Letter · 1889

To A. S. Suvorin, May 1889. Sumy.

А. С. СУВОРИНУ, Начало мая 1889 г. Сумы.

Headnote

1 Written in early May 1889 from Sumy, where Chekhov had settled for the summer at the Lintvaryova family estate on the Psel river, to his close friend and patron Alexei Suvorin. It is a relaxed, discursive vacation letter mixing nature description, a sharp literary judgment on Goncharov’s "Oblomov" set against praise of Gogol, family and household gossip, and a joking, mock-formal sign-off under an invented persona.

2 After the double dateline (1-2), Chekhov opens with an exclamatory description of the sudden spring at Sumy – birdsong, warm weather, blossoming orchards (3). He complains, in a joking register, that "Stiva" has forgotten to send the boats, leaving him to walk the riverbank and envy the local fishermen, and describes his regular country routine of early hours, heavy eating, reading, and writing, alongside a passing note that "the painter" is ill and in a bad way (4). This leads into the letter’s longest and most substantive passage: a sudden, considered demolition of Goncharov’s reputation and his novel "Oblomov" – the title character dismissed as an overdrawn, insubstantial nonentity unworthy of elevation to a social type, the supporting cast (Stolz, Olga) called half-invented and stilted, and the whole book faulted for a pervasive coldness – ending with Chekhov formally striking Goncharov from his personal list of "demigods" (4). By contrast, praises Gogol’s "The Carriage" extravagantly and offers brisk, specific judgments on the best and worst acts of "The Government Inspector" and "Marriage." turns to travel daydreaming – Chekhov imagines joining Suvorin at Biarritz if not for the painter’s illness, and promises a European trip the following year once his novel is finished and money can be found. is a piece of literary-market business: Suvorin’s bookcase at the Sumy station is out of stock of Chekhov’s own books, and a resupply is requested.-9 are two one-line items: nocturnal howling dogs, and progress on the play "The Wood Demon." The letter closes with family regards to Suvorin’s wife and children and a stray remark about a dream (10), a mock-pious blessing (11), and a comic false signature (12).

4 No corruption or editorial gap markers appear in the source. The document reads as a single, internally coherent letter throughout – dateline, body, closing greetings, and signature in the expected sequence – with no sign of archival concatenation with unrelated back-matter.

