One night, Tikhonov, who occupied the room next to Chekhov's, heard his prolonged and violent coughing through the wall, followed by a low moan. Frightened that he might be dying, Tikhonov, in his bare feet and nightshirt, dashed into Chekhov's room. In the light of a guttering candle, Lhc young man saw him lying in the bed, his head over the edge and his whole body wracked with coughing. With cach spasm blood poured out of his open month into an enameled rcccptaclc lie held. The terrified Tikhonov called his name. Chekhov fell back- on the pillow and slowly turned his gaze toward him. His eyes, which the student saw for the first time without glasses, were large, helpless, like the eyes of a child, and were wet with tears. Softly, and with difficulty, Chekhov murmured: "I disturbed your sleep . . . forgive . . . my dear . . ."
In a few days Chekhov recovered enough to depart for Perm on the journey back to Moscow. According to one account, the laborers of Morozov's factory, perhaps because they had learned of his effort to shorten their working day, gathered at the station to give him a warm send-off.
« 6 »
Three days after Chekhov's return to Moscow, he and Olga, along with Vishnevsky, went to Lyubimovka, the estate of Stanislavsky's mother — the son had kindly offered them his wing of the estate while he and his wife were abroad. The village was almost a suburb of Moscow — Chekhov often went into the city to pick up mail — but the picturesque country setting, the large shade trees, and the river only a few yards from the door charmed him. Though Stanislavsky's mother and several other relatives were summering at or near Lyubimovka, it was possible for Olga and Chekhov to be quite isolated in their wing. In short, the place seemed like an ideal retreat for the convalescing Olga and her weary husband after weeks of illness and anxieties.
Though the couple were rarely without visitors — Vishnevsky and Ncmirovich-Danchcnko in particular stayed there frequently — Chekhov and Olga enjoyed a serene and almost idyllic existence at Lyubimovka. When he heard the village churchbells one day while fishing with Vishnevsky, he remarked: "Love for that sound is all that remains to me of my faith." Ilis delight with the place was reflected in typical fashion by his desire to buy a piece of land in the area and build a dacha for summer use.7 Olga wrote Stanislavsky abroad that her husband was in the best of spirits, joked, had an excellent appetite, gained weight, and soon hoped to start writing a play. Chekhov also wrote, thanked him warmly for the invitation, and said that they ate and slept like bishops. "It is long since I've enjoyed such a summer. I go fishing every day, five times a day, and the fishing isn't bad (yesterday we had perch chowder), and sitting on the bank is so agreeable that I cannot express it. In a word, everything is very fine. Only one thing is bad — I'm lazy and do nothing. I've still not begun the play, I'm only thinking about it. I'll probably not start to write earlier than the end of August." (July 18, 1902.) In the same strain he wrote to Gorky, the manuscript of whose new play, The Lower Depths, he had just finished
7 Olga searched for a piece of land, but the prices were so high that Chekhov abandoned this project.
reading. His cheerful mood seemed to be reflected in his criticism: "It is new and undoubtedly fine. The second act is very good, the very best, the most powerful, and when I read it, especially the end, I almost leaped with joy." (July 29,1902.)
In his letter to Stanislavsky Chekhov reported that Olga's doctor had found everything in order and had permitted her to take part in rehearsals as early as August 10. The only things forbidden were driving over bad highways and long trips, such as travel to Yalta. And he announced that he himself would go alone to Yalta in August. Chekhov repeated this information in other letters, including those to his sister. Despite these prior plans, which Olga may or may not have known, when he decided to leave their pleasant, restful, bucolic Lyubimovka existence for Yalta on August 14 she was deeply hurt. At that time he apparently offered no reasons for going, though later he gave several which were somewhat conflicting: he wanted to write, and his failure to do so at Lyubimovka turned him to Yalta; the damp weather had been causing him to spit blood, and he believed the dry Yalta climate would remedy this condition. Olga suspected other motives and could not understand why he did not invite her to go with him, although she knew of her doctor's prohibition against long journeys. This was his excuse for not asking her; but later he offered another which sounds suspiciously like the real reason for his departure: "You were already involved in your own interests — the theater, the Actors' Congress, lively conversations, and by then you were in no mood for Yalta." (September 14, 1902.) In any event, they had harsh words before he left and their first serious quarrel ensued.
Olga was still not entirely well, and perhaps this fact somewhat blurred her judgment. Besides, against the traumatic experience of her miscarriage she no doubt tended to exaggerate the significance of the critical attitude of her husband's mother and sister — she believed that during her illness they had tried selfishly to lure him back to Yalta alone. And it is possible that while he was at Lyubimovka Chekhov did receive letters from his sister pressing him to come — with or without Olga is not definitely known, for Masha, with one exception, strangely omitted all her letters to Chekhov during this period in her published correspondence with him.8 When he left for Yalta over her protests, Olga asked him to carry a letter from her to Masha.
8 That Masha wrote him more than once during Chekhov's stay at Lyubimovka is plainly indicated in his own letters to her and to Olga.
They were delighted to see him, Chekhov wrote Olga on August 17, but scolded him for not bringing her with him. However, when Masha read Olga's letter to her, he continued, she fell silent, and his mother was grieving. (In one communication he indicated that Masha had shown him Olga's letter; in another, that he had come across it on a table in his mother's room and mechanically read it.)9 "Your letter is very, very unjust," he declared, "but what has been written with the pen can never be effaced; there's no help for it. I say again, and assure you on my word of honor, that Mother and Masha invited both of us, and not me alone, and that they have always felt warmly and cordially toward you." The incident, he indicated, had spoiled his homecoming. Grumpily he wrote that he would go to Moscow, although it was nice at Yalta, and that he would not write the play which she had been persistently urging him to do. Then, as a kind of comic concession at the end, he informed Olga that he was washing the back of his head, his ears, and his chest just as she had ordered.
In the face of this reproof, Olga's letters now bristled with recriminations. Masha had no right to show him her letter, she wrote; she had not said that Masha had invited only him to Yalta, but she knew they did not want him to remain with her when she was sick. Don't hurry to Moscow, Olga self-pityingly advised, for she could get along somehow, and anyway it was clear he did not love her.
Though deeply disturbed over these chargcs, Chekhov repeated to Olga that her letter to Masha had been terribly rude and, worst of all, unjust: "This won't do, it won't do, darling, one must avoid injustice. One must be above reproach in the matter of justice, entirely above reproach, and the more so since you are kind, very kind and understanding. Forgive me, darling, for these rebukes. I won't do it again, I fear this." And he ended on a sad note: "Don't part with me so soon, without having lived together as we should, without having borne me a little boy or girl. And once you have a baby, then you can behave as it pleases you. I kiss you again." (August 27, 1902.)