.”

The subplots continue in parallel to Vakula’s use of the devil to get him to St. Petersburg, meet with the Cossacks, and go to the tsaritsa where he gets her to give him her booties.  The subplots are rich with sinful events: infidelities, vanities, and a comic fight between wives of the town men. 

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Kerstin Comments:

Manny wrote: "... the little horns sticking up on his head, and the fact that he was no whiter than a chimney sweep."

The build-up to this detail takes up most of the paragraph. It is such skillful writing.

 

Manny wrote: "Gogol’s footnote on “German” says, “Among us, anyone from a foreign land is called a German, whether he’s a Frenchman, a Swiss, or a Swede—they’re all German.” Nineteenth century Russian writers have a reputation of being xenophobic, and we see it here. They seem particularly more prejudiced against Germans."

I take no offense :-)

Unfortunately there is no whitewashing the fact that a lot of wonky thinking came out of Germany. We Germans sometimes call ourselves the country of poets and thinkers (Land der Dichter und Denker) ...obviously with mixed results.

My Reply:

My hunch on why Russians in the 19th century were anti Germans is more geo political. Of the western countries, they were the closest to Russia and perhaps they felt threatened. Even though it was the French Napoleon that invaded them! Perhaps being so close makes the differences feel more immediate. But yes a lot of good and flakey writing has come out of Germany...lol.

Frances Comment:

Isn’t it enriching to read or listen to elegant language? I worry that children going through our school systems today aren’t being introduced to great reading and the beauty of language. I’d never read Gogol before this, but he certainly belongs alongside Dostoyevsky, Pasternak, Chekhov, Pushkin and other great Russian writers.

My Reply to Frances:

I can only go with what they assign my son in high school. The works are pretty good (The Great Gatsby, My Antonia, Shakespeare, etc.) but I don't know what's being discussed in the classroom. Does he get them? Thinking back I don't think I really got literature in high school. It was in college where it began to click.

 

The only Gogol work before this that I've read was his short story "The Overcoat." That's supposed to be very famous. On your list I've read several Dostoyevski and several Chekhov. You could add Tolstoy and Turgenev to the list of Russians I've read. I have not read Pasternak nor Pushkin.

Kerstin’s Reply to Frances:

It is so important! I find that on the whole, literature of previous centuries far more linguistically beautiful than what has been produced since World War II. Everything in our lives since then has become more and more functional. This is especially true for the arts, all flourish, embellishment, or playfulness has disappeared. It's all rather drab. It doesn't matter where you look, architecture, furniture, dishes, penmanship. The color grey features prominently everywhere. No wonder language suffers, there is no beauty to comment on.

My Reply to Kerstin and Frances:

Let me give you my experience from college on evaluating literature. I had a class in literature on 17th century English literature. That is the age of Milton, John Donne, the Metaphysical poets, and the Cavalier Poets. All great poetry as you would read in college classes today. Were they famous in their own age? Only probably Milton. For a term paper in that class I did a study of a poet of the time who wrote what might be seen as an epic poem in a scope similar to Milton. For the life of me I can't remember that poet's name but he was popular in his day. I thought it would be a good idea. He was terrible. What a mistake I made in reading that work and writing a term paper on it. He was horrible and I suffered through the whole thing. I wish I could find that paper or at least remember who the poet was but I can't.

 

Here is a list of all the published poets of the 17th century.

 

That poet is probably one on the list. Who knows who they are. Their works have not survived time. I doubt they are any good or we would know of them.

 

This gets to the point that you can't tell until after we're long gone who in any contemporary publishing circle is worthy of lasting and being revered. Today we consider the 17th century English period to be a rich era, but it was not always so. Until about 100 years ago the 17th century did not have a great reputation, and if you look only at the popular names you might say it was right not to assess it well. If you cherry pick the great writers then you would say it was a great age. 

###

I found the women fighting to be so wonderfully comic that I just want to post a section.

With Vakula off in St. Petersburg obtaining the tsarista’s booties for Oksana, the women of Dikanka argue over what has happened to Vakula.

 

"He drowned! by God, he drowned! May I never leave this spot if he didn't drown!" the weaver's fat wife babbled, standing in the middle of the street amidst a crowd of Dikanka women.

 

  "What, am I some kind of liar? did I steal anybody's cow? did I put a spell on anybody, that you don't believe me?" shouted a woman in a Cossack blouse, with a violet nose, waving her arms. "May I never want to drink water again if old Pereperchikha didn't see the blacksmith hang himself with her own eyes!"

 

  "The blacksmith hanged himself? just look at that!" said the headman, coming out of Choub's house, and he stopped and pushed closer to the talking women.

