Although Suvorin published The Devils, he was plainly troubled, as other critics had been in the past, by Chekhov's detached approach to his characters and their human problems. This was the old artistic quarrel, but it is interesting to observe that in restating his position now Chekhov for the first time makes a slight concession by agreeing that under different circumstances art might be combined with a subjective element. "You scold mc for objectivity," he wrote, "calling it indifference to good and evil, the absence of ideas and ideals, and so forth. When I depict horse thieves you would like me to say: the stealing of horses is bad. But surely this has long since been known without my saying it. Let the jury pass judgment on them, but my business is to show them as they are. I write: You are dealing with horse thieves — then you should know that they are not beggars but well-fed people, that they belong to a cult, and that horse stealing with them is not just theft but a passion. Of course, it would be pleasant to combine art with preaching, but for me personally this is extremely difficult, and almost impossible because of technical considerations. Clearly, in order to portray horse thieves in seven hundred lines, I must all the time speak and think as they would, and feel with their feelings; otherwise, if I introduce subjective notes, the characters will become indistinct and the story not as compact as all short stories ought to be. When I write I count entirely upon my reader, for I assume that he himself will add the subjective elements that are lacking in the tale." (April 1, 1890.)
To Suvorin's criticism Leontiev-Shcheglov added a further pinprick.
3 In Chekhov's Collected Works, the title of The De\ils was changed to The Thieves, and it has been translated into English as The Horse Stealers.
Leo Tolstoy, whom Chekhov placed at the very top of Russian art, with Tschaikovsky and Repin in second and third place, and himself "in the ninety-eighth spot," had discovered, according to Leontiev-Shcheg- lov, a false note in his An Attack of Nerves. The great master pointed out that the hero of the talc ought first to have slept with one of the prostitutes and only then experience the anguish of a tormented conscience. Obviously Tolstoy had not quite grasped the point of the characterization.
Interestingly enough, in these early months of 1890, Tolstoy's celebrated Kreutzer Sonata, an outstanding attempt to preach a moral ideal through the medium of artistic narrative, was going the rounds in hectograph copies and causing the greatest excitement among readers (its publication was not permitted by the government until the following year, when it appeared in the thirteenth volume of Tolstoy's collected works). According to a contemporary, instead of the greeting "How do you do?" upon meeting, people asked, "Have you read The Kreutzer Sonata?" Chekhov also read it, despite the mountain of Sakhalin material before him. He was deeply impressed, and his praise of so subjective a work was perhaps some indication of growing uncertainty in his own artistic method. "You really didn't like The Kreutzer Sonata?" he replied to Pleshcheev's letter on the book. "I don't say that it is a work of genius, eternal — I'm no judge in such matters — but in my opinion, in the mass of those things being written here and abroad you will hardly find anything of equal power in the seriousness of its conception and the beauty of its execution. While not mentioning the story's artistic merits, which in places are striking, one ought to be thankful for just one of its features, that it is extremely thought-provoking. As I read it, I could scarcely keep from shouting: 'That's true!' or 'That's ridiculous!' "
Chekhov's appreciation, however, is alloyed with strictures that not only reveal his scientific training, but also suggest the considerations which ultimately led him to repudiate Tolstoyanism as inimical to human progress. For he pointed out to Pleshcheev that he could not easily forgive "Tolstoy's boldness in treating of things he does not know about and which in his stubborness he does not wish to understand. Thus, his pronouncements on syphilis, foundling homes, the repugnance of women to sexual intercourse, and so forth are not only debatable but even expose him as an ignorant man who in the course of his long life has not taken the trouble to read two or three books written by specialists.
However, these defects vanish like feathers before the wind; in the light of the story's worth, you simply don't notice them, and if you do, it is only becausc you are vexed that the story did not avoid the fate of all human efforts which are never perfect or free from error." (February 15,1890.)
Though engrossed in the preparations for his journey, Chekhov also took a lively interest in widespread student disturbances that broke out in March. Riots began when the authorities banned the admission of young ladies into student quarters because they suspected them not only of prostitution, but also of political activities. However, the demands of the students, who were outraged by Cossack beatings, went far beyond this incident, amounting to an academic bill of rights which they presented to a government bent on rigid control of the universities. It is curious that Chekhov's reactions were rather unsympathetic to the students. His adverse opinion on organized efforts for human betterment had not changed much since the similar disturbances in his own student days. On the other hand, he not only applauded the individual protest of youth as an essential of character building, but he complained more than once that this form of rebellion was too little in evidence among the youth of the time.
But April, the month of his departure on a journey of some ten thousand miles, was fast approaching; and Chekhov complained that he had still a year's work to do in reading and note-,taking. Actually, he had done a very extensive amount of preparation and he soon began to clear his study of the many books and magazines that he had borrowed. Since the Transiberian Railroad did not exist then, most of the trip would have to be made by river boats and horses. In the popular imagination, the Siberian taiga swarmed with bandits and the journey was regarded as a perilous one. Chekhov could not take these warnings very seriously. The only dangers before him, he commented, were the toothaches from which he suffered, and he added that the long knife he had bought was for cutting sausage and hunting tigers. However, along with a sheepskin coat, an army officer's wateq^roof leather coat, and a pair of topboots, he also procured a revolver. And he took the precaution to inform Suvorin: "In case I'm drowned or anything of that sort, you might keep it in mind that all I have or may have in the future belongs to my sister; she will pay my debts." (April 15, 1890.) Though he imagined that he had equipped himself very well, as things turned out he lacked a number of essential items for such a journey.
The most worrisome factor was the question of finances; besides the considerable expenses for the trip, he had to assure the family of an adequate monthly income. And because he felt that his sister would be bored without him over the many weeks he would be away, he wished to send her on a vacation in the Crimea. Chekhov pooled all his resources. Fortunately at this juncture 600 roubles came in from the latest performances of Ivanov, and he received 782 roubles for The Devils and also royalties from the collections of his stories that Suvorin had published. Yet he had to plead with Leikin to send him any accumulation on the sales of his early Motley Tales. In addition Suvorin willingly advanced 1500 roubles against articles Chekhov would write on the trip for New Times, and also provided him with a correspondent's credentials, a hopeful substitute for the official letters of recommendation which Chekhov had failed to obtain, for he was quite uncertain that the authorities at Sakhalin would permit him to conduct his scientific investigation.