Letter · 1889

To A. S. Suvorin, 7 December 1889. Moscow.

А. С. СУВОРИНУ, 7 декабря 1889 г. Москва.

Headnote

By December 1889 Chekhov was twenty-nine, exhausted, and in mourning: his brother Nikolai had died of tuberculosis that June, and the trip to Sakhalin that would consume most of 1890 was already taking shape in his mind. Aleksei Suvorin, the wealthy publisher of "Novoye Vremya" ("New Time"), was by now Chekhov’s chief correspondent, editor, occasional creditor, and closest thing to a confidant among the literary establishment; this letter shows the working texture of that relationship – manuscript editing, favors for third parties, family news, and health bulletins – in one characteristic sitting.

The letter opens on editorial business: Chekhov has just cut a manuscript by a writer named Ovsyannikov roughly in half for publication, overriding corrections made by Suvorin’s colleague Viktor Burenin, a "Novoye Vremya" critic. The story evidently dramatized the trial of a clerk (a copyist, "pisar’") who had been executed, with a character modeled on or invoking Leo Tolstoy ("graf Tolstoy," lit. "Count Tolstoy") arguing for clemency on grounds of the clerk’s supposed idiocy while the narration simultaneously makes him implausibly eloquent and pious – a contradiction Chekhov finds artistically dishonest and flags sharply. The specific manuscript and the "executed clerk" case have not been further identified for this edition; treat "Ovsyannikov" as an otherwise-unidentified contributor to Suvorin’s paper.

Chekhov declines a trip to Petersburg, citing a bad cough and fear of hemoptysis (coughing blood) – an early, guarded sign of the tuberculosis that would not be openly acknowledged for years and would eventually kill him; this is a notable early-symptom data point for the corpus. He passes on gossip about the physician Sergei Botkin’s suspected liver disease (Botkin, personal physician to the imperial family, was himself a renowned internist, which sharpens the irony of "Botkin’s heel" – his own diagnostic blind spot for his own body), and reports without much sentiment the death of the epidemiologist Andrei Dobroslavin from typhoid.

Two favors follow: Prince Aleksandr Sumbatov (the playwright and actor better known by his stage name Yuzhin) wants books about Macbeth, to be routed through Chekhov; and Chekhov recommends the journalist S. N. Filippov to Suvorin for work in Petersburg, with pointed, backhanded praise (a "good worker" who nonetheless shows up empty-handed and must be given made-up assignments) and a comparison to Suvorin’s existing feuilletonist Aleksandr Kurepin. "Tatyana Repina" is Suvorin’s own play.

The letter closes with an extended, wry account of Chekhov’s social life: a colleague’s bachelor party at which Chekhov served as best man ("shafer") to a ballerina bride, a meditation on his own indifference to ballet traceable to a university infatuation, and a visit to a former ballerina turned dramatic actress whose stance still betrays her training – described in unusually physical, almost clinical terms, down to a small diagram-in-words of her foot position ("a and b" as the toes). None of this is softened in translation; it is frank, appraising, and typical of the loose, gossipy register Chekhov used only with Suvorin. He signs off with a rare note of melancholy about turning thirty in January ("Здравствуй, одинокая старость" – "Welcome, lonely old age"), then sends greetings to Suvorin’s wife Anna Ivanovna, his daughter "Nastyusha" (Anastasia), a family friend or relative referred to as "Berka," and Suvorin’s son Aleksei Alekseyevich, teased about his annual pilgrimages to Palestine and his work on a "Stoglav" (a historical/ecclesiastical project; the title literally references the 16th-century "Stoglav" church council, used here loosely/jokingly for whatever Aleksei Alekseyevich the younger is working on).