 

  "Why not tell us you'll never drink vodka again, you old drunkard!" replied the weaver's wife. "A man would have to be as crazy as you are to hang himself! He drowned! drowned in a hole in the ice! I know it as well as I know you just left the tavern."

 

  "The hussy! see what she reproaches me with!" the woman with the violet nose retorted angrily. "You'd better shut up, you jade! Don't I know that the deacon comes calling on you every evening?"

 

  The weaver's wife flared up.

 

  "The deacon what? Calls on whom? How you lie!"

 

  "The deacon?" sang out the deacon's wife, in a rabbitskin coat covered with blue nankeen, pushing her way toward the quarreling women. "I'll show you a deacon! who said deacon?"

 

  "It's her the deacon comes calling on!" said the woman with the violet nose, pointing at the weaver's wife.

 

  "So it's you, you bitch!" said the deacon's wife, accosting the weaver's wife. "So it's you, you hellcat, who blow fog in his eyes and give him unclean potions to drink so as to make him come to you?

 

"Leave me alone, you she-devil!" the weaver's wife said, backing away.

 

  "You cursed hellcat, may you never live to see your children! Pfui! . . ." and the deacon's wife spat straight into the weaver's wife's eyes.

 

  The weaver's wife wanted to respond in kind, but instead spat into the unshaven chin of the headman, who, in order to hear better, had edged right up to the quarreling women.

 

  "Agh, nasty woman!" cried the headman, wiping his face with the skirt of his coat and raising his whip. That gesture caused everyone to disband, cursing, in all directions. "What vileness!" he repeated, still wiping himself. "So the blacksmith is drowned! My God, and what a good painter he was! What strong knives, sickles, and plows he could forge! Such strength he had! Yes," he went on, pondering, "there are few such people in our village. That's why I noticed while I was still sitting in that cursed sack that the poor fellow was really in bad spirits. That's it for your blacksmith—he was, and now he's not! And I was just going to have my piebald mare shod! . . ."

 

  And, filled with such Christian thoughts, the headman slowly trudged home.

Hysterically funny! I would love to see this dramatized.  I would surmise that the actual words in Russian of “hussy” and “she-devil” might be more vulgar than the translation.  And the spitting makes this scene so visually vibrant.  It should be noted that the apparent death of the blacksmith fills the headman with “Christian thoughts.”   Remember the headman is a religious position akin to a sacristan, but he was one of the men—should I call them “johns”?—who hid in a sack at Solokha’s.  Certainly the devil induced nightlife has not filled the town with any Christian thoughts.  This, however, is the turn in the story that goes from the sin of Christmas Eve to the redemption of Christmas Day. 

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I would also like to explore the redemption that takes place at the end of the story.  Up until the wee hours in the morning of Christmas Day the story has been filled with the enchantment of the devil on the townsfolk and the manifestation of sin.  The only exception has been Vakula who with the exception of having desires for Oksana, which is not necessarily sinful, and manipulation of the devil’s power, which when intended for the devil’s defeat also might not be sinful.  His apparent death has caused the town to suffer sorrow and gloom, and, as we saw with the headman, a return to Christian thoughts.  We see Vakula’s “death” as casting another enchantment, a holy enchantment.  During the night, during an agitated sleep, Oksana has a conversion of heart.

 

But what if he had left with the intention of never coming back to the village? There was hardly such a fine fellow as the blacksmith anywhere else! And he loved her so! He had put up with her caprices longest! All night under her blanket the beauty tossed from right to left, from left to right—and couldn't fall asleep. Now, sprawled in an enchanting nakedness which the dark of night concealed even from herself, she scolded herself almost aloud; then, calming down, she resolved not to think about anything—and went on thinking. And she was burning all over; and by morning she was head over heels in love with the blacksmith.

That sudden change is comic!  Comedy works on sudden changes such as this.  Tragedy and realism require more than just abrupt turns.  Even the whole town is changed the next morning as everyone’s focus becomes attending Christmas liturgy.

 

Morning came. Even before dawn the whole church was filled with people. Elderly women in white head scarves and white flannel blouses piously crossed themselves just at the entrance to the church. Ladies in green and yellow vests, and some even in dark blue jackets with gold curlicues behind, stood in front of them. Young girls with a whole mercer's shop of ribbons wound round their heads, and with beads, crosses, and coin necklaces on their necks, tried to make their way still closer to the iconostasis. 14 But in front of them all stood the squires and simple muzhiks with mustaches, topknots, thick necks, and freshly shaven chins, almost all of them in hooded flannel cloaks, from under which peeked here a white and there a blue blouse. All the faces, wherever you looked, had a festive air.

