Chekhov’s relationship with his father was strained; the old man was a harsh and demanding bully. Any Chekhov story with a title so simple as “A Father” is not likely to be a warm portrait.
Pavel Chekhov was a volatile, difficult husband and father, exploding with rage over the tiniest of irritants. He himself was the son of a difficult man, Egor Chekhov, a serf who saved enough to buy his freedom (and that of his family) and went on to accumulate a decent amount of land and livestock, although he was still far from wealthy. The Chekhov family seemed to have a long history of tantrums, rages, scolding, and corporal punishment.
Amazingly enough, though, Anton Chekhov lived most of his life under the same roof as his parents. After Pavel failed as a grocer in Chekhov’s hometown of Taganrog, he fled to Moscow with most of the family (but not Anton, who stayed behind to finish his high school education). In Moscow, Pavel lived mostly hand-to-mouth, and by the 1880s he was relying on the money his son made as a writer. Even after years of living off his son, he continued to be a bossy, hectoring presence in the family’s life–but also a whiny, self-pitying shell of the man he had been.
Chekhov was essentially respectful of his father all his life; he saved most of his anger for letters and, I suppose, reminiscences with his brothers. And short stories like this one.
The relationship between the father and son in “The Father” echoes the Chekhov family dynamic, but doesn’t really resemble it. That’s mainly because Old Musatov, the father in the tale, is a drunkard (unlike Pavel Chekhov) who lives in a hovel with a woman he refers to as “my virago” (also unlike Pavel Chekhov, who remained with his wife until his death).
Young Musatov, despite his challenging upbringing, leads a decent, middle-class life. The son abides his father’s poor behavior and tries to do right by the old man without bruising his pride, offering him boots that he claims he bought but that don’t fit him. He even accompanies him on a sort of pub crawl, and drinks sickening vodka and disgusting tea with his father and “the virago” in their gruesome, single room. Young Musatov is practically a saint; indeed, his father refers to him as a martyr.
The only problem with this story is this: The son’s quiet patience with the awful old man surpasses credibility.
That’s ironic, because Chekhov’s patience with his own father also beggars belief. How could he go on living with Pavel all those years? Why did he pay the old man’s way? He even installed his parents at his country house in their later years… even though Pavel continued to be a martinet, lecturing his children and badgering his wife. In a letter to his brother in 1893, Chekhov referred to Pavel, bitingly, as “Lord and Master.”
How (why?) did he stand for it? It’s a mystery.
READ THIS? READ THAT!
For a different take on broken father/son relationships (albeit no more pleasant than this one), try “Difficult People.”
A Chekhov Circus 