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. 

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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.