7 Dec.
7 дек.
This morning I sent you Ovsyannikov’s manuscript; I cut out a little less than half of it. I felt very awkward striking out Burenin’s corrections, but I could not leave them in, since they concern the executed clerk, whom I reduced to a minimum in the proofs, for I consider that Ovsyannikov made him out very badly and very hypocritically. Burenin will agree with me if he reads the proofs. Ovsyannikov is simply foolish and injudicious. He strives to make his clerk think, reason, and feel as intelligently as possible, makes him fall in love with the gospel and nearly burst out in aphorisms – and at the same time, through the mouth of his hero – Count Tolstoy – tries to convince the court and the reader that this intelligent clerk is nothing other than an idiot, and that he ought to be pardoned only on account of this idiocy. Strange altogether.
Сегодня утром я послал Вам рукопись Овсянникова; я выкинул немножко меньше половины. Мне было очень неловко вычеркивать буренинские поправки, но я не мог оставить их, так как они касаются расстрелянного писаря, которого я в корректуре упразднил до minimum’a, ибо считаю, что он Овсянниковым сделан препогано и прелицемерно. Буренин согласится со мною, если прочтет корректуру. Овсянников просто глуп и нерасчетлив. Он старается, чтобы его писарь мыслил, рассуждал и чувствовал возможно умнее, заставляет его полюбить евангелие и выпаливать чуть ли не афоризмами – и в то же время, устами своего героя – графа Толстого, старается убедить суд и читателя, что этот умный писарь не что иное, как идиот, и что его нужно помиловать только ради этого идиотизма. Вообще странно.
I would gladly go to Petersburg, but... I have a most vicious cough, little money, and I need to write stories for the holiday issue. Money one can spit on, but with a cough one must be more careful, and riding in the train carriage always brings on my cough. I am afraid of hemoptysis, which has always frightened me.
В Петербург я поехал бы с удовольствием, но... у меня прежестокий кашель, мало денег и нужно писать к празднику рассказы. На деньги можно наплевать, но с кашлем нужно быть осторожнее, а езда в вагоне у меня всегда делает кашель. Боюсь кровохарканья, которое всегда меня пугало.
Botkin has stones in the liver. So, it seems, Botkin himself thinks, basing this, again apparently, on the pains he feels. The liver is a weak spot, it is Botkin’s heel. He has always been mistaken, and he is mistaken now. If it is true that in his approaching demise it is the liver above all that is implicated, then it is not the stones that are to blame, but cancer.
У Боткина камни в печени. Так, по-видимому, думает сам Боткин, основываясь, опять-таки, по-видимому, на болях, которые чувствует. Печень – это слабая сторона, это пятка Боткина. Он всегда ошибался, ошибается и теперь. Если правда, что в его скорой кончине прежде всего заинтересована печень, то виноваты не камни, а рак.
Dobroslavin is a pity. He died for nothing. Typhoid fever cut down one of its fiercest enemies.
Доброславина жалко. Зря умер. Брюшной тиф зарезал одного из злейших врагов своих.
Prince Sumbatov earnestly asks that you send those books in which there is anything at all about "Macbeth." He promises to return them in good order and swears by the shades of his Armenian forefathers. Send them to me, and I will forward them to him. I shall thus be a noble witness.
Князь Сумбатов убедительно просит выслать те книги, в которых есть хотя что-нибудь про "Макбета". Обещает возвратить в исправности и клянется тенями своих армянских предков. Высылайте мне, а я пошлю ему. Я буду, таким образом, благородным свидетелем.
On Monday or Tuesday, at half past three in the afternoon, the Moscow journalist S. N. Filippov will call on you – the very one who once wrote to you about "Tatyana Repina" and to whom you sent a copy of your play and a letter. He is going to Petersburg to look for work and earnestly asked me to recommend him to you. I know him only as a theatrical reviewer, chiefly a fault-finder, and as the author of the book "Through the Crimea." He worked on the "Russian Courier," he works on the "Russian Gazette." As for his ideas and the rest I know nothing, but as regards style, sprightliness, the knack of putting an ordinary word in quotation marks and showing a fig in one’s pocket to a powerful man at the very time when that man has already been put in prison, in this respect he could give Kurepin twenty points’ start. He is a good worker, or at least may prove to be one, but unfortunately he will come to you not with work already in hand, but with a request for work. That is, you will have to invent work for him. He is fit for assignments abroad. For a feuilleton of Moscow life, and for a feuilleton in general, he is unsuited, since, firstly, you already have Kurepin, and secondly, he is still too young to settle into such easy bread as a feuilleton about this and that, with ordinary words in quotation marks. Find him some sort of "hard labor," so that he sweats some five times over it – that will be the best thing for him. His brother is a professor at Moscow University. It appears that a good deal might come of the journalist too, if he managed to pass through a good school. He places great hopes on "Novoye Vremya," and it seems he is going to Petersburg only for the sake of "Novoye Vremya."
