All Are Forgotten
A quick take on Anton Chekhov’s “In the Graveyard”. The full text can be found here .
Let us compare and contrast the two dead characters of interest, Yegor Gryaznorukov and Mushkin. Then, we’ll see why they’re in the story and what is it trying to tell us with these dead men.
On Yegor Gryaznorukov
- Titular councilor, a respectable government position in the Table of Ranks of Imperial Russia
- Cavalier
- Fond of his wife
- Honored with the Stanislav ribbon
- Dullard, not well read
- Well-performing digestion, i.e. in good health
- Detested verses & epigrams, i.e. art
- Cause of Death: Concussion caused by his vice, nosiness
- Tombstone: Adorned w/ verses
On Mushkin
- A well-known actor, though no mention is made of his plays/works
- No given name provided. “Mushkin” is a common Russian surname
- A monument was to be commissioned for him, but instead the actors & journalists used the bulk of the money to get drunk
- During his funeral, he had a dozen wreaths on his coffin, but none since
- Those to whom he was dear have forgotten him, but those to whom he did harm remember him
- Cause of Death: Unknown
- Tombstone: Hard to find, sunken, overgrown with weeds, doesn’t look much like a grave. A cheap, little cross was placed on it that was rotting, dejected, ailing. It read: forgotten friend Mushkin. Notably missing the “Never”
Taken Together
Notice how we know the specifics of Yegor’s life & character. He wasn’t too impressive, holding only a modest rank in Russian Civil Service. He didn’t enjoy great fame during his life. His death was even underwhelming, a little pathetic. He died due to his inclination to be nosy. Yet he was human. He was real, flawed. He, like all of us, had some warts, but in the end, was loved by enough people to make his life worth remembering.
Mushkin, who is so well-known that there’s no need to provide a given name, on the other hand, is a mystery. We know nothing of his character, nor of the people survived by him. Did he have a wife, a family? We don’t know, and quite frankly, we’re not sure if we should care. For he existed not as a human being but as something else. Something metaphysical. An object of idolization. He existed not in the hearts of those who loved him, but in the minds of those who adored his work. Devoid of individuality, he died—we assume—alone, remembered by few, forgotten by most.
What is the artist’s role in society? What happens to their life when their body ceases to be? This piece asks us to question who do we remember after it’s all said and done, and who we don’t. Better yet, who’s worth remembering? The artists behind the works who may have touched our lives, if only for a brief moment, or the dull, insignificant, imperfect friends and family that surround us?
Does it all matter? The story closes with a humorous take on the subject. We are all just coffins to the pallbearers, neither any more significant than the other. Read closely. Underneath both the well-adorned tombstone perked atop the shining hill, and the forgotten, ruined.