Letter · 1891

To A. S. Suvorin, 29 July 1891. Bogimovo.

А. С. СУВОРИНУ, 29 июля 1891 г. Богимово.

Headnote

A short, chatty letter of 29 July 1891 from Bogimovo, the Kaluga province estate where the Chekhov family was summering to Aleksei Sergeyevich Suvorin, publisher of Novoye Vremya: dateline, a one-line repeated dateline, a report on money owed to the bookshop and progress against his debt to the newspaper, thanks for tobacco received, a demurral about visiting Crimea and a wry aside on household duty as "necessity," a one-line note on his father’s health, a jab at a schoolmaster named Vinogradov, a reflection on the turn to autumn and a boyhood memory of catching songbirds, a joke about his own books being absent from Suvorin’s shop, a closing interrupted by a patient’s arrival, and signature.

Chekhov reports a small windfall from his bookseller that will let him pay Suvorin most of what he owes, and jokes that he’s fighting his newspaper debt with a long story nearly finished. He thanks Suvorin for tobacco, then declines – for now – to travel to Crimea, citing domestic business at Bogimovo and professing to love only fishing for crucian carp and eating porridge outdoors among his household duties. A one-line report notes his father Pavel Yegorovich suffered a mild apoplectic fit at dinner. He then vents at a schoolmaster, Vinogradov, over some incident of officious "perspicacity" Suvorin had apparently written to him about, promising details in person. The weather turning after Elijah’s day (2 August O.S., a traditional Russian folk-calendar marker for the first chill of late summer) prompts a lyrical passage on his love of the Russian autumn and a nostalgic memory of selling caught songbirds at market as a boy. A joking remark that his own books are entirely absent from Suvorin’s shop closes the literary business, and the letter ends abruptly with a sick patient being brought to him by cart, regards to the Suvorin household, and signature.

29 July 1891. Bogimovo.
29 июля 1891 г. Богимово.
29 July.
29 июль.
Well, thank God! Today I got word from the bookshop that I have 690 rubles 6 kopecks coming to me. I wrote back asking them to send 500 to you in Feodosia, and the remaining 190 to me. So that means I now owe you only 170. That’s a comfort. Progress, all the same. Against my debt on the newspaper’s account I’m arming myself with an enormous story, which I’ll finish and send any day now. I expect it will knock some 300 rubles off the debt, and I’ll get as much again for myself. Phew!
Ну, слава богу! Сегодня получил из книжного магазина уведомление, что мне приходится получить 690 руб. 6 коп. Написал в ответ, чтобы Вам в Феодосию выслали 500, а мне остальные 190. Итак, значит, я остаюсь Вам должен только 170. Это утешительно. Всё-таки прогресс. Против долга по газете я вооружаюсь громадным рассказом, который на днях кончу и пришлю. Должно быть, из долга выкину рублей 300 и сам получу столько же. Уф!
Got the tobacco. Thank you.
Табак получил. Спасибо.
As for coming to you – alas! – I’ll hardly manage it, and if I do come, it won’t be as soon as I’d like. I have to get the household affairs in order. Of all household affairs the only ones I love are catching crucian carp and eating porridge in the open air; the rest I despise, but what’s to be done! Necessity is the law. Even the Romans used to say – lex necessitatis, that is, the law of necessity.
К Вам – увы! – едва ли приеду, а если приеду, то не так скоро, как хочу. Надо дела домашние устраивать. Из всех домашних дел я люблю только ловлю карасей и кашу на чистом воздухе, остальное же презираю, но что делать! Необходимость – закон. Даже римляне говорили – lex necessitatis, т. е. закон необходимости.
Recently, at dinner, Father had a slight apoplectic fit.
Недавно за обедом у отца был легкий апоплексический приступ.
Ah, Vinogradov! Great pedagogues like that ought to be flogged, and instead they’re made headmasters. If I come to Feodosia, I’ll tell you a thing or two about the perspicacity of his that you write about.
Ах, Виноградов! Таких великих педагогов сечь нужно, а их директорами делают. Если приеду в Феодосию, то расскажу Вам кое-что про его проницательность, о которой Вы пишете.
After Elijah’s day it’s turned cold. It smells of autumn. And I love the Russian autumn. Something extraordinarily sad, welcoming, and beautiful about it. I’d like to just take off and fly away somewhere with the cranes. Once, as a boy, in autumn I used to catch songbirds and sell them at the market. What a pleasure that was! Better than selling books.
После Илии повеяло холодом. Пахнет осенью. А я люблю российскую осень. Что-то необыкновенно грустное, приветливое и красивое. Взял бы и улетел куда-нибудь вместе с журавлями. Когда-то в детстве я осенью лавливал певчих птиц и продавал их на базаре. Что это за наслаждение! Это лучше, чем книги продавать.
Your bookshop has been orphaned. It turns out there isn’t a single book of mine in it. Chekhov, in a word, has degenerated, as the enclosed excerpt from the birth register duly attests.
Ваш книжный магазин осиротел. Оказывается, что в нем нет ни одной моей книжки. Чехов, одним словом, выродился, о чем и свидетельствует предлагаемая при сем метрическая выпись.
They’ve brought a sick woman in on a cart. I’m off. Keep well. My regards to Anna Ivanovna, Nastyusha, and Barbaris.
Привезли на повозке больную. Иду. Будьте здоровы. Поклон Анне Ивановне, Настюше и Барбарису.
Your A. Chekhov.

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To A. S. Suvorin, 29 July 1891. Bogimovo.

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