The nature of town decorum is noticeably different.  Late night pranks and vulgarity are now replaced by Church attending piety.  The church is filled even before dawn.  The elderly ladies are piously dressed in white blouses and wear head scarves—which would be analogous to veils in the Latin Church, and upon entering cross themselves.  The young girls wear a “mercer’s shop of ribbons wound round their heads,” which I take is also characteristic of a local devout custom, and augmented with wearing of “beads, crosses, and coin necklaces on their necks.”  The men too are clean shaven and piously dressed.  More significantly they all “make their way still closer to the iconostasis,” one of the most religious features in an Eastern Church. The iconostasis is analogous to the rood screen in the Latin Church, which seems to have developed later than the barrier in the East and were eliminated per the Council of Trent and replaced with altar rails to make the liturgy “much more accessible to lay worshippers.”  To an Eastern church goer, “being near the iconostasis can enhance the sense of connection to the sacred mysteries being celebrated.”  “This proximity can foster a deeper sense of reverence and participation in the sacramental life of the church.” 

Next we see Vakula returning home in the middle of the night and giving the devil some rough justice.

 

Still more swiftly in the remaining time of night did the devil race home with the blacksmith. Vakula instantly found himself by his cottage. Just then the cock crowed. "Hold on!" he cried, snatching the devil by the tail as he was about to run away. "Wait, friend, that's not all—I haven't thanked you yet." Here, seizing a switch, he measured him out three strokes, and the poor devil broke into a run, like a muzhik who has just been given a roasting by an assessor. And so, instead of deceiving, seducing, and duping others, the enemy of the human race was duped himself.

This would not be sinful in the least.  There are plenty of images of St. Michael the Archangel stepping on the devil’s neck and thrusting a spear into him.  In fact, I think violence against demons is part of spiritual warfare.

But Vakula is so weary from his night flight to St. Petersburg and back that he oversleeps and misses the Christmas Day liturgy.  When he wakes up and realizes, he feels extremely guilty.

 

"I slept through matins and the liturgy!"—and the pious blacksmith sank into dejection, reasoning that God, as a punishment for his sinful intention of destroying his soul, must have sent him a sleep that kept him from going to church on such a solemn feast day. However, having calmed himself by deciding to confess it to the priest the next week and to start that same day making fifty bows a day for a whole year, he peeked into the cottage; but no one was home.

He decides to go to Choub’s house where after expiating for his sins he will ask for Oksana’s hand in marriage.  But Choub, thinking Vakula had died, is shocked when he sees him.

 

Choub goggled his eyes when the blacksmith came in, and didn't know which to marvel at: that the blacksmith had resurrected, or that the blacksmith had dared to come to him, or that he had got himself up so foppishly as a Zaporozhye Cossack. But he was still more amazed when Vakula untied the handkerchief and placed before him a brand-new hat and a belt such as had never been seen in the village, and himself fell at his feet and said in a pleading voice:

 

 "Have mercy, father! Don't be angry! Here's a whip for you: beat me as much as your soul desires, I give myself up; I repent of everything; beat me, only don't be angry! You were once bosom friends with my late father, you ate bread and salt together and drank each other's health.

Vakula has become a “resurrected” Christ-figure, and in the context of a comic story implies redemption for himself, the townsfolk, and for their sins of the night before.  In true comic fashion, the story ends with a marriage.  We even have a glimpse to a year later where we see Oksana with her child and Vakula’s artwork for the church and on the iconostasis. 

But His Reverence praised Vakula still more when he learned that he had undergone a church penance and had painted the entire left-hand choir green with red flowers free of charge. That, however, was not all: on the wall to the right as you entered the church, Vakula had painted a devil in hell, such a nasty one that everybody spat as they went by; and the women, if a child started crying in their arms, would carry it over to the picture and say, "See what a caca's painted there!" and the child, holding back its tears, would look askance at the picture and press against its mother's breast.

Vakula is redeemed and provides the means for everyone’s redemption.  The devilry of the early part of the story is replaced by the piety of the ending.  Gogol ends the story with the image of Madonna and child that had been the subject of Vakula's painting.  What a wonderful story with depth, charm, and complexity. 

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Frances Comment:

Thanks, Manny. Have you read Dr. Zhivago? If so, then you’ve read Pasternak. I love Chekhov. He’s been described as an atheist, but his short story “The Student” is one of the most beautiful Christian stories ever.