Early May 1889. Sumy.
Начало мая 1889 г. Сумы.
Sumy, the Lintvaryova estate.
I can’t believe my eyes. Not long ago it was snow and cold, and now I sit by an open window and listen to the nightingales, hoopoes, orioles, and other creatures crying without let-up in the green garden. The Psel is majestically gentle, the colors of sky and distance are warm. The apple and cherry trees are in bloom. Geese walk about with their goslings. In a word, spring in full regalia.
Я глазам не верю. Недавно были снег и холод, а теперь я сижу у открытого окна и слушаю, как в зеленом саду, не смолкая, кричат соловьи, удоды, иволги и прочие твари. Псел величественно ласков, тоны неба и дали теплы. Цветут яблони и вишни. Ходят гуси с гусенятами. Одним словом, весна со всеми онерами.
Stiva hasn’t sent the boats, so there’s nothing to go boating in. The household’s boats are somewhere in the woods at the forester’s. So I confine myself to walking along the bank and feeling a sharp envy of the fishermen darting about the Psel in their skiffs. I rise early, go to bed early, eat a great deal, write, and read. The painter coughs and rages. His affairs are in a bad way.– For want of new books I go back over old ground, rereading what I’ve already read. Among other things, I’m reading Goncharov, and I’m amazed. Amazed at myself: why did I consider Goncharov a first-rate writer until now? His "Oblomov" is really quite a poor thing. Ilya Ilyich himself, an overdrawn figure, isn’t substantial enough to justify a whole book being written about him. A flabby sluggard of a kind there are plenty of, an uncomplicated, ordinary, petty nature; to elevate this personage into a social type is a tribute paid beyond his rank. I ask myself: if Oblomov weren’t a sluggard, what would he be? And I answer: nothing. And if that’s so, then let him go on snoozing. The other characters are petty, they smell of Leikin’s sort of writing, taken up carelessly and half invented. They don’t characterize the era and give nothing new. Stolz inspires no confidence in me at all. The author says he’s a splendid fellow, but I don’t believe it. He’s an artful rogue who thinks very well of himself and is pleased with himself. He’s half invented, three-quarters stilted. Olga is invented and dragged in by the tail. And the chief trouble is that the whole novel is cold, cold, cold... I strike Goncharov from the list of my demigods.
Стива не прислал лодок, не на чем кататься. Хозяйские лодки где-то в лесу у лесника. Ограничиваюсь поэтому только хождением по берегу и острою завистью к рыбалкам, которые снуют по Пслу на своих челноках. Встаю я рано, ложусь рано, ем много, пишу и читаю. Живописец кашляет и злится. Дела его швах.– За неимением новых книг повторяю зады, прочитываю то, что читал уже. Между прочим, читаю Гончарова и удивляюсь. Удивляюсь себе: за что я до сих пор считал Гончарова первоклассным писателем? Его "Обломов" совсем неважная штука. Сам Илья Ильич, утрированная фигура, не так уж крупен, чтобы из-за него стоило писать целую книгу. Обрюзглый лентяй, каких много, натура не сложная, дюжинная, мелкая; возводить сию персону в общественный тип – это дань не по чину. Я спрашиваю себя: если бы Обломов не был лентяем, то чем бы он был? И отвечаю: ничем. А коли так, то и пусть себе дрыхнет. Остальные лица мелкие, пахнут лейковщиной, взяты небрежно и наполовину сочинены. Эпохи они не характеризуют и нового ничего не дают. Штольц не внушает мне никакого доверия. Автор говорит, что это великолепный малый, а я не верю. Это продувная бестия, думающая о себе очень хорошо и собою довольная. Наполовину он сочинен, на три четверти ходулен. Ольга сочинена и притянута за хвост. А главная беда – во всем романе холод, холод, холод... Вычеркиваю Гончарова из списка моих полубогов.
Whereas how spontaneous, how powerful Gogol is, and what an artist! His "The Carriage" alone is worth two hundred thousand rubles. Sheer delight and nothing more. He’s the greatest Russian writer. In "The Government Inspector" the first act is the best done; in "Marriage" the third act is the worst of all. I’ll read them aloud to our people here.
Зато как непосредственен, как силен Гоголь и какой он художник! Одна его "Коляска" стоит двести тысяч рублей. Сплошной восторг и больше ничего. Это величайший русский писатель. В "Ревизоре" лучше всего сделан первый акт, в "Женитьбе" хуже всех III акт. Буду читать нашим вслух.
When are you leaving? With what pleasure I’d go now to Biarritz, say, where the band plays and there are plenty of women. If it weren’t for the painter, truly, I’d set off after you. The money would be found. I give my word that next year, should I remain alive and well, I shall without fail visit Europe. If only I could strip the management of some three thousand and finish the novel.
Когда Вы едете? С каким удовольствием я поехал бы теперь куда-нибудь в Биарриц, где играет музыка и где много женщин. Если бы не художник, то, право, я поехал бы Вам вдогонку. Деньги нашлись бы. Даю слово, что в будущем году, коли останусь жив и здрав, непременно побываю в Европе. Содрать бы мне только с дирекции тысячи три да кончить роман.
In your bookcase at the Sumy railway station there is neither "Twilight" nor "Stories," and hasn’t been for a long time. Yet in Sumy, meanwhile, I’m a fashionable literary man – I live close by. If Mikhail Alexeyevich would send fifty copies, they’d all be sold.
В Вашем книжном шкафу на Сумском вокзале нет ни "Сумерек", ни "Рассказов", и давно уже не было. А в Сумах, между тем, я модный литератор – живу близко. Если б Михаил Алексеевич прислал полсотни, то всё бы продано было.
At night the dogs howl dreadfully and won’t let one sleep.
По ночам ужасно воют собаки и не дают спать.
My "Wood Demon" is coming along nicely.
Мой "Леший" вытанцовывается.
My heartfelt regards to Anna Ivanovna, Nastya, and Borya. Last night I dreamed of Mlle Emilie. Why? I don’t know.
Анне Ивановне, Насте и Боре мой сердечный привет. В эту ночь мне снилась m-lle Эмили. Почему? Не знаю.
Be happy, and don’t forget me in your holy prayers.
Будьте счастливы и не забывайте меня в своих святых молитвах.

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To A. S. Suvorin, May 1889. Sumy.

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