With his full program of medical studies combined with a full-time literary career, Chekhov had understandably little time for personal correspondence during his university years. Some of his more informative letters for that period were addressed to Nikolai Leykin, publisher of the St. Petersburg-based humor magazine Fragments, for which Chekhov worked as a columnist and in which many of his stories of 1883-85 appeared. Author of numerous novels and stories about life among Russian merchant families (their wide popularity with less-literate readers rapidly dwindled at the beginning of the twentieth century), owner of his own publishing firm, Leykin was of considerable help to the young Chekhov and to his two older brothers, both editorially and financially. In subsequent years, with the spread of Chekhov's fame, Leykin repeatedly claimed to have been the first to discern his talent. But, as his published diaries demonstrate, he was actually incapable of appreciating Chekhov's mature work and, like many Russians to this day, admired the early humorous sketches, such as "Surgery" and "A Horsy Name," while being quite baffled by The Seagull and "The Lady with the Dog."
Chekhov completed his medical studies in the spring of 1884. In the fall of that year he was awarded the title of District Physician, which entitled him to practice medicine in the Russian provinces. To complete the requirements for his M.D. degree he still had to produce a dissertation. A year earlier he had tried to get his brother Alexander interested in a joint research project on the subject of "Sexual Authority," which was designed to prove, on the basis of wide reading in zoology and anthropology, that the inequality in strength and intelligence that is observable between the males and the females of certain species is attributable to their breeding and brooding methods and that this inequality is likely to disappear in species which will evolve in the future, since "nature abhors inequality" (Letter to Alexander Chekhov, April 17-18, 1883). But this teleological, Herbert Spencer-inspired project failed to interest Alexander and all that remains of it is Chekhov's initial outline of research. After the termination of his studies, Anton chose as his dissertation topic "The History of Medicine in Russia," and embarked on his research all alone. In 1885 an<^ J886 геа^ a number of medieval Russian chronicles and some memoirs dating from the beginning of the seventeenth century, looking for evidence of medical practices in these documents. But, as the years advanced, he found his time more and more occupied by creative literary work, for which from 1886 on there was considerable demand.
3. To Nikolai Leykin
Moscow,
between August 21 and 24, 1883
Dear Nikolai Alexandrovich,
This batch is one of the less successful. The column is pallid, and the story rough and awfully shallow.1 I have a better topic and would gladly have written and earned more, but fate is against me this time. I'm writing under abominable conditions. Before me sits my nonliterary work pummeling mercilessly away at my conscience,2 the fledgling of a visiting kinsman is screaming in the room next door,3 and in another room my father is reading "The Sealed Angel"4 aloud to my mother. . . . Someone has wound up the music box, and I can hear La Belle Helene. ... It makes me want to slip off to the country, but it's already one in the morning. It would be hard to think up a more abominable setting for a writer. My bed is occupied by the visiting kinsman, who comes up to me now and then and starts discussing medicine. "My daughter must have colic. That's what's making her yell. ..." I have the misfortune of being a medic, and there isn't a man alive who doesn't think it necessary to "have a little chat" with me about medicine. And if they get tired chatting about medicine, they change the subject to literature.
The surroundings are matchless. I keep kicking myself for not having sneaked off to the country where I could probably have had a good night's sleep, written a story for you, and above all pursued medicine and literature in peace.
In September I'm going to sneak off to Voskresensk,5 weather permitting. I was utterly delighted by your last story.
The fledgling is howling away!! I promise myself never to have children. . . . The reason the French have so few children is probably that they spend all their time in their studies writing stories for L'Amusant. I hear they're trying to get them to have more children, a cartoon subject for L'Amusant and Fragments: "The Situation in France." A police commissioner enters a home and demands that the parents start making children.
Good-bye. I'm trying to figure out how and where to catch a few winks.
I have the honor of remaining
Respectfully yours,
A. Chekhov
At that time Chekhov supplied Leykin's magazine Fragments with a monthly column "Fragments of Moscow Life," in which he reported recent trials, financial scandals, new stage productions, etc. The story in question is Chekhov's "Intercession" (Protektsiya) (1883).
Reference to Chekhov's medical studies.
Alexander Chekhov, the writer's older brother, came for a visit from St. Petersburg, bringing his current mistress and their baby daughter.
A short story by Nikolai Leskov.
A town near Moscow, where Chekhov's younger brother Ivan had a spacious house that went with his job as schoolmaster and where Chekhov was to begin practicing medicine after his graduation.
4. To Nikolai Leykin
Moscow, May 20, 1884
Dear Nikolai Alexandrovich,
I received both your letter and the enclosure.1 I've read the letter and this is my answer. As for the enclosure, I have passed it on to the party in question with your advice to write about life among customs officials.
A trip to Petersburg is one of my oldest dreams. I gave my word to myself that I would visit your imperial city in early June, but now I'm taking my word back. The reason is financial, damn it. The trip requires a hundred to a hundred fifty rubles, and the other day I had the pleasure of running all my holdings through the wringer of life. I had to cough up fifty rubles for the summer cottage, paid twenty-five for my tuition and as much again for my sister's and so on and so forth. Add to that the paucity of my recent earnings, and you'll understand the state of my pockets. By the first of June I should have a free fifty rubles, but you can't get very far on that. The trip will have to be postponed indefinitely, and I'll have to be content with the journey to the summer place and back. Wild Palmin2 was planning to go with me. He and I agreed to leave on the second or third of June, but ... he came over a few days ago shaking his head and announcing he wouldn't be able to go to Petersburg. He is tormented by something murky which finds expression in the form of extremely vague and undecipherable memories that come out as "My childhood . . . my youth." You'd think he'd committed a murder back in Petersburg.
He gave me a long exposition of the reasons for his antipathy toward his native city, but I didn't understand a word of it. Either he's trying to wiggle out of it to avoid the expense (between you and me, he's something of a tightwad) or there is actually something peculiar about his Petersburg past. He's coming for dinner on Friday. . . . We'll have some drinks, and toward nightfall we'll go to his summer cottage in Petrovsko-Razumovskoye, and maybe have a bit of a spree. Just as he is about to raise his wiry finger and talk to me of "riberty, equarity, and fraternity," when his emotion is reaching its acme, I'll start telling him about the charms of a trip to Valaam3 and trying to convince him to go. ... I just might succeed. If we go together, we'll probably need no more than a hundred rubles apiece. That's a good argument too. And he really needs to be aired out a bit. Even if his fine talent doesn't require it, hygiene very definitely does. He drinks much too much; in that respect he's incurable. But there are so many other things that can be cured. What a hell of a way to live! He's always shabbily dressed and he never sees sunlight or people. I've never seen what he eats, but I'd be willing to bet it's real junk. (His wife doesn't give the impression of being a wise housekeeper.) All in all, I have the feeling he's going to die soon. His system is so run down that it is a wonder that such a versifying mind can be lodged in such a sick body. The man definitely needs to be aired out. He told me he was going to take a trip down the Volga, but that's hard to believe. He won't get any farther than his shed of a summer cottage. I'll let you know how Friday's conversation turns out. If I don't go myself, at least I'll get him going.