My Reply:

I have not read Dr. Zhivago. I have not heard of "The Student." Unfortunately it's not on the internet. Perhaps I'll buy a collection of his short stories, if I ever get back on Amazon again.

Sunday Meditation: The Struggle in the Desert

We are now into the First Sunday in Lent in this Year A of the lectionary.  Jesus has been baptized by His cousin John, and the Spirit leads Him into the desert.  I’m rather intrigued by the differences between the Gospel narratives on the forty days in the desert.  First there is no mention by the account in John’s Gospel, although there are indirect references to the three temptations (see Jn 6:26, 31, 2:18, and 6:15).  Mark’s Gospel is only two verses long (1:12-13), has no mention to the specific temptations, and interestingly is the only one who mentions Jesus among wild beasts.  Both Matthew’s and Luke’s (Lk 4:1-13) Gospels have full and similar accounts but they switch the order of the second and third temptations.  At the end of the temptations, Matthew mentions angels ministering to Jesus with a sense that Jesus has defeated the devil while at the end of Luke’s the devil departs to abide his time.

 

 

Here is today’s Gospel reading.

 

 

At that time Jesus was led by the Spirit into the desert

to be tempted by the devil.

He fasted for forty days and forty nights,

and afterwards he was hungry.

The tempter approached and said to him,

“If you are the Son of God,

command that these stones become loaves of bread.”

He said in reply,

“It is written:

One does not live on bread alone,

but on every word that comes forth

from the mouth of God.”

 

Then the devil took him to the holy city,

and made him stand on the parapet of the temple,

and said to him, “If you are the Son of God, throw yourself down.

For it is written:

He will command his angels concerning you

and with their hands they will support you,

lest you dash your foot against a stone.”

Jesus answered him,

“Again it is written,

You shall not put the Lord, your God, to the test.”

Then the devil took him up to a very high mountain,

and showed him all the kingdoms of the world in their magnificence, and he said to him, ""All these I shall give to you,

if you will prostrate yourself and worship me.”

At this, Jesus said to him,

“Get away, Satan!

It is written:

The Lord, your God, shall you worship

and him alone shall you serve.”

 

Then the devil left him and, behold,

angels came and ministered to him.

~Mt: 4: 1-11

 

Fr. Geoffrey Plant gives a full explanation of Matthew’s passage.

 

Fr. Geoffrey goes into great detail on the differences between Matthew’s and Mark’s versions.

Fr. Geoffrey:

“The Gospels of Matthew and Mark both make a striking claim about how Jesus

enters the desert.

Matthew tells us that Jesus “was led by the Spirit.” He uses the verb ἀνάγω

(anagō).

But Mark puts it far more strongly: “the Spirit drives him out into the wilderness.”

The verb Mark uses is ἐκβάλλω (ekballō). It is a word that normally means “to cast

out,” “to force out,” even “to expel.” It is the same verb Mark later uses for driving

out demons.

Mark wants us to feel the urgency — the Spirit thrusting Jesus into a place of

testing.

But Matthew wants us to see something different: He chooses a gentler verb,

ἀνάγω (anagō), which means he “was led up,” and he does this for a purpose.

He portrays Jesus entering the desert in calm, deliberate obedience. He shows

us a Lord who does not resist God’s call, nor hesitate before hardship, but

freely steps onto the path the Father has set for him. By softening Mark’s

forceful language, Matthew is not contradicting him; he is revealing another

facet of the mystery. Jesus is not pushed into the wilderness against his will.

He goes there willingly — with the same steadfast trust that once led Israel

through the desert. Matthew’s Gospel consistently presents Jesus as

composed, sovereign, and guided rather than driven. And that is why this

moment matters: the journey into the desert is not a detour but a chosen path,

embraced freely, as the beginning of his mission for our salvation.”

 

I think it’s important to note that Matthew’s account shows Jesus in full deliberative choice.

 

Cardinal Blasé Cupich gave a simple but yet insightful pastoral homily.

 

Cardinal Cupich:

“Notice that each one of these temptations begins with the word “if.”  If you are the son of God, if you will prostrate yourself and worship me, it is the way the evil one works to create doubt in us about God. the kind of doubt that was given to our first parents in the garden that in fac God really wasn't being straight with us, wasn't being honest with us. And so in each on of these temptations, there is a corresponding conversion that we're called to.”

 

“And so today, as we begin this Lenton season, let us not allow the evil one to create doubt in us by that if question, but rather have a conversion that allows our lives to be bred for others that gives us the patience to let God work in us and others by God's own time. and that rejects an illusion of

happiness and security by possessions, realizing that the Lord has always been with us and everything he has is ours.”

