In Moscow Vania, Sonia and the baby Volodia had become a loving trio, closed to outsiders. Misha was unhappy in Uglich, but hoped that his protectors could transfer him to another tax office. Cousin Aliosha Dolzhenko, free of Gavrilov's warehouse, won Anton's respect. He was now a violinist in an amateur orchestra. Aleksandr in Petersburg, however, was distressed, even though little Misha, Natalia believed, was 'something outstanding'. The more affectionate Natalia's postscripts to Anton, the more Aleksandr disparaged his wife: 'Natalia gives birth almost every day to whole ribbons of some tapeworm.' Aleksandr's unhappiness led to new aberrations. On the night of 12 November 1894 he arrived at Melikhovo with Vania and Ivanenko. The next day a note arrived from Natalia: Dear Anton, I beg you to write and tell me if my husband is with you. This strange man left when I was out. I am worn out. Where
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is he? What's wrong with liiin? Please, dear Anton, don't show him my letter.25 Aleksandr stayed for the celebrations of Tsar Nicolas II's marriage. Anton thanked Natalia wryly 'for letting him come and see me.'
While Aleksandr took refuge at Melikhovo, his wayward behaviour infected the village. A drunken peasant, Epifan Volkov, set fire to the thatched roof of his cottage. Despite Aleksandr's experience with the fire brigade, the hut burnt down, and Volkov was arrested for arson. Otherwise, Anton had an undisturbed November. Only Elena Shav-rova accosted Anton, asking him to return six stories which had vanished in Anton's absence. Anton denied having them and told her to rewrite them from memory. This, said Shavrova sulkily, was untrue and impossible.
Prince Shakhovskoi, ruined by debt, had sold his estate of Vaskino to an engineer, Vladimir Semenkovich. The new neighbour seemed at first just a monstrous reactionary,26 and gave Anton no reason to emerge from solitude. A month in Melikhovo relatively free of visitors, in a cottage apart, gave Anton the conditions he needed to write. When he rose from his desk in the cottage, Anton talked only to his inferiors. Occasionally he helped Masha teach the two maids, Aniuta Chufarova and Mashutka, to read and write. (Anton would soon be a governor and builder of schools.) He was kind to Mikhail Plotov, the schoolteacher in the nearby village of Shchegliatevo, and gave him medical advice, a gun, a gundog and tickets to the theatre. The schoolteacher at the village of Talezh, Aleksei Mikhailov, an even needier figure, was also befriended. Grey at thirty, with four children, Mikhailov spoke only of misery on 24 roubles a month.27
In near solitude, Anton completed the book version of The Island of Sakhalin and the long story he had pondered since 1891, 'Three Years'. Not since his journey to Sakhalin had he been so absent from literary circles. Viktor Bilibin told Gruzinsky: 'It's said in Petersburg that Chekhov has consumption and that the Moscow doctors have given him only a year to live.'28 Russia's minor writers, fed by Suvorin's gossip, buzzed with rumours. Gruzinsky told Ezhov, who told Anton: 'Kindest Anton!… inviting you to my Moscow flat is like sowing semolina and expecting maize to sprout. You are unattainable for us little people. I remain the friend of your youth, now your enemy.'29
SEPTEMBER-NOVEMBER 1894
Anton responded with enough warmth to persuade Gruzinsky and Fzhov to visit Melikhovo before the winter was over. To Lika he gave not a word of encouragement or comfort.
Lika was no longer alone in Paris. Potapenko, pocketing more advances, had rushed there. (He told Masha he was in Kherson province by his father's sickbed.) By early November Potapenko was with the second Mrs Potapenko, on Rue des Mathurins, a couple of miles from Lika. On 9/21 November Lika gave birth to a daughter, whom she named Christina. She coped alone for nine days; she and the baby were both ill. A wet nurse was found. Maria Potapenko offered to bring the baby up as her own. Lika spurned the offer as a ploy to recapture Potapenko. Lika told Masha in February 1895 that Maria Potapenko threatened to kill herself and her own children, and Ignati to shoot just himself.30 While Lika was still prostrate, Potapenko wrote to Anton from Paris, unusually legibly: First: keep my location absolutely secret, for that is essential. Secondly, the following: I have got into a tout a fait desperate situation… here I am shivering with cold and other misfortunes. This is hard to understand for a man who is sitting in a warm house in front of a newly constructed fireplace, but an artist must imagine it. The reason I am here is hard to explain, and better left entirely unexplained. But I can neither leave nor pay certain bills… throw off your rural laziness and go to Moscow, take these resources, go to the Credit Lyonnais (or better Junker's) and make a telegraphic transfer in my name to 60 rue des Mathurins, Paris, Potapenko… save me, or else I shall be thinking about suicide. The next day Potapenko took his leave of Lika. They never met again. On receiving Potapenko's letter Anton broke his month's retreat. Over frozen ruts he made his way to Lopasnia and Moscow with Aleksandr and Masha. (Aleksandr was being repatriated to Petersburg and Natalia.) Anton sent no money until he returned to Melikhovo four days later and asked Goltsev at Russian Thought 'in absolute secrecy' to borrow 200 roubles and either send them 'to the prodigal son', or - which would break the secrecy - ask Suvorin to do so. Potapenko would ask Anton for another 200 roubles in March, but their friendship was suspended. He and Lika were both frozen out of Anton's charmed circle. Lidia Iavorskaia now tried to fire Anton's senses.
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0 Charudatta! December 1894-Februaiy 1895 'I FIND OBLIVION in the theatre,' Lidia Iavorskaia wrote to Tania in December 1894.31 The two had brought bold ventures back from Paris and Antwerp and drew Anton into the whirlpool of their notoriety. Iavorskaia created two 'courtesan' roles. She was the laundress whose son becomes Napoleon's marshal in Sardou's 'relentlessly vulgar' Madame Sans-Gene, an apt title for Iavorskaia, and she was the courtesan Vasantasena in the Russian premiere of Poor Charudatta, a Sanskrit drama attributed to King Sudraka. A poor Brahman, Charudatta, helps Vasantasena escape a prince's wiles: Vasantasena is nearly strangled, Charudatta nearly beheaded, but all ends happily. In winter 1894-5, at tne sight of Anton, Iavorskaia, posing as the adoring Vasantasena, would sink to her knees, crying, 'O worthy Charudatta'. Anton acquiesced in the game.
The two women had other projects: Chekhov recommended a perfect vehicle for Iavorskaia, Zola's adulterous and lethal Therese Raquin. For Lidia, Tania had translated Edmond Rostand's parody of Romeo and Juliet, Les Romanesques. She showed the text to Anton at Meli-khovo; he made fun of Rostand's precious style in Tania's rendering. Anton was at ease in her company, though Tania quarrelled with Anton as often as with Iavorskaia. She accused Anton of prejudice against lesbians, then abjectly apologized. (Anton warned Suvorin that she was underhand.)
On 2 December snow fell; visitors raced from the station on sledges. Tania came for a fortnight and charmed all Melikhovo. Anton drove the dachshunds to a frenzy with Tania's sable. When Pavel left for Moscow, he let Tania write up the diary: she parodied it perfectly. Tania went to pray at the monastery with Evgenia; lost in the snow, she was led back by Prince Shakhovskoi's workman. Laughter rang out all day. On 6 December she was bonded with Anton, as no other