July 15: Anton Chekhov Memorial Day
On July 15, 1904, in the German spa town of Badenweiler, where Anton Chekhov had come to be treated for tuberculosis, the classic Russian writer died. That night, for the first time in his life, he ordered a doctor, asked for champagne, and said in German and Russian, "Ich sterbe. I'm dying." He calmly drank the glass to the bottom, lay down, closed his eyes, and never woke up.
A writer should write a lot, but should not rush.
The classic, whose works have been translated into hundreds of languages, the author of Three Sisters, The Cherry Orchard and The Seagull, which are still successfully performed in various countries, was 44.
I think that if I were to live another 40 years and read, read, and read during those forty years and learn to write with talent, that is, briefly, then in 40 years I would fire at all of you from such a big cannon that the heavens would tremble.
Childhood in Taganrog
Chekhov was born in 1860 in Taganrog. He was the third of six children of a grocery store owner. His grandfather, a serf of the sugar manufacturer Chertkov, bought his own freedom for himself and his family. His father was a tough man, known for using his fists with or without provocation: "I had no childhood as a child." He would rise at five in the morning, sing in the church choir, and after school, he and his brother guarded their father's store.
Write to me. I'm glad to read your letters, even