 

 

Sunday Meditation: “Get away, Satan!  It is written: The Lord, your God, shall you worship and him alone shall you serve.”

 

What better Lenten hymn than “Lord, Who throughout These Forty Days” performed by the Holy Childhood Schola Cantorum at the Church of the Holy Childhood, wherever that is.

 

Lord, who throughout these forty days

for us didst fast and pray,

teach us with Thee to mourn our sins

and close by Thee to stay.

Short Story Analysis: “The Night Before Christmas” by Nikolai Gogol, Post 2

This is the second of three posts on the short story “The Night Before Christmas” by Nicolai Gogol. 

You can find Post #1 here.

 

Kerstin Completing the Summary:

Here is the rest of the summary:

 

Rumors fly over the assumed suicide of Vakula and accusations of adultery between the village wives. Oksana doesn’t think he ended his life and risk his salvation, but leaving Dikanka for good was a possibility. After a restless night she finds herself in love with Vakula.

 

It is Christmas morning and the village is assembled at church for divine worship and Vakula’s absence is noticed.

Vakula had arrived early that morning, thanked the devil by smacking him and sent him on his way, then he fell asleep and missed church on a holiday. After awaking he swore to do penance and made his way over to Oksana’s with the shoes and ask for her in marriage. Chub gives his blessing and Oksana, all shy now, remarks she didn’t need the shoes anymore.

 

A year has passed and Oksana holds a baby. Their house is beautifully painted by Vakula. He also continued painting in the church including one particular painting by the entrance of the church.

 

Beside the church door he had drawn a portrait of the devil in hell, so unspeakably ugly that everyone spat at it as they walked in. If a mother wanted to distract a fussy baby, she’d bring it closer to the painting, saying, “Here, look, what a yaka kaka,” and the fascinated child would hold back its tears, clutching at its mother’s breast.

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My Comment:

Before I delve into themes, I just wanted to highlight some of the special writing.  Vladimir Nobokov, a great literary artist himself, thought very highly of Gogol as an artist of fiction.  And there are many famous writers that Nabokov did not think highly of, so his praise of Gogol is notable.  After reading this story, I would have to agree.  Let’s look at that scene where Vakula goes to Paunchy Patsiuk, the Cossack wizard, for help in getting the devil to aid him.  I’m taking this off the internet, so the spellings are different from the Pevear/Volokhonsky translation.

 

Vakoola, after having run for some time along the streets, stopped to take breath. "Well, where am I running?" thought he; "is really all lost? —I'll try one thing more; I'll go to the fat Patzuck, the Zaporoghian. They say he knows every devil, and has the power of doing everything he wishes; I'll go to him; 'tis the same thing for the perdition of my soul." At this, the devil, who had long remained quiet and motionless, could not refrain from giving vent to his joy by leaping in the sack. But the blacksmith thinking he had caught the sack with his hand, and thus occasioned the movement himself, gave a hard blow on the sack with his fist, and after shaking it about on his shoulders, went off to the fat Patzuck.

 

This fat Patzuck had indeed once been a Zaporoghian. Nobody, however, knew whether he had been turned out of the warlike community, or whether he had fled from it of his own accord.

 

He had already been for some ten, nay, it might even be for some fifteen years, settled at Dikanka. At first, he had lived as best suited a Zaporoghian; working at nothing, sleeping three-quarters of the day, eating not less than would satisfy six harvest-men, and drinking almost a whole pailful at once. It must be allowed that there was plenty of room for food and drink in Patzuck; for, though he was not very tall, he tolerably made up for it in bulk. Moreover, the trousers he wore were so wide, that long as might be the strides he took in walking, his feet were never seen at all, and he might have been taken t for a wine cask moving along the streets. This, may have been the reason for giving him the nick-name of "Fatty." A few weeks had hardly passed since his arrival in the village, when it came to be known that he was a wizard. If any one happened to fall ill, he called Patzuck directly; and Patzuck had only to mutter a few words to put an end to the illness at once. Had any hungry Cossack swallowed a fish-bone, Patzuck knew how to give him right skilfully a slap on the back, so that the fish-bone went where it ought to go without causing any pain to the Cossack's throat. Latterly, Patzuck was scarcely ever seen out of doors. This was perhaps caused by laziness, and perhaps, also, because to get through the door was a task which with every year grew more and more difficult for him. So the villagers were obliged to repair to his own lodgings whenever they wanted to consult him. The blacksmith opened the door, not without some fear. He saw Patzuck sitting on the floor after the Turkish fashion. Before him was a tub on which stood a tureen full of lumps of dough cooked in grease. The tureen was put, as if intentionally, on a level with his mouth. Without moving a single finger, he bent his head a little towards the tureen, and sipped the gravy, catching the lumps of dough with his teeth. "Well," thought Vakoola to himself, "this fellow is still lazier than Choop; Choop at least eats with a spoon, but this one does not even raise his hand!" Patzuck seemed to be busily engaged with his meal, for he took not the slightest notice of the entrance of the blacksmith, who, as soon as he crossed the threshold, made a low bow.

