1 Yasnaya Polyana was the Tolstoy estate.
sidies right and left or promising wo,ooo to the fund, he ought to arrange for literary people and artists to travel free on the state railways. Except for Leikin (blast his hide!) all Russian men of letters exist in a virtual state of chronic hunger, for all of them, even those who turn out a couple of thousand pages a year, by some quirk of fate are weighed down by a fiendish heap of obligations. And there is nothing more irksome or less poetic, one may say, than the prosaic struggle for existence which takes away the joy of life and drags one into apathy. However, all this has nothing to do with the matter in hand. If you go to Tagan- rog with me—a very nice city—so be it. In August I am at your service; we'll take off then for Switzerland.
The play can be written somewhere on the shores of Lake Como or even left unborn; there's no sense getting hot and bothered over it and if we do—then the hell with it.
Now as to leeches. What you need, mainly, is to be in good spirits, and not leeches. In Moscow you impressed me as being cheerful and healthy and as I looked at you I certainly didn't think you would be reminding me of leeches. But once you did bring them up, very well. Leeches won't do you any harm. It is not a matter of bloodletting, but rather a nervous counter- reaction. They suck but little blood and don't cause pain. . . .
Write me what's new. Write about our Taganrog project, too.
. . . About ten years ago I went in for spiritualism and once got this message from Turgenev, whose spirit I had evoked at a session, "Your life is nearing its decline." I want so keenly to enjoy everything as if life were a perpetual Shrove Tuesday. I seem to have tried everything: life abroad, a good novel . . . And some inner force, like a presentiment, nudges me to make haste. Perhaps it is not a presentiment but simply sorrow that life flows on in such a monotonous and pallid way. A protest of the soul, one might say. . . .
I send my respects and pray heaven for the forgiveness of your sins and the showering of blessings upon you.
Prior Antoni
About September /4, /894, Odessa
I have been to Yalta and am now in Odessa. Since I probably won't reach home until October I consider it not amiss to tell you the following:
Get the money on the first of October by presenting the enclosed note.
Dig up the sword lilies and have the tulips covered with leaves. I shall be grateful if you set out some more tulips. You can buy peonies and such on Truba Square.
Handicraft courses are being given in Taganrog where young girls from lifteen to twenty are taught the art of sew- ing in the latest styles (modes et robes). Sasha, our deceased uncle's daughter, a very sweet and good girl, took these courses and according to the mayor was considered the star pupil. And she really does sew beautifully. She has a great deal of taste. It so happened that in a conversation with me the mayor complained it was utterly impossible to lind a teacher for these classes, that they had to send to St. Petersburg for one and so on. I asked him if I took this cousin of mine whom he praised so highly to Moscow and had her apprenticed to the very best modiste there, whether he would give her the teaching post afterward. He re- plied he would be delighted to hire her. A teacher ordinarily gets a salary of fifty rubles a month and this money could not be more welcome in uncle's family, which will now be in real need. So please think it over: isn't it possible to do something for the little girl? She could stay in Moscow one winter; I would give her lifteen or twenty rubles a month for her lodgings. She might live with you, which would put you out only slightly since, I repeat, she is a line young girl. The important thing is that she should be helped. Consider the matter before my re- turn and then we'll talk it over.
On the fourteenth of September, Ascension Day, the policeman ought to get a ruble. Give it to him if you have not already done so.
5. When you send the horses to call for me, don't forget to take along a warm cap. . . .
My best regards to all. Keep well and don't get lonesome.
Your
A. Chekhov
To ALEXANDER CHEKHOV
December 30, 1894, Melikhovo
My Lord!
I received the book and find extremely impertinent your desire to compete with me in the literary market. Nobody will buy it because everybody knows of your immoral behavior and chronically drunken condition.
You are not worthy of contributing to the "Russian News," since the man who signs himself "Letter" (Vasilievski) —a dignified man of character—is already writing for it from St. Petersburg. However, I'll talk to them. I suppose they will print the stories without doing it as a favor to me.
I have not yet received the cigars and don't need your gifts. When I get them I'll throw them down the toilet.
Our Papa was groaning all night. When asked why, he re- plied that he had "seen Beelzebub." . . .
Three days ago I was at a Christmas party for the insane, held in the violent ward. Too bad you weren't there.
Since the New Year will soon be with us, may I wish your family a Happy New Year and all the best—as for you, may you see Beelzebub in your dreams.
The money has been given to the French girl, the one you liked so much, in payment for your immoral conduct with her.
All the best, sir. Is everyone well, my good man?
Your, sir,
A. Chekhov
January 21, 1895, Melikhovo
I will telegraph you without fail. Please come, but don't "kiss the feet of [name omitted, ed.]." She is a gifted young girl but I doubt that you will find her attractive. I am sorry for her be- cause I am annoyed with myself, but half the time I can't abide her. She is as foxy as the devil, but her motives are so petty that she turns out to be a rat rather than a devil. As for [name omit- ted, ed.], she's another matter. She is a very good woman and a good actress who might perhaps have developed into someone worthwhile if she hadn't been spoiled by her schooling. She is a bit gross, but that doesn't matter.1
Heavens, I hadn't the slightest intention of putting Kunda- sova2 into the story! To begin with, Kundasova looks upon money in an entirely different light; secondly, she has never had a home life; thirdly, regardless of all else, she is a sick woman. Nor does the old merchant resemble my father, for my father will remain until the end what he has been all through life—a man of average calibre and limited imagination. As for religion, the young merchants are disgusted with it. If you had had beatings as a child because of religious matters, you would understand why. And why is such disgust labeled stupidity? Perhaps the sentiment is stupidly expressed, but in itself it is not as stupid as you think. It has . less need for jus- tification, for instance, than the idyllic attitude toward religion of those who worship it in feudal fashion, leisurely, as people enjoy a snowstorm or cloudburst while seated comfortably in their studies. I am writing to the lady astronomer [Kundasova] today to tell her you want to see her. She will be touched and will probably try to meet you. . ..
Phew! \Vomen take away one's youth, only not in my case. My life has been that of the store clerk, not of the proprietor,
It has been impossible to identify these ladies.
SuTOrin thought that he recognized Chekhov's father and Kundasova in the story "Three Years." and fate hasn't often been kind to me. I have had few romances and am as much like Catherine as a nut is like a battleship. Silk nightgowns means nothing to me except that they are comfort- able, that is, soft to the touch. I am well disposed toward the comfortable life, but debauchery does not attract me. . . .