I am impatiently waiting for the day and hour when my wife will permit me to come to Moscow. Devil take it, I am begin- ning to suspect her of being foxy with me!
The weather here is quite warm, remarkable weather, but when one recalls Moscow and the Sandunov baths all this de- light seems stale and unprofitable.
I sit in my study and keep looking at the telephone. I get my telegrams by telephone and am expecting every minute to be summoned at last to Moscow.
I press your hand heartily and am everlastingly grateful for your letter. Keep well and happy.
Yours,
A. Chekhov
To MARIA CHEKHOVA
June 6, 1904, Berlin
Dear Masha,
I am writing you from Berlin, where I have been for the last twenty-four hours. Moscow got awfully cold after you left; there was snow and I probably caught cold on account of it, had rheumatic pains in my arms and legs, couldn't sleep, got ter- ribly thin, had morphine injections, took thousands of assorted medicines and gratefully recall only heroin, which Altshuller had once prescribed for me. At departure time I picked up new strength, my appetite carne back, I started dosing myself with arsenic, and so on and so forth, and finally left for abroad on Thursday, very skinny, with very thin, spindling legs. I had a really good, pleasant journey. Here in Berlin we have taken a comfortable room in the very best hotel and are enjoying our stay thoroughly; it's been a long time since I've eaten as well, with as much appetite. The bread here is marvelous and I eat too much of it, the coffee is excellent and as for the dinners, they are beyond words. People who haven't been abroad don't know what good bread means. There isn't any decent tea here (we brought along our own), no appetizers, but on the other hand all the rest is superb, despite its being cheaper than at horne. I've already put on weight and today even took quite a long drive to the Tiergarten, although it was cold. And so you can tell Marna and everyone interested that I am getting better, or even that I am already better, my legs no longer ache, I don't have diarrhea, am beginning to fill out, am on my feet all day, and don't lie down. Tomorrow I am having a visit from the local celebrity—Prof. Ewald, a specialist in intestinal ailments; Dr. Taube wrote him of me.
I drank some wonderful beer yesterday. . . . Do keep well and in good spirits, and may the heavenly angels guard you. Give my greetings to Mama and tell her everything is fine now. I'll leave for Yalta in August. Regards also to Grandma, Arseni and Nastya. . . . Let me kiss you.
Your
A. Chekhov
We forgot to take along our dressing gowns.
To MARIA CHEKHOVA
June 8, 1904, Berlin
Dear Masha,
Today we leave Berlin for our prolonged residence on the Swiss border, where it will probably be very boresome and very hot. My address is: Herrn Anton Tschechow, Badenweiler, Germany. As that is the way they spell my name on my docu- ments here, it must be the way it should be written in German.
It is somewhat cold in Berlin, but nice. The worst thing here, the thing that intrudes upon your vision piercingly, are the out- fits of the local ladies. There is a horrible lack of taste, nowhere do they dress as abominably, with complete absence of taste. I haven't seen a single handsome woman and not one who isn't trimmed up with some variety of absurd braid. Now I under- stand why taste is grafted so slowly and painfully upon the Moscow Germans. On the other hand, life in Berlin is most comfortable, the meals are delicious, the prices not high, the horses are well fed, the dogs, which are harnessed to little carts, are also well fed, and the streets are clean and orderly. . . .
My legs don't ache any more, I am eating splendidly, sleep well and dash around Berlin, but my one trouble is shortness of breath. I bought myself a summer suit today, Jaeger caps, etc., etc., This stuff is much cheaper than it is in Moscow. . . .
Regards to Mama and Vanya. Have a good time and don't get downhearted if you can avoid it. I press your hand warmly and kiss you.
Your Anton
T0 MARIA CHEKHOVA
june 12, /904, Badenwei1er
Dear Masha,
. . . Villa Friederike, like all the local houses and villas, is a private house situated in a luxuriant garden, exposed to the sun, which shines upon me and keeps me warm until seven in the evening (after that hour I stay indoors). 'Ve take both room and board here. For fourteen or sixteen marks a day we have a double room flooded with sunlight, with a washstand, beds, etc., etc., a desk, and the most important thing—marvelous water which is like seltzer. The general impression is one of a big garden, with tree-covered mountains in the background, few people, very little movement on the streets, the garden and the flowers beautifully tended; but today for no good reason we had rain, and I must sit indoors, and it seems to me that another few days like this and I will start thinking of how I can get away.
I continue eating butter in enormous quantities—and with- out effect. I can't stand milk. The local doctor, Schwohrer (mar- ried to a girl from Moscow named Zhivo), has turned out to be proficient and pleasant.
From here we may perhaps take the sea route to Yalta by way of Trieste, or some other port. I am gaining health here in leaps and bounds. At least I have learned the right way to keep myself well fed. I am absolutely forbidden coffee; they say it has a laxative effect. I am already beginning to eat an occasional egg. God, how frightfully the German women dress!
I am living on the ground floor. If you could only have some idea of the sunshine we have here! It doesn't burn, but caresses. I have a comfortable armchair in which I can sit or lie down.
I will buy you a watch without fail, I haven't forgotten. How is Mama's health? How are her spirits? Write me. Give her my regards. Olga is going to the dentist here, a very good one.
Well, keep healthy and merry. I'll write you again in a few days.
I bought a lot of this paper in Berlin, and envelopes as well. I kiss you and press your hand.
Your A.
To MARIA CHEKHOVA
June i6, 1904, Badenweiler
Dear Masha,
I had your first postcard today, thanks a lot. I am living among the Germans and have already become accustomed to my room and my regime but just cannot ever get used to Ger- man peace and quiet. There's not a sound in the house or out- side it, except for a band in the garden at 7 in the morning and at noon, expensive, but no talent in the playing. You feel there isn't a drop of talent in anything, not a drop of taste, but on the other hand there is order and honesty, and to spare. Our Russian life is much more talented, and as for the Italian or the French, they are beyond comparison.
My health has improved and when I walk I no longer feel aware of my illness, and just walk around calmly; my shortness of breath has abated, nothing aches, but my illness has left me painfully thin, and my legs are skinnier than they have ever been. The German doctors have turned my life upside down. At 7 a.m. I have tea in bed, and it must definitely be in bed, for some reason or other; at 7:30 a German who is a sort of masseur comes in and rubs me with water, which is not so bad; then I have to lie down for a while, after which I get up and drink acorn cocoa and with it eat an enormous quantity of butter. At 10 o'clock oatmeal, thin, unusually delicious and aromatic, not at all like our Russian stuff. Fresh air and bask- ing in the sun. Reading the newspapers. Dinner at one in the afternoon, at which I can't help myself to all the courses, but eat only those that Olga chooses for me on orders from the German doctor. Cocoa again at 4 o'clock. Supper at 7. Before going to bed I have a cup of strawberry tea to make me sleep. There is a lot of quackery in all this, but a lot that is actually good, the oatmeal, for instance. I'm going to take some of their oatmeal with me.