The image of of this fat, lazy Cossack is stark.  He sleeps most of the day and his whole life seems to revolve around meals.  I love some of these details: “Nobody, however, knew whether he had been turned out of the warlike community, or whether he had fled from it of his own accord.”  One has a hard time imagining this short, fat guy being much of a soldier.  Did he leave or was pushed out?  We are in Valuka’s point of view, so we will not know.  And how about the details of his wide, swinging gait with wide trousers.  His wide, round body appeared to be a wine barrel moving.

 

"I am come to thy worship, Patzuck!" said Vakoola, bowing once more. The fat Patzuck lifted his head and went on eating the lumps of dough.

Sitting on the floor, “Turkish fashion,” with the bowl on a stand before him, he bends down to put his face into the bowl and eat like an animal!

 

"They say that thou art—I beg thy pardon," said the blacksmith, endeavouring to compose himself, "I do not say it to offend thee—that thou hast the devil among thy friends;" and in saying these words Vakoola was already afraid he had spoken too much to the point, and had not sufficiently softened the hard words he had used, and that Patzuck would throw at his head both the tub and the tureen; he even stepped a little on one side and covered his face with his sleeve, to prevent it from being sprinkled by the gravy.

 

But Patzuck looked up and continued sipping.

 

The encouraged blacksmith resolved to proceed —"I am come to thee, Patzuck; God grant thee plenty of everything, and bread in good proportion!" The blacksmith knew how to put in a fashionable word sometimes; it was a talent he had acquired during his stay at Poltava, when he painted the centurion's palisade. "I am on the point of endangering the salvation of my sinful soul! nothing in this world can serve me! Come what will, I am resolved to seek the help of the devil. Well, Patzuck," said he, seeing that the other remained silent, "what am I to do?"

Vakula is the one character in the entire story who is virtuous, but here it appears he too sinks into sin.  Using the “unclean powers,” which is how it is referred to at some place in the story (at least in my translation) is a sin.  At first I thought Gogol may not have regarded it as a sin in the context of the story, but here he clearly has Vakula allude to it as “endangering” his soul.

 

"If thou wantest the devil, go to the devil!" answered Patzuck, not giving him a single look, and going on with his meal.

 

"I am come to thee for this very reason," returned the blacksmith with a bow; "besides thyself, methinks there is hardly anybody in the world who knows how to go to the devil."

 

Patzuck, without saying a word, ate up all that remained on the dish. "Please, good man, do not refuse me!" urged the blacksmith. "And if there be any want of pork, or sausages, or buckwheat, or even linen or millet, or anything else—why, we know how honest folk manage these things. I shall not be stingy. Only do tell me, if it be only by a hint, how to find the way to the devil."

 

"He who has got the devil on his back has no great way to go to him," said Patzuck quietly, without changing his position.

This is such an austere aphorism that it has to have broader significance for the story.  Afterall, this scene with Fatty Patzuck has no narrative significance.  It’s a step toward using the devil, but it’s a step that could have been eliminated.  Vakula could have realized this on his own.  Do every character in the story have the “devil on his back”?  The scene gets funnier.  As Vakula ponders the meaning of the fat Cossack’s words, he opens his mouth to swallow them just as Patzuck swallows his food. 

 

