Such cares and worries, as well as dogged work and the cold and dampness of Moscow, contributed to worsening Chekhov's already poor health. On several occasions during 1888 he experienced warning hemorrhages. Although as a physician he must have been aware of the nature of his disease, he still refused to admit it to friends. When Elena Lintvareva, a doctor herself, began to suspect his symptoms over the summer and later recommended that he take measures, he jokingly asked her what measures — cease work or go to Nice — and then he requested her not to speak any more about measures. On the other hand, when Suvorin, at this time, confronted him with the same suspicion, he willingly gave him a detailed account of the history of his hemorrhages. But he argued, as he had done earlier, that a How of blood from the lungs should not necessarily be regarded as a sign of tuberculosis, unless it were accompanied by other telltale symptoms which he had never observed in himself. If the first hemorrhage several years ago had been a genuine sign of tuberculosis, he concluded, he would already be dead. Though he now admitted that he had been having hemorrhages at the rate of one or two a year since the first How, Chekhov, so wise in many things, refused to draw the obvious conclusion. Was it inertia, fear of the truth, a sense of fatalism, or a conviction of destiny beyond the interference of any human agency?
The anxieties of the autumn, however, were mitigated by a joyous event. On October 7 four members of the Division of Russian Language and Letters of the Academy of Sciences, of which Grigorovich was one, having heard a report by the eminent Academician and Director of the Petersburg Public Library, A. F. Bychkov, unanimously voted to award the Pushkin Prize, "for the best literary production distinguished by high artistic worth," to In the Twilight, by Anton Pavlovich Chekhov, llic next day Grigorovich sent Chekhov his congratulations, but the old man did not forget to add that the committee also unanimously expressed its sincere regret that Chekhov failed to esteem his talent, wrote for the chcap press, and often hurried his work. One may suppose that Grigorovich himself had pointed out these favorite faults to the committee, and the action probably contributed to the fact that Chekhov received only five hundred roubles, half the regular prize. At a public meeting of the Academy of Sciences on October 19, an officiaclass="underline" announcement was made of the award.
Although Chekhov had been nurturing hopes on this score since the end of the previous year, the news filled him and his family with exultation. Telegrams and letters of congratulation arrived. He wandered about like a man in love, he told Suvorin. In their inexpressible joy his mother and father babbled nonsense, and his sister, faithful custodian of his reputation, made the rounds of his friends to explain the significance of the prize. Modestly he wrote Grigorovich of his joy and gratitude, and that without his help and that of Polonsky and Suvorin he would never have won the award which other young writers, such as Korolenko, were more entitled to than he. Over the last year, he asserted, he had given up the cheap press except New Times, which he did not place in this category, and besides, he was obligated to Suvorin. Further, he had a novel in mind which he outlined, but he planned to take a long time over it for, he significantly declared: "I still do not have a firm political, religious, and philosophical outlook; I change it monthly and therefore I'm compelled to limit myself to the description of how my heroes love, marry, produce children, die, and how they speak." (October 9, 1888.)
To Suvorin he more realistically interpreted what he believed should be the significance of the award precisely to him: "I repeat once more: second- and third-class newspaper writers ought to erect a monument to me or at least present me a silver cigarette case; I have showed them the road to the thick magazines, to laurels, and to the hearts of decent people. Although this has been my unique service, that which I've written, and for which they gave me the prize, will not live in the memory of people ten years." (October 10, 1888.)
Invitations to parties, dinners, and social events multiplied, the usual tribute to the winner of a national prize. In November a special invitation compelled his presence at the opening evening of the Society of Arts and Literature. There he met for the first time Konstantin Stanislavsky, the man who in a few years would help to make the most celebrated playwright in Russia. Although even at this time Stanislavsky was known in Moscow theatrical circles, Chekhov did not bother to mention him in his account of this event to Suvorin. The aim of the Society, he sarcastically remarked, was unity, and all around him he saw only deadly boredom and shocking taste. A young lady sang and the well-known actor, Lensky, read one of Chekhov's tales. A listener within earshot of Chekhov declared: "A rather weak storyl" at which a mischievous mutual friend insisted upon introducing Chekhov to the embarrassed critic. The reason people invited him everywhere and regaled him with food and drink, he declared to Suvorin, was simply because they liked what was not ordinary in him. Yet he was also an ordinary mortal and if tomorrow he should appear so in the eyes of his friends, they would cease to love and pity him.
Chekhov experienced something of the same reaction in a visit he made to Petersburg for ten days in early December. Again he stayed with the Suvorins. Well-wishers tore him apart, he said, and rode him like a post-horse. There he met the great Tschaikovsky, who had admired his tales for some time and whose music delighted Chekhov. At the Russian Literary Society, An Attack of Nerves, a tale he had recently completed for the volume in honor of the late Garshin, was read by the actor Davydov. A lively discussion followed, in which Chekhov answered questions from the audience.
A visit to Alexander induced a cold fury which he later poured out to his brother in a letter. The sight of Alexander parading before the chambermaid in his underwear shocked him, and his shouting and use of vile language in the presence of his children and his nasty insults to the cook and Natalya Alexandrovna Golden, who was then living with him, invoked dismal memories in Anton of his father's behavior when they were children. At the very least, he angrily wrote Alexander, he should have some regard for his offspring. "You must not use obscene language in their presence with impunity, insult the servants, or shout furiously at Natalya Alexandrovna: 'Get the hell out of here; I'm not supporting you!'" (January 2, 1889.)
Another unpleasant occurrence during this visit was that, in the hurly-burly of being entertained, he neglected to make formal farewell calls on close friends, notably Leontiev-Shchcglov and Grigorovich. Chekhov promptly heard that this slight deeply offended Grigorovich, and to make amends he sent him a long letter of apology, actually the last letter he ever wrote this man, who was once reported to have said of a critic of his favorite young author: "Why, he's not fit to kiss the foot of a flea that bites Chekhov." Though Chekhov owed much to Grigorovich's initial encouragement and influence, his failure to honor the old man with a visit may well have been subconsciously prompted by his friend's annoying possessiveness and persistent criticism of his connection with the humorous magazine and newspapers. Chekhov tended to regard his work for the cheap press as an invaluable training ground for a young writer. And by now his own higher artistic standards must have convinced him that he had quite exaggerated Grigorovich's authority in the literary world and had overpraised his merits as a writer of fiction. However, as the sentiments of his letter of apology indicate, Chekhov, so sensitive himself in these matters, must have experienced a feeling of guilt over his slight to a friend who had meant so mueh to him at the outset of his carecr. It is little wonder that he left Petersburg "bored and sad."