Your A.
. . . Mother sends her greetings and keeps on complaining you don't write her.
To ADOLF MARXi
October 23, /g02, Moscow
Dear Ado// Fedorovich,
... As to Mr. Ettinger's manuscript, his "Thoughts and Ideas" are put together in an absolutely childish fashion, so that it would be impossible to discuss his book seriously. In addition, all these "thoughts and ideas" are not mine, but those of my characters; for instance, if some character in a story or play of mine asserts that he must kill or steal, it certainly does not sig- nify that Mr. Ettinger has the right to characterize me as an advocate of murder or theft.
I am returning Mr. Ettinger's manuscript. Permit me to wish you all the best, and to remain,
Yours sincerely,
A. Chekhov
i Marx wanted to know if Ettinger's manuscript was worth publishing.
[ 310]
To LEOPOLD SULERJITSKI
November 5, 1902, Moscow
The new theatre is very fine; spacious, bright, no cheap, glaring luxury. The acting remains as ever, i.e., good; there are no new plays, and the only one they did stage did not meet with success. Meierhold is not missed; Kachalov substitutes for him in "The Three Sisters" and turns in a magnificent perform- ance; the rest of their repertory ("Lonely Lives," for instance) has not gone on yet. The absence of Sanin, who is enjoying suc- cess in St. Petersburg, is keenly felt. Box office prices are the same as last year's. They give a superb performance of "Uncle Vanya."
My mother is in St. Petersburg, my sister isn't painting, my wife is well, Vishnevski visits us daily. Last night my wife went to hear Olenina d'Alheim, who is reputed to be an extraordi- nary singer. I am not allowed anywhere and am kept at home for fear that I may catch cold. I will probably not go abroad, but will return to Yalta in December. . . . You know you ought to buy yourself a small plot of ground not far from Moscow and cultivate it, keep busy with the orchard and truck garden and write short stories during the winter. You can buy land or rent it for sixty to ninety years, but it is most important to have it as close as possible to Moscow. . . . Are you treating sick people? It won't do. The best thing is to send the person to a doctor. Let me have the name of the article you are writing. May the heav- enly angels guard you.
Yours,
A. Chekhov
To OLGA KNIPPER
December 20,1902, Yalta
My sweet love,
I had a letter today from Alexeyev along these lines: "Gorki's play! and the theatre have had a tremendous success. Olga 1 The Lower Depths.
Leonardovna gleamed like a shining light before an exacting audience." Rejoice, my sweet. Your husband is very pleased and will drink to your health today, if only Masha brings some beer with her.
I am currently having a lot of trouble with my teeth. I don't know when all this stupid business will come to an end. Yes- terday I had a letter from you that was practically unsealed (again!) and today is a sad day for me, since Arseni brought nothing from you from the post office. And today's weather is dismaclass="underline" warm and quiet, but not even a hint of spring. I sat out on the balcony, basking in the sun and thinking of you, and Fomka, and crocodiles, and the lining of my jacket, which is in shreds. I thought how much you needed to have a little boy to take up your time, to fill your life. You will have a baby son or daughter, my beloved, believe me, but you must just wait and get back to normal after your illness. I am not lying to you, nor am I concealing a single word of what the doctors have told me, cross my heart.
Misha sent some herrings. . . . There is absolutely nothing else to write about, or at least it doesn't seem so, life goes on obscurely and rather emptily. I am coughing. I sleep well, but dream all night long, as is fitting for an idle fellow.
\Vrite me everything in detail, my child, so as to make me feel that I belong not to Yalta, but to the north, that this mournful and empty life has not yet engulfed me. I am hoping to get to Moscow not later than the first of March, i.e., two months from now, but I do not know whether I will do so or not. God keep you, my good little wife, my little red-haired kitten. Just imagine me holding you in my arms and carrying you around the room a couple of hours, kissing and embracing you.. . .
I will write tomorrow. Sleep in peace, my blessed joy, eat properly and think of your husband.
Your A.
December 22, 1902, Yalta . . . Today the news came that Gorki's play "The Lower Depths" had an enormous success and was magnificently per- formed. I am rarely in the Art Theatre, but it seems to me that you have overestimated Stanislavski's role as producer.[4] The theatre is of the most usual sort, and their business is carried on in the most usual way, as it is everywhere, except that the actors are cultivated, very decent people; as a matter of fact they do not gleam with talent but they work hard, love what they do and learn their parts. If much of their repertory has not en- joyed success it is because the play is not suitable or the actors haven't enough of what it takes. Stanislavski certainly is not to blame. You write that he is chasing all the gifted people off the stage of the Art Theatre, but actually during all the five years of its existence not a single person with any pretension to talent has left. . . .
You write, "You are such an amiable person, why have you thrust yourself now into this acting and new-literature circle?" I have thrust myself into Yalta, into this little provincial coun- try town, and that is the root of all the evils besetting me. Regretfully, the new-literature circle considers me an outsider, and old-fashioned; its relations toward me are warm but prac- tically official, and as for the acting circle, that consists only of the letters of my wife, an actress, and nothing more. . . .
Merry Christmas and Happy New Year, and I wish you good health. . . . Many thanks for the letter, which was very inter- esting.
Yours,
A. Chekhov
To SHOLOM ALEICHEM
June /9, /903, Naro Fominjkoye
Dear So/omon Naumovich,
Generally speaking, I am not writing nowadays, or rather I write very little, so I can only give you a conditional promise: I will be very glad to write a story for you if illness does not interfere. As to my already published works, they are at your entire disposal, and a translation into Yiddish to be published in a collectioni for the benelit of the Kishinev victims2 would afford me heartfelt pleasure.
With sincere respect and devotion,
A. Chekhov
I got the letter yesterday, June i8th.
To KONSTANTIN STANISLAVSKI
Ju/y 28, 1903, Ya/ta
Dear Konstantin Sergeyevich,
am so very, very sorry you are not in Yalta now; the weather here is extraordinarily fine, enchanting; it couldn't be any better. . . .
My playi is not done and is moving ahead a little stiffly, a state of affairs I attribute to my laziness, the marvelous weather and the difficulty of the subject. I will write you when I finish, or better yet will wire. Your role, it seems, has come off not badly, though I won't set myself up as a judge, because gen- erally speaking I can hardly form an estimate of a play merely by reading it.
Olga is well and bathes in the sea every day; she fusses over me. My sister is also in good health and the two of them thank you for your greetings and send theirs. Yesterday I saw Mik-
^ The colleciion rcfcrrcd to was printed in Warsaw and included one of Chckhov's storics, "Grim Pcoplc."
This was thc pogrom in the Ukraine that shocked the \Vestern world.
1 Chekbov was at work on The Cherry Orchard.
hailovski-Garin, the engineer and writer, who is building the Crimean railway; he says he is going to write a play.