16 The Bishop was published in the April issue of Journal for All, 1902.
18 The unfinished stories are Decompensation and The Letter.
the vital atmosphere of the Church that gives meaning to his faith.
At times now, and especially in moments of irritation, Chekhov could take a destructively critical attitude toward contemporary Russian writers. One such moment was reported by the young student Tikhonov when Chekhov visited the estate of Savva Morozov in the summer of 1902. Though there could be no question of Chekhov's high regard for Gorky's talent, he severely castigated him on this occasion for the politically tendentious quality in some of his writings. And for good measure, he damned the students of the day, thus offending Tikhonov, for glorifying themselves as revolutionary heroes. One of their idols, Leonid Andreev, he set down as a "mere advocate's assistant," and the popular Decadents he described as knaves dealing in spoiled goods.
In this instance Chekhov was perhaps being deliberatively provocative, but the memory of the harsh criticism leveled at him in his youth may have contributed to this example of literary spleen. On another occasion at Morozov's, when he was conversing with Tikhonov on the terrace, he remarked: "Most of all, my friend, one must not lie. In this respect art is especially precious, for it is impossible to lie in it. One may lie in love, and in politics, and in medicine; one may deceive people and the good Lord Himself — there have been such cases —but it is impossible to deceive in art."
Then after a pause he continued: "I've often been blamed, even by Tolstoy, for writing about trifles, for not having any positive heroes — revolutionists, Alexanders of Macedon — or none even like those of Leskov, honest district police officers. But where am I to get them? I would be happy to have them! Our life is provincial, the cities are unpaved, the villages poor, the masses abused. In our youth we all chirp rapturously like sparrows on a dung heap, but when we are forty, we are already old and begin to think of death. Fine heroes we are!"
Chekhov fell silent, stared at young Tikhonov, the would-be writer, and resumed: "You say that you have wept over my plays. Yes, and not only you alone. But I did not write them for this purpose, it is Alekseev17 who has made such crybabies of them. I desired something other. I only wished to tell people honestly: 'Look at yourselves, see how badly and boringly you live!' The principal thing is that people should understand this, and when they do, they will surely create for themselves another and a better life. I will not see it, but I know it will be entirely different, not like what we have now. And as long as it does
17 Stanislavsky's real name.
riot exist, I'll continue to tell people: 'See how badly and boringly you live!' Is it that which they weep over?"
When Tikhonov asked him what about those who already understood these conditions of Russian life, Chekhov answered simply: "Well, they will find the road without me."
« 8»
A troubled conscience at having left behind an angry wife at Lyubi- movka had clouded Chekhov's reunion with his family at Yalta in the middle of August. But Masha was there and in her quiet, efficient way she surrounded him with the care and comforts which he always missed when away from home. She and her mother, who kept remarkably well for her age except for ailing legs, had learned from long experience not to irritate him with daily queries about his health. Chekhov now had little contact with the rest of the family. The steady, plodding, and quite successful Ivan was a welcome guest at Yalta on the infrequent occasions when he elected to visit, and in Moscow he and his family were friendly with Olga. The talented Alexander, who continued in his odd way to do well enough in Petersburg, now rarely wrote to Chekhov. In one of only three letters published during 1902, he complained of growing old and assured his brother that, despite his failure to correspond, he loved him as much as ever. Misha, still sulking over Chekhov's opposition to his working for New Times, found his brother enthusiastic when he informed him that Suvorin had put him in charge of the network of railroad-station kiosks selling the firm's publications. Chekhov suggested some excellent innovations in developing this business, and expressed the opinion that the new job would compel Misha to bestir himself and cease sitting by the stove with his wife.
As usual, Masha was of great assistance in protecting Chekhov from the more offensive callers, but one visitor, at the beginning of September, whom they were both pleased to see was Suvorin. They had neither met nor corresponded for many months. The past winter Olga had seen Suvorin in Moscow, where he had attended a performance of The Three Sisters and lauded her acting, but she was not at all attracted by his munificent offer to join his Petersburg theater. In informing Olga of Suvorin's visit, Chekhov merely mentioned that they saw each other for two days running and talked about all sorts of things and much that was new. But the Yalta writer and editor of the Crimean Courier, M. K. Pervukhin, provides a more interesting account of the meeting. Chekhov, aware that the visit of so eminent a publisher and author would be written up in the local newspaper, took the precaution to see Pervukhin in advance and plead with him not to abuse Suvorin for the reactionary reputation he had acquired all over Russia. Later, after the visit, Chekhov discussed Suvorin at length with Pervukhin. While admitting his faults and condemning the policies of New Times, Chekhov declared: "Over the last few years there has been little in common between me and Suvorin. Nevertheless, there are the remembrances of my youth. I feci very much indebted to Suvorin." Then Chekhov defended him on the score of his achievements. Suvorin, he said, had been the first to increase the salaries and improve the working conditions of the newspaper profession; he had befriended many poor writers and had carried them along with sums of money which he realized he would never recover; and he had brought to the publishing business an instinct for developing Russian culture as well as making profits. "When history finally judges him," concluded Chekhov, "let us not forget these aspects of Suvorin's life."
A few weeks later Suvorin, who was in Moscow to see a performance of his play, The Question, at the Maly Theater, visited Olga. She wrote Chekhov that "old Suvorin talked a great deal and said that he loves you very much and had shed a few tears when he saw you."
Though Chekhov's move to the hot climate of Yalta at that time of the year had apparently remedied the blood-spitting which had afflicted him at Lyubimovka, he was soon complaining that the extreme dryness and dust in the atmosphere induced fiendish coughing and loss of what little appetite he had. As his letters indicate, he had intended to rejoin Olga after only a brief stay in Yalta, but now he had to confess that he did not feel well enough to travel, to write, or to do anything. She had some understanding of the inroads tuberculosis had made on him, as well as a sympathetic appreciation of his constant need to take every precaution; but his understatement of his condition, his periods of optimism, and his willful violation of every sane principle of treatment encouraged her at times to entertain false hopes and to imagine him capable of leading a more normal existence than she had any right to expect. At this point, for example, it was very hard for Olga to believe that even the short trip to Sevastopol would be physically difficult for him, to say nothing of the long train journey from there to Moscow. When Chekhov informed her, shortly after arriving at Yalta, that Dr. Altschuler had called, wanted to sound him, and insisted upon his being absolutely obedient to his orders, Olga, sulking at Lyubimovka, responded petulantly: "Go ahead and stay at Yalta all fall, it will be very good for you and Altschuler will be satisfied."