Letter · 1888

To E. M. Lintvareva, 27 October 1888. Moscow.

E. M. ЛИНТВАРЕВОЙ, 27 октября 1888 г. Москва.

Headnote

1 Written from Moscow on 27 October 1888 to Elena Mikhailovna Lintvaryova, the eldest of the Lintvaryov sisters and a physician at the family’s Sumy estate, Luka. This is the second letter in the corpus addressed directly to Elena Mikhailovna herself, following of 9 October; the easy, teasing, doctor-to-doctor register established there continues here – he opens by chiding her (in mock offense) for leaving a price off her accounting, and repeatedly addresses her as "doctor."

2 Business first: Chekhov asks Elena Mikhailovna to write back with the cost of the plakhtas (the traditional Ukrainian woven skirt-wraps she was evidently buying for him, per) and offers to run any errand she needs in return. He then reflects wryly on the Pushkin Prize he had just been awarded (announced 9 October, discussed at length in): here he likens it to a minor civil-service decoration, useful only as a line in his official record should he ever be conscripted as an army doctor.

3 He turns to his health – several days of coughing blood, now subsided to a minor cough – and rebuffs, half-joking, her prior advice to "take measures" without specifying which; he proposes they drop the subject, along with a private reference he calls "the Epoch," entirely. He reports an idle October devoted to correspondence and journalism rather than fiction, including a short obituary tribute to the explorer Nikolai Przhevalsky (who had died that autumn) published that day in "Novoye Vremya." He then professes not to understand a phrase of hers about "the motives that guide noble and elevated souls," disclaiming any motives beyond avoiding debt and waiting out the winter in Moscow before fleeing to idleness in spring. He closes with plans to visit Petersburg in November, warm regards to her household, a mock-oriental blessing, his signature, and a postscript of household news: praise for a "Lidia Fyodorovna" of the Luka circle, a hopeful word about a pianist acquaintance of Elena Mikhailovna’s, a boast about his own unfailing "prophetic sense," and a closing note that he is off on his medical rounds in the cold.

27 October 1888. Moscow.
27 октября 1888 г. Москва.
27 Oct.
27 окт.
Doctor, you forgot to write how much the plakhtas cost. Such secretiveness embarrasses me a little. Please write and tell me, and should you wish to give me some commission or other, don’t stand on ceremony – give it: I am at your service.
Доктор, Вы забыли написать, сколько стоят плахты. Такая скрытность меня немножко конфузит. Пожалуйста, напишите, и буде пожелаете дать какое-нибудь поручение, не церемоньтесь и давайте: я к Вашим услугам.
The prize has, so to speak, a spiritual significance. Looked at from a bureaucrat’s point of view, it is comparable to the Order of St. Stanislas, third class. It is a government affair. When they drag me off to serve in some war, it will be entered on my service record; the chief corps doctor, on reading that record, will scratch thoughtfully behind his ear and mutter, "M-yes..." That is all.
Премия имеет значение, так сказать, духовное. Если глядеть на нее с чиновничьей точки зрения, то она уподобляется Станиславу 3-й степени. Она казенная. Когда меня потащат служить на войну, ее запишут в мой формулярный список; главный корпусный доктор, прочитав сей список, глубокомысленно почешет у себя за ухом и промычит: "М-да..." Вот и всё.
I don’t understand my own health. For about four days there was spitting of blood, and now, apart from a trifling cough, nothing at all... You recommend that I take measures, but you don’t name these measures. Should I take Dover’s powder? Drink anise drops? Go to Nice? Not work? Let us agree, doctor: let us never again speak either of measures or of the "Epoch"...
Здоровья своего я не понимаю. Дня четыре было кровохарканье, а теперь, кроме ничтожного кашля, ничего... Вы рекомендуете мне принять меры, а не называете этих мер. Принимать доверов порошок? Пить анисовые капли? Ехать в Ниццу? Не работать? Давайте, доктор, условимся: не будем больше никогда говорить ни о мерах, ни об "Эпохе"...
All of October I did nothing. I put my little stage trifles in order, wrote long letters and leading articles, but did not occupy myself with fiction. Today in the "Novoye Vremya" (Wednesday, the 26th of October) there is a short cry of mine on the subject of the late Przhevalsky – a sample of my leading articles. People like Przhevalsky I love without limit.
Весь октябрь я ничего не делал. Приводил в порядок свои сценические безделки, писал длинные письма и передовые статьи, а беллетристикой не занимался. Сегодня в "Новом времени" (среда, 26-го октября)) есть мой короткий вопль по адресу покойного Пржевальского – образчик моих передовиц. Таких людей, как Пржевальский, я люблю бесконечно.
Your phrase, where you speak of "the motives that guide noble and elevated souls," I did not understand. If that is a pebble thrown into my garden, then, I assure you, in my head, grown empty from boredom, there are decidedly no motives at all. Though, indeed, there are only two motives: 1) not to fall into debt, and 2) to wait for spring to come quickly and to flee somewhere out of Moscow, so as to do nothing. I have no other motives, tasks, or desires.
Вашей фразы, где Вы говорите о "мотивах, руководящих благородными и возвышенными душами", я не понял. Если это камешек в мой огород, то, уверяю Вас, в моей пустеющей от скуки голове нет решительно никаких мотивов. Впрочем, есть только два мотива: 1) не залезть в долги и 2) дождаться скорее весны и удрать куда-нибудь из Москвы, чтобы ничего не делать. Других мотивов, задач и желаний у меня нет.
In November I shall go to Petersburg. My warm greetings to all your household. Be well, and may Allah send golden dreams to your pillow!
В ноябре поеду в Питер. Всем Вашим мой сердечный привет. Будьте здоровы, и да пошлет аллах к Вашему изголовью золотые сны!
Devotedly yours,
Душевно преданный
Lidia Fyodorovna is a most kind-hearted person. Two words about your pianist: if he applies himself to business while in Petersburg, good will come of him. My prophetic sense has never once deceived me, neither in life nor in my medical practice. In an hour I am off on my rounds. It is cold.
Лидия Федоровна предобрейший человек. Два слова о Вашем пианисте: если он в Питере займется делом, то из него выйдет большой толк. Мое пророческое чувство меня не обманывало никогда, ни в жизни, ни в моей медицинской практике. Через час еду на практику. Холодно.

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