This is a sketch of peasant life; it would sit very comfortably between “Peasants” and “Peasant Wives,” two of Chekhov’s best-known portraits of rural poverty.
A quick aside: I don’t love using the word “peasant.” But it’s almost impossible to talk about Chekhov’s work without it. Characters are often referred to as peasants; there are even titles with the word “peasant” in them. So I’m kind of stuck calling them peasants, too. I suppose it’s fair to add that Chekhov, as the grandson of a peasant, has some claim to use the word as he wishes. He’s got dibs on it.
Anyway, if this story were a joke (and Chekhov is poking fun, up to a point), it would begin like this: “Two peasants walk into a bar…”
The bar, or restaurant, is an almost comically pathetic hovel. The thatched roof is torn, the windows are dingy. It used to be a tavern but for some reason the owner, without actually upgrading the joint, is now calling it a restaurant.
The men in the bar are Slyunka and Ryabov. Slyunka is a sad specimen with a “mangy little beard,” a freed serf who can’t seem to hold a job due to drunkenness and laziness. He now relies on the money his wife gets by begging. Ryabov is a strapping fellow, but Chekhov notes that he never does anything.
I mentioned above that Chekhov is having a laugh at these men, and it is true. The very first reference to Slyunka and Ryabov is a gibe: He calls them “peasant sportsmen,” in the way that you might refer to a child with a plastic light-saber as a “fearsome warrior.” Hahaha, behold these two sportsmen sitting in a filthy hut! And why are these men sitting idly in a bar, at a time when “the bells are ringing for service” in the village? It’s because they are idlers. They are always idle. One is thin and weak, the other sturdy and broad-shouldered, but their physical capabilities are irrelevant because they can’t or won’t work.
The reason Slyunka and Ryabov are visiting the restaurant is that they wish to go hunting (hence the “sportsmen” wisecrack), but they cannot because Slyunka has pawned his gun to Semyon, the owner of the grubby pub. He’s come to beg to get the gun out of hock, but Semyon steadfastly refuses to give it back, even for a brief period of time.
Slyunka and Ryabov argue and beg, rather oafishly, with the stubborn Semyon, who won’t budge. It’s not even time for bird hunting, Semyon points out: “It’s still winter outside, and no game at all but crows and jackdaws.”
Turned away, Slyunka and Ryabov storm out, raging like spoiled children. “He won’t give it,” they whine.
Up to this point, this story has verged on the cartoonish (and for a modern reader, the satiric portrait of Slyunka and Ryabov verges on the cruel and distasteful). But the tone of the story shifts once the men walk, unarmed, into the fields, recalling hunts of the past. As they walk through the woods, their voices fall to a whisper, and their attitude becomes reverent. “The Lord is sending a fine spring,” Slyunka whispers.
They wade through the mud and the slush, listening attentively for birds as the sun sets. Deep in the woods, they stand stock still, waiting, waiting. They know now that it is too early, but soon, soon, they will hunt.
Somehow, the narrative has completely changed: What began as a broad, sneering comedy has become reverent and respectful. I’m not sure Chekhov meant to give the men their due, but that’s what he has done. While the good Christians of the village are in church, Slyunka and Ryabov are worshiping, in their own way, the gods of the forest.
I’ve written elsewhere that Chekov’s stories sometimes seem rushed or poorly thought out. (See my commentary on “Lights,” or “The Huntsman,” or “A Doctor’s Visit.”)
“Too Early” seems like one of those problematic tales that probably was dashed off in a single sitting, starting as one kind of story and ending up as something else entirely. In this case, the tale begins as a satire of ignorant country folk, but ends up as an appreciation of country folk’s relationship with nature.
For me, I find the structure slightly janky, but I also was affected by Slyunka and Ryabov’s final ecstatic communion with the natural world. So while I could understand a reader deeming this story a failure (albeit with some strong elements), I myself am inclined to consider it a great success (albeit with a few faults).
READ THIS? READ THAT!
“Art” is the story of a common man with an uncommon gift. Like “Too Early,” it ends in a burst of religious ecstasy. It’s interesting that in one tale the religion is Christianity and the other it’s a sort of pagan naturalism, but glory is there, either way. These stories make perfect bookends.
A Chekhov Circus 