There is nothing new. There is no rain, either, and every- thing is parched. At home it is quiet, peaceable, very nice and, of course, dreary.
Writing "The Three Sisters" is very hard, harder than my earlier plays. But no matter, maybe it will come out all right, if not now, then next season. I may say in passing that writing in Yalta is a hard job: people bother me and in addition I seem to write without aim and I don't like today what I wrote yesterday. . . .
I have just had a telegram from Kommisarjevskaya, asking for a play for her benefit performance.
Well, keep in good health and happy. My deepest respects to Olga Leonardovna, and Vishnevski and the rest.
If Gorki is in Moscow, tell him I sent a letter to His 'Vor- ship in Nizhni-Novgorod.
Yours,
A. Chekhov
T0 OLGA KNIPPER
September 27, 1900, Yalta My sweet little Olya, my w0nderful little actress,
Why this tone, why the querulous, petulant mood? Am I really so much to blame? Then do forgive me, my darling, my good girl, don't be angry, for I'm not so much at fault as your misgivings prompt you to assume. I assure you, my sweet, the only reason I have not yet left for Moscow is because I haven't been well, upon my word of honor. Honestly and trulyl Won't you believe me?
I shall remain in Yalta until the tenth of October to work, after which I will leave for Moscow or abroad, depending upon my health. In any event I shall keep on writing you.
I haven't had any letters from my brother Ivan or sister Masha. Apparently they are angry, but I don't know why. . . .
Do keep your eyes open and write in detail how "The Snow Maiden"i went, how the shows have been going generally, what mood the company is in, the reaction of the audiences and so on and so forth. Certainly you aren't in my situation; you have a great deal of material for letters, more than you can handle; I have nothing to report, beyond the fact that I caught two mice today. . . .
You write that I have a loving, tender heart and ask why I have steeled it. When have I done so? Precisely how have I ex- pressed this hardheartedness? I have always loved you tenderly with all my heart and never have I concealed my sentiments from you, never, never, yet here you accuse me of hardhearted- ness just to have something to put down in the exuberance of your health.
Judging from the general tone of your letter, you wish and expect some kind of explanation, some sort of lengthy conversa- tion carried on with grave expressions on our faces and with momentous conclusions to be drawn. But I don't know what to tell you, except the one thing I have repeated ten thousand times and will probably continue to repeat for a long time to come, i.e., that I love you—that's all. If we are not together now, it isn't you or I who are to blame, but the demon that filled me with bacilli and you with love for art.
Goodbye once again, my charming little lady, and may the holy angels guard you. Don't be cross with me, dear one, don't be blue, be a good girl.
What's new in the theatre? Please write.
Your Antoine
To OLGA KNIPPER
September 28, 1900, Yalta
My sweet Olya,
I sent you a telegram today saying I would probably come to Moscow in October. If I do, it will be on or about the tenth, not sooner; I will remain there five days or so and then leave for abroad. In any event I shall inform you by telegram of the day of my arrival. I do not know whether express trains will be running after the fourth of October; will you find out about it so that you do not go to the station needlessly.
Today I read the first criticisms of "The Snow Maiden"— they like only the beginning and then they get tired of it, as of a game. I am of the opinion that your theatre should produce only contemporary plays, nothing but! You should treat of con- temporary life, of life among the intelligentsia, which is neg- lected in other theatres because of their utter lack of intel- lectuality and, in part, want of talent.
I don't get letters from anybody. Nemirovich seems to have gotten angry and hasn't sent me a line all this time. My rela- tives do not write. How did "Lonely Lives" go off? It should be somewhat better than "The Snow Maiden."
And so, keep well and happy. Oh, what a role there is for you in "The Three Sisters!" What a role! If you give me ten rubles you'll get it, otherwise I'll give it to another actress. I won't offer "The Three Sisters" this season; let the play lie a bit and ripen, or, as certain good ladies say about a cake when they put it on the table—let it sigh.
There is nothing new. .
0 Your own Antoine
To MAXIM GORKI
October 16, 1900, Yalta
My dear A lexei Maximovich,
. . . Well, my dear sir, the twenty-first of this month I am leaving for Moscow, and thence abroad. Just think, I've written a play. I haven't recopied it, though, as it won't be put on now, but only next season. I'll let it lie around and ripen. Writing "The Three Sisters" was terribly hard work. It has three heroines, you know, each one has to be a special type, and all three of them are a general's daughters! The action takes place in a provincial city, on the order of Perm, and the surroundings are military, an artillery unit.
The Yalta weather is glorious, the air is fresh, and my health has improved. I don't even feel like leaving here for Moscow, the work goes on so well and it is so nice not to feel the itching in my rear end that I had all summer. I am not coughing and even eat meat. I am all by myself, all alone. Mother is in Moscow.
Thank you for the letters, dear chap. I read them twice. Re- member me to your wife and little Maxim, and give them my hearty regards. And so, until we meet in Moscow. I hope you won't disappoint me and that we'll be seeing each other.
God bless you!
Yours,
A. Chekhov
To OLGA KNIPPER
December 28, igoo, Nice My sweet little pup, imagine this horrible situation!
I was just informed some gentleman had asked for me down- stairs. I go down, look him over—an old fellow, who introduces himself as Chertkov. In his hands are a bundle of letters, and it turns out that he had received all these letters, addressed to me, because of the similarity of names. One of your letters (there were three in all—the first three you wrote) had been opened. How do you like that? Henceforward you should ap- parently write me thus: Monsieur Antoine Tchekhoff, rue 9 Gounod (or Pension Russe), Nice. But be sure you write Antoine—othenvise I won't get your letters for ten or fifteen days after you have posted them.
The letter of reprimand regarding Vienna, in which you call me "a Slavonic jellyfish," came very late; fifteen years ago, it is true, I would lose my way abroad and not get where I wanted to go; but when I was in Vienna this time I got everywhere; I went to the theatre, too, but all their tickets were sold out. How- ever, upon leaving the city I remembered that I had forgotten to read the ads of what was being played—just like a Russian. I bought myself a magnificent wallet there, at Klein's. It seems he had opened his shop two days before. I also bought some straps for my luggage. So you can see what a practical person I am, my precious.
You lecture me for not writing Mother. My dear, I have writ- ten both my mother and Masha many times, but haven't had an answer and probably won't get one. So I've given up. I haven't had a single line from them, but have it your way—I always was and will be a jellyfish and will always be in the wrong, though I don't know why.