В понедельник или во вторник, в 3 Ґ часа пополудни, пожалует к Вам московский журналист С. Н. Филиппов, тот самый, который когда-то писал Вам насчет "Татьяны Репиной" и которому Вы послали экземпляр Вашей пьесы и письмо. Он едет в Петербург искать работы и убедительно просил меня рекомендовать его Вам. Я знаю его только как театрального рецензента, по преимуществу ругателя, и как автора книги "По Крыму". Работал он в "Русском курьере", работает в "Русских ведомостях". Насчет его идей и прочего я ничего не знаю, что же касается слога, бойкости, уменья обыкновенное слово поставить в кавычки и показать кукиш в кармане сильному человеку в то время, когда тот посажен уж в тюрьму, то в этом отношении он может дать Курепину 20 очков вперед. Он хороший работник, по крайней мере, может быть таковым, но, к сожалению, он явится к Вам не с готовою работою, а с просьбою о работе. Т. е. Вы должны будете сочинить для него работу. Он годен для командировок. Для фельетона московской жизни и вообще для фельетона он неудобен, ибо, во-1-х, у Вас есть уже Курепин, и, во-2-х, он слишком еще молод, чтобы садиться на такие легкие хлеба, как фельетон о том, о сем, с обыкновенными словами в кавычках. Найдите ему какую-нибудь "каторжную работу", чтоб он раз пять вспотел – это для него будет самое лучшее. Брат его – профессор Москов универ. По-видимому, и из журналиста вышел бы большой толк, если бы ему удалось побывать в хорошей школе. На "Новое время" он возлагает большие надежды и, кажется, едет в Петербург только ради "Нового времени".
What is Alexei Alexeyevich doing? How is his "Stoglav" coming along? Convey to him my deep, sincere gratitude for the little cask of wine. The wine is splendid. I have not received or drunk this wine, but I can judge of its merits from a letter I received back in the summer from A. A. In general one may envy you: your sons show great promise. Subtle people! If I were not on good terms with you, I would long ago have locked them up in prison. Influenza is playing the devil with me. My mother, my sister, the cook, and the maid have fallen ill. I am ill, but that did not keep me from being yesterday at the bachelor party of a certain doctor who is marrying a ballerina. At the ballerina’s I was best man. It is dull for me to look at her, since I understand nothing of ballet and know only that in the intermissions ballerinas smell the way horses do. When I was in my second year at the university, I fell in love with a ballerina and used to attend the ballet. Later I came to know dramatic actresses who had gone over from ballet into drama. Yesterday, before the bachelor party, I paid a visit to one such actress. She now despises the ballet and looks down on it, but all the same she cannot rid herself of balletic movements of the body. The soles of her feet, when she stands, are always held in such a relation to one another (a and b being the toes) that it does not seem unsightly.
Что поделывает Алексей Алексеевич? Как идет его "Стоглав"? Передайте ему мою глубокую, искреннюю благодарность за бочонок вина. Вино великолепно. Я этого вина не получал и не пил, но о достоинствах его могу судить по письму, полученному мною еще летом от А А. Вообще Вам можно позавидовать: Ваши сыновья подают большие надежды. Тонкие люди! Если бы я не был с Вами в хороших отношениях, то давно бы уж упрятал их в тюрьму. Инфлуэнца делает у меня чёрт знает что. Заболели мать, сестра, кухарка и горничная. Я болен, по это не помешало мне быть вчера на мальчишнике у одного доктора, который женится на балерине. У балерины я шафером. Мне скучно на нее смотреть, так как я в балете ничего не понимаю и знаю только, что в антрактах от балерин пахнет, как от лошадей. Когда я был во 2-м курсе, то влюбился в балерину и посещал балет. Потом я знавал драматических актрис, перешедших из балета в драму. Вчера перед мальчишником я был с визитом у одной такой актрисы. Балет она теперь презирает и смотрит на него свысока, но все-таки не может отделаться от балетных телодвижений. Ступни ее ног, когда она стоит, находятся всегда в таком отношении (а и b – это носки), что не кажется безобразным.
In January I turn 30... Welcome, lonely old age, burn yourself out, useless life! To Anna Ivanovna, Nastyusha, and Berka my heartfelt greetings. To Alexei Alexeyevich as well... Why does he go every year to Palestine? Does he wish to become the Patriarch of Jerusalem?
В январе мне стукнет 30 лет... Здравствуй, одинокая старость, догорай, бесполезная жизнь! Анне Ивановне, Настюше и Берке сердечный привет. Алексею Алексеевичу тоже... Зачем он ежегодно катается в Палестину? Не хочет ли он стать Иерусалимским патриархом?

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To A. S. Suvorin, 7 December 1889. Moscow.

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