Vakoola fixed his eyes upon him as if searching for the meaning of these words on his face. "What does he mean?" thought he, and opened his mouth as if to swallow his first word. But Patzuck kept silence. Here Vakoola noticed that there was no longer either tub or tureen before him, but instead of them there stood upon the floor two wooden pots, the one full of curd dumplings, the other full of sour cream. Involuntarily his thoughts and his eyes became riveted to these pots. "Well, now," thought he, "how will Patzuck eat the dumplings? He will not bend down to catch them like the bits of dough, and moreover, it is impossible; for they ought to be first dipped into the cream." This thought had hardly crossed the mind of Vakoola, when Patzuck opened his mouth, looked at the dumplings, and then opened it still wider. Immediately, a dumpling jumped out of the pot, dipped itself into the cream, turned over on the other side, and went right into Patzuck's mouth. Patzuck ate it, once more opened his mouth, and in went another dumpling in the same way. All Patzuck had to do was to chew and to swallow them. "That is wondrous indeed," thought the blacksmith, and astonishment made him also open his mouth; but he felt directly, that a dumpling jumped into it also, and that his lips were already smeared with cream; he pushed it away, and after having wiped his lips, began to think about the marvels that happen in the world and the wonders one may work with the help of the devil; at the same time he felt more than ever convinced that Patzuck alone could help him. "I will beg of him still more earnestly to explain to me—but, what do I see? to-day is a fast, and he is eating dumplings, and dumplings are not food for fast days![19] What a fool I am! staying here and giving way to temptation! Away, away!" and the pious blacksmith ran with all speed out of the cottage. The devil, who remained all the while sitting in the sack, and already rejoiced at the glorious victim he had entrapped, could not endure to see him get free from his clutches. As soon as the blacksmith left the sack a little loose, he sprang out of it and sat upon the blacksmith's neck.

And what a dramatic visual.  Gogol has the dumplings lift on their own, dip into the sour cream, and flip into Patzuick’s mouth, and all the while with the devil inside the sack on Vakula’s shoulder.  This is wonderful writing.

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Frances’s Comment:

And this was wonderful analysis — both you and Kerstin. I am so impressed with the extent and depth of your insights.

“the wonders one may work with the help of the devil. . .’’ How that echoes through life and through literature. 

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The story is couched in the form of a folk tale.  A folk tale is a story formed within a community and spread by means of oral transmission.  Typically they use cultural elements of the community and typically gets modified by the community at large as it is retold and enhanced.  They are also typically have a moral, use conventions that transcend realism, and touch on common fears of the community but usually in a comic manner.  This story has many elements of a folk tale, but it is not a folk tale.  Folk tales are not fifty something pages long and don’t have several subplots.  Because of the multiplot lines I wouldn’t even consider this a short story.  In my view this is a novella. 

So if an extended and complex story such as this utilizes many of the same conventions of a folk tale, especially the transgression of accepted realism, does it become magic realism?  Is this story an early example of Magic Realism?  Elements of Magic Realism include supernatural events, character acceptance of this super natural as natural, and the blurring of boundaries of time and space, all set within a realistic setting.  Wikipedia has an excellent entry for “Magic Realism.”  A key definition is attributed to David Lodge:

In The Art of Fiction, British novelist and critic David Lodge defines magic realism: "when marvellous and impossible events occur in what otherwise purports to be a realistic narrative—is an effect especially associated with contemporary Latin American fiction (for example the work of the Colombian novelist Gabriel García Márquez) but it is also encountered in novels from other continents, such as those of Günter Grass, Salman Rushdie and Milan Kundera.

Notice that all the practitioners listed are writers from the mid-20^th century on.  In that Wikipedia entry it identifies the roots of Magic Realism to Nicolai Gogol:

19th-century Romantic writers such as E. T. A. Hoffmann and Nikolai Gogol, especially in their fairy tales and short stories, have been credited with originating a trend within Romanticism that contained "a European magical realism where the realms of fantasy are continuously encroaching and populating the realms of the real".

Let’s look at an example of the magic elements within this story.  Here when the devil lifts Vakula up into the air and flies him to St. Petersburg.  This is from the Pevear/Volokhonsky translation. 

At first Vakula found it frightening when he rose to such a height that he could see nothing below and flew like a fly right under the moon, so that if he hadn't ducked slightly he would have brushed it with his hat. However, in a short while he took heart and began making fun of the devil. He was extremely amused by the way the devil sneezed and coughed whenever he took his cypress-wood cross from his neck and put it near him. He would purposely raise his hand to scratch his head, and the devil, thinking he was about to cross him, would speed up his flight. Everything was bright aloft. The air was transparent, all in a light silvery mist. Everything was visible; and he could even observe how a sorcerer, sitting in a pot, raced past them like the wind; how the stars gathered together to play blindman's buff; how a whole swarm of phantoms billowed in a cloud off to one side; how a devil dancing around the moon took his hat off on seeing the mounted blacksmith; how a broom came flying back, having just served some witch . . . they met a lot more trash. Seeing the blacksmith, all stopped for a moment to look at him and then rushed on their way again. The blacksmith flew on, and suddenly Petersburg, all ablaze, glittered before him. (It was lit up for some occasion.) The devil, flying over the toll gate, turned into a horse, and the blacksmith saw himself on a swift racer in the middle of the street.

