AMOSOZ
Huge Losses: On the Beginning of
Chekhov's "Rothschild's Fiddle"
The
title of Chekhov's story "Rothschild's Fiddle," first published in 1894,
misleads the reader on four counts: the Rothschild in the story is not the
famed philanthropist; he is not a fiddler; the fiddle does not belong to him
until near the end of the story; he is not even the protagonist but merely
a supporting character, a poor wedding piper, an impoverished Jew.
The fiddle in the title actually belongs to one Yakov Ivanov, known to
all as "Bronze." This Bronze, a Jew-hating old man, vulgar and heartless,
earns his living as a coffin-maker and sometimes, for a few kopeks, plays his
violin at weddings with a raggedy group of Jewish musicians.
Although "Rothschild's Fiddle" was published in the same year as
Effi
Briest,
it does not depict a world of harmony, nor even a world of endan–
gered harmony. One can, however, find a certain similarity between the
beginning of this story and the beginning of "A Country Doctor": the
basic premise of the beginning, in both stories, is disproved in the course
of the story. The opening contract collapses eventually, revealing, in retro–
spect, a very different type of contract: as in "A Country Doctor," here in
Chekhov's story the reader will have to reread and reassess everything.
Chekhov's world, suffused with subtle social observations, faint sorrow
and compassionate humor, is, of course, far removed from Kafka's night–
mare world. But the contract enfolded in the beginning of this story (and
in the beginning of several other Chekhov stories) is a misleading one. Like
the contract in "A Country Doctor," it is full of holes.
It
was a small town, more miserable than a village, inhabited almost
exclusively by old men who died so seldom it was very annoying.
Moreover, very few coffins were needed at the hospital and gaol. In
short, business was bad. If Yakov Ivanov had been a coffin-maker in
some large, provincial town he would most likely have owned a hOllse
and been called Mr. Ivanov. But in this wretched dump he was sim–
ply Yakov, his street nickname was Bronze for some reason and he
lived wretchedly, like any common peasant, in a tiny old one-roomed
cottage, which housed himself, Marfa, a stove, a double bed, coffins,
work-bench and all his household goods.
