Neither household schedules of work nor threats of paternal punishment existed any longer for Anton. His air of independence and self- assurance commanded respect. The months of separation and a demonstrated ability to take care of himself somehow seemed already to set him apart from the other members of the family, who rejoiced over his visit. He had reached a point in his development, as he said later, when the difference between the time when he had been punished and the time when he ceased to be punished was immense. His steadiness and practical sense contrasted with the growing waywardness of his two older brothers, and his parents now began to look upon Anton, despite his youth, as their only hope.
However, young Misha's eager offer to show him the city soon dissipated Anton's initial gloomy impressions of the household. Unlike most members of the family, who longed for Taganrog, he gloried in the sights and sounds of Moscow on this first visit: the noisy, crowded streets with their fine carriages and important-looking people, picturesquely ragged izvozchiki in their tiny conveyances loudly bargaining over fares, Guards officers in their resplendent uniforms, and the fashionable shops with their richly decorated windows. But most of all he was delighted with the center of Moscow, whose famous views and buildings he had so often seen in picture books — the crenelated walls of the Kremlin with its many copper-green and gold-topped bell and church towers, Red Square and the fairytale-dream of St. Basil's cathedral, and the imposing facade of the Bolshoi Theater and its neighbor, the Maly Theater. And great was his joy when his cousin, Mikhail Mik- hailovich Chekhov, invited him to meet some friends and attend the theater.
Anton had wanted very much to meet his cousin Mikhail, who was nine years older, for he had already begun a correspondence with him back in Taganrog. The son of Uncle Mikhail Chekhov, now a successful bookbinder at Kaluga, Mikhail had come up to Moscow as a young man to take a position in the trade division of the wealthy cloth merchant, I. E. Gavrilov, and he had done well. From his mother's letters Anton had learned of Cousin Mikhail's kindness to his stricken family. Though he clearly admired his cousin, Anton's cultivation of his friendship was not entirely divorced from the hope that he would continue to be a benefactor to his parents. In fact, a few months after Anton's visit, his father, through the aid of Cousin Mikhail, obtained a good position in the office of the merchant Gavrilov, which paid him thirty roubles a month and allowed him free room and board at his place of work, an extra which he accepted. He came home to his family on weekends.
Back in Taganrog — a return trip which, despite Alexander's assurances, was delayed because of lack of money to pay Anton's fare — Anton hastened to renew his correspondence with his Cousin Mikhail. These letters, among the earliest extant of Chekhov, are an interesting mixture of the deferential attitude of a poor relation with more than a suggestion of the chatty, witty style and often intellectually penetrating substance which, when fully developed later, made his correspondence absorbing reading. He stresses their bond of friendship as that of an older brother for a younger, and in every letter he conveys his warm regards for Cousin Mikhail's brother and sister (whom he hardly knows) and His parents (whom he had not met), and also for his Moscow friends (to whom he had been merely introduced). His cousin's advice on smoking is solicited and his sister's marriage becomes a subject for mutual family self-congratulations. In a more familiar vein Anton thanks his cousin for all he had done for him on his visit. Since Moscow, he writes, his head has been in a whirl. He regrets that he was not at the wedding: "I didn't drink with you as I drank at Moscow. Yet I love all kinds of festivities, Russian merrymaking with waltzes and dances and drinking." There is nothing new in Taganrog, he complains. "Mortal boredom! Recently I went to the Taganrog theater and compared it with the Moscow theater. An enormous difference! And between Moscow and Taganrog there is a great difference. If only I can finish school then I'll fly to Moscow on wings. I rejoice over it!" In fact, only one reason prevents him from planning another visit soon, and "The minister of finance," he writes, "will explain the reason to you." (May 6, June 8 and July 29, 1877.)
But running through the letters as a kind of counterpoint to their friendship are references to Anton's parents and their straitened circumstances. As though to make doubly sure that his cousin will continue to visit them, Anton surprisingly asks him to carry letters to his mother intended for her eye alone, For there are things in life, he explains, which one can confide only to a person one trusts. And he touchingly adds: "Please go on comforting my mother who is physically and spiritually broken. She has found in you not only a nephew, but something much more and better than a nephew. Her character is such that the moral support of others has a powerful and salutary effect on her. It is a most stupid request, isn't it? But you will understand it, especially as I have described it as 'moral,' that is, spiritual support. In this unhappy world there is no one dearer to us than our mother, and you will greatly oblige your humble servant by comforting his mother who is more dead than alive." (May 10, 1877.)
Indeed, before long Cousin Mikhail finds himself transformed into an ally in Anton's concern over his parents. "Tell Mother," Anton writes him familiarly, "that I've sent her two money letters and that I'm surprised she has not yet received them." Or, "If you see my papa, tell him that I got his kind letter and am very grateful for it." And he goes on to add: "In the whole world the only people about whom I have nothing to regret are my mother and father. Should I ever achieve great things, then it will be because of them. They are wonderful people, and their endless love for their children is beyond any praise and outweighs their failings, which are the result of a difficult life. . . ." (July 29, 1877.)
Perhaps fearing that he might discourage his businesslike cousin with this heavy emphasis on the plight of his family, in one of his letters Anton looks forward to a brighter future for all when he will take up life as a merchant. "I think that we shall have to endure a bit longer. I will make a fortune, and that I will do so is as certain as twice two equals four (and also that I will reach the top). Then I will feed you only rolls and honey and regale you with the best wine for the brotherly attachment with which you now respond to our esteem and attachment for you. You're a glorious fellow in many ways, and I tell you this without flattery, in a brotherly spirit." (June 9, 1877.)
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Whatever youthful illusions Anton may have had about making a fortune, one could be certain that he would not attempt to achievc success in trade. His wretched memories of that form of endeavor and the people connected with it had forever put a business career out of his mind. When queried by schoolmates about his future plans, he would solemnly reply that he intended to become a priest. However, the first hint that medicine might be his career dates from 1875. That summer, on the way to visiting the estate of I. P. Selivanov, he fell seriously ill from peritonitis after going in swimming and had to put up for the night at the wayside tavern of a Jew. The landlord and his wife and brother — who years later inspired memorable portraits in Chekhov's famous story, The Steppe — tended him all through the night. The next day he was brought home and cared for by his mother and the school physician, Dr. Schrempf. Chekhov recovered with difficulty, and always attributed to this attack the hemorrhoidal condition which never ceased to trouble him for the remainder of his life. His illness and the friendship that sprang up between him and Dr. Schrempf, who told Anton of his own youthful experiences as a medical student at the University of Dorpat, first suggested to Chekhov the idea of becoming a physician. And two years later, in a letter from Alexander, we learn that Anton had already mentioned the possibility, after he finished school, of going to the University of Zurich to study medicine — a notion which his brother opposed as impractical in his circumstances. But his mother had made up her mind. In February 1879, she wrote him: ". . . Hurry and finish your Taganrog schooling and, please, come to us soon; I'm impatiently waiting. And as you respect me, mind that you enter the Medical School; it is the best career. . . . And I want to tell you, Antosha, if you are industrious you will always be able to find something to do in Moscow to earn money. ... I can't help thinking that it will be better for me when you come."