This is just wild and imaginative. The Constance Burnett translation online seems to edit out a number of passages that is why I went with my P/V translation.  The Burnett passage of this paragraph excludes the taunting of the devil with the cross.  I wonder why?  However, no folk tale would actually add all those details.  The details of depicting reality in an oral folk tale are not critical to the tale but in a written form that extends fifty pages, the writer is compelled to bring more details to establish the feel of reality.  I love what Gogol is doing in this story.  It almost has the feel of a Canto of Inferno from Dante’s Divine Comedy.

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Kerstin’s Reply:

Caroling for treats is done in other places as well. How far and wide the custom goes I don’t know. I imagine it would be in places that remained Catholic over the centuries. I do know there is a custom near Salzburg, Austria, where young boys dress up as shepherds and go house to house. They sing carols and recite an old rhyme and in exchange they get a treat.

Kerstin Comment:

I checked who translated the kindle version I have, and it is Anna Summers. She didn't leave any details out that you mentioned :-)

 

The magical realism connection is fascinating. I thought of it as a Christian fairy tale. It is a truly enchanted story.

 

“No folk tale would actually add all those details. The details of depicting reality in an oral folk tale are not critical to the tale but in a written form that extends fifty pages, the writer is compelled to bring more details to establish the feel of reality.”

 

How about professional story tellers? Wouldn't they add embellishments of various kinds?

My Reply to Kerstin:

How about professional story tellers? Wouldn't they add embellishments of various kinds?"

 

I'm not sure what you mean by story tellers. Do you mean oral telling of stories? Homer was an oral teller of narrative but I would not call The Iliad or The Odyssey folk tales. It's not just the length of the story, though the length drives you to the elements that generate the form, if I'm articulating this well. I'm not sure I am. It's how the details are used. Here are distinctions. Look at the Grimm's folk tale, "Rumpelstiltskin." This story has a lot in common with Gogol's story. It has sinful people interacting where the central character is working her way through a moral minefield. It will take you five minutes to read.

 

Notice the difference in the level of detail, especially from that scene I quoted above where the blacksmith is flying through the air. The details are limited to just the bare necessity to propel the story forward. There are no what might be considered embellishments. Now look at the paragraph I quoted from Gogol. Notice how there are all sorts of things flying through the air, brooms, sorcerers and phantoms, and a whole slew of details. They don't have anything to do with the core story. You might be tempted to just label them as embellishments. All those details in a realistic story are not just embellishments but details that build a stream of illusion so that it feels real for the reader . The details flow with time to create that illusion. You don't have that in the folk tale. One moment the girl is spinning yarn, and then in the next sentence time has passed to where she is now queen. The details are bare and they are discontinuous with time. It's all there to tell the moral and not provide the illusion of reality.

 

Magic realism takes those fantastic elements of the folk tale but creates the details to make the story feel real. It's fantastic and yet it's realism. I hope that makes sense.

Kerstin Comment:

About E.T.A. Hoffmann, I started reading Nutcracker and Mouse King / The Tale of the Nutcracker last year, and it is so long-winded I lost steam. The chapters are really long bordering on tedious.

My Reply to Kerstin:

I've never actually read that. I wonder if it has only survived because it was made into a ballet.

 

Kerstin’s Reply:

I wouldn't rule it out. There are so many battle scenes it becomes confusing with all the troop movements told in much detail. In a ballet all of this is visualized, no wordy sentences needed.

Another aspect is that many of the books published in the 18th and 19th century were really long. Those idle folk who could afford them at the time I imagine welcomed the lengthy diversion. I've been gnawing through Tom Jones for months now, lol! It started out quite funny and short-paced until you get into a long, adventurous interlude I've been picking at one chapter at a time. If it weren't for authors like Gogol with his brilliant linguistic precision, one could get quite a different sense of the literature at that time.

My Reply to Kerstin:

Yes, I remember enjoying Tom Jones except it was so darn long. It's been a long time since I read it. Tom Jones I believe was a model for future writers, including those from outside England. The structure of Tom Jones was especially well done if I remember.

Frances Comment:

You’ve both given us a professional presentation, Kerstin and Manny, so richly detailed. Thank you. I’d like to refer again to the Russian novel The Master and Margarita, by Mikhail Bulgakov. If you type in “Is Gogol’s ‘The Night Before Christmas’ similar to ‘The Master and Margarita?’’’ you’ll see a detailed commentary on the two works. They are similar ‘’in tone, theme and style, particularly regarding the use of the supernatural, folklore and satire.” The role of the devil is pivotal in both stories, also.

 

Thank you again for the excellence you brought to your analysis.

My Reply to Frances:

I did that search Frances and there are number articles that show the relationship between stories. I hope to read The Master and Margarita some day.