May I say incidentally that Act IV is badly done (except for the ending) and since Gorki is deprived of the possibility of attending the rehearsals, it will be very bad.
I clasp your hand cordially and send hearty greetings to you and Maria Petrovna.
Yours,
A. Chekhov
To OLGA KNIPPER
January 20, I9o2, Yalta H0w stupid you are, my kitten, and what a little fool!
What makes you so sick, why are you in such a state? You write that life is hollow, that you are an utter nonentity, that your letters bore me, that you feel horror at the way your life is narrowing, etc., etc. You foolish creature! I didn't write you about the forthcoming play not because I had no faith in you, as you put it, but because I do not yet have faith in the play. It is in its faint dawn in my brain, like the first flush of day- break, and I still am not clear as to what sort of thing it is, what will come of it and whether it won't change from one day to the next. If wve were together, I would tell you all about it, but it is impossible to write because nothing gets set down properly, I just write all sorts of trash and then become indifferent to the subject. In your letter you threaten never to ask me about any- thing, or to mix into anything; but what is your reason, my sweet? No, you are my own good girl, you will substitute mercy for wrath when you realize once again how much I love you, how near and dear you are to me, how impossible it is to live without you, my silly little goose. Quit having the blues, quit it! And have yourself a good laugh! I am permitted to be de- pressed, because I live in a desert, without anything to do, don't see people, am sick practically every week, but you? No matter what, your life is a full one.
I had a letter from Stanislavski. He writes a good deal and graciously. Hints that perhaps Gorki's play may not be put on this season. "\Vrites about Omon, about "mesdames, ne vous decolletez pas trop."
Let me say in passing, Gorki intends working on a new play, about life in a cheap flophouse,1 although I have been counsel- ing him to wait a year or two, and to take his time. An author must produce in large quantities, but he must not hurry. Don't you think so, my good wife?
On my birthday, the seventeenth of January, I was in an abominable mood because I was ailing and because the tele- phone kept ringing all day with congratulatory telegrams. Even you and Masha did not spare me! . . .
You write me not to be sad, that we shall see each other soon. What do you mean? Will that be Holy Week? Or earlier? Don't get me excited, joy of my life. You wrote in December that you would be coming in January, got me all worked up, then wrote you would come during Holy "\Veek—and I ordered my soul to becalm itself, withdrew into my shell and now you are again raising a gale on the Black Sea. Why?
The death of Solovtsov,2 to whom I had dedicated my "Bear," was a most distressing event in my provincial life. I knew him well. The newspaper accounts implied that he had made some revisions of "Ivanov" and that I, as the playwright, had taken his advice, but it isn't true.
^ The Lower Depths.
2 Solovtsov was an actor.
And so, my wife, my enchanting creature, my adored, be- loved girl, may God keep you, may you be healthy, gay and mindful of your husband, even if it is only when you go to bed at night. The important thing is not to get depressed. \Vhy, your husband certainly is no drunkard, nor a spendthrift, nor a brawler. I am a regular German husband in my behavior, and even wear warm underdrawers.
I embrace you a hundred times, and kiss you infinitely, wife of mine.
Your Ant.
You write: wherever you poke your nose you hit a stone wall. And where did you poke it?
To OLGA KNIPPER
january j/, /902, YaZ<a
Greetings, my swee< little O1ya,
How are you? I am just so-so, for living otherwise is not pos- sible. You are in raptures over LV play, but actually it is the work of a dilettante, composed in solemn classical language be- cause its author does not know how to write naturally of Rus- sian life. It seems this L. has been writing for some time, and if you were to go poking around, I wouldn't wonder but what you might turn up some letters of his in my desk. Bunin's "In Autumn" is done with a constrained, tensed hand; at any rate Kuprin's "At the Circus" stands much above it. "At the Circus" is a free, artless, gifted work, in addition to being written by someone who knows the business. But why bother with either! How did we get talking about literature anyway? . . .
Tolstoy felt better yesterday, and now there is hope.
I've received your description of the evening and the placards and thank you, my darling. It made me laugh hilariously. The
1 L. was Anatol Lunacharski and the play was a drama about life in the Renaissance. Lunacharski, after the Bolshevik Revolution, became the first People's Commissar of Education.
wrestlers, Kachalov in big boots, the orchestra under Moskvin's baton, amused me particularly. How jolly your life is and how dreary mine!
Anyway, keep well, my joy, God keep you safe. Don't forget me. Let me kiss and embrace you.
Your German,
Ant.
Tell Masha Mother is already walking about, and is fully re- covered. I am writing this on the thirty-first of January, after tea, and wrote the letter to her in the morning. Everything is fine.
To PYOTR SERGEYENKO
February 2,1902, Yalta
My dear Py0tr Alexeyevich,
Here are the details regarding Leo Nikolayevich.! One eve- ning he suddenly felt ill. Angina pectoris set in, with inter- mittent heartbeats and agony. The doctors who are treating him happened to be visiting me at the time and were summoned by telephone. The next morning they let me know that Tolstoy was in a bad way, that there was scant hope he would pull through and that pneumonia had set in, the type that generally attacks old people before death. This tormenting, expectant mood continued for about two days, and then we got the infor- mation by telephone that the process in the lungs had been ar- rested and that there was hope.
Now Tolstoy is lying on his back, extraordinarily weak, but his pulse is good. Hope has not abated. He is being magnifi- cently treated, among his doctors being Shchurovski of Moscow and Altshuller of Yalta. The fact that Tolstoy has remained alive and that there is hope for him I attribute at least in part to the good offices of these two doctors.
1 Tolstoy.
Thank you for the photograph. There is nothing new, all goes well for the time being. Keep well.
Your
A. Chekhov
T0 MARIA LILINA
February ], 1902, Yalta
Dear Maria Petr0vna,
You are very kind and I thank you very much for the letter. To my regret I cannot tell you anything interesting . . . we grow old, drink medicinal teas, walk around in felt boots. . . . However, there is one bit of news, and most agreeable at that— Leo Tolstoy's recovery. The Count was very seriously ill and had the beginnings of pneumonia, which such old fellows as he usually do not get over. For three days we expected the end and suddenly the old chap brightened up and started giving us hope. At present writing, our hopes have been enhanced con- siderably and when you read this letter, Leo Nikolayevich will probably be quite well.
As to Gorki, he doesn't feel too bad, maintains a cheerful atti- tude but is lonesome and is preparing to set to work on a new play, for which he has already found a theme. To the best of my understanding, about five years hence he will be writing magnificent things; right now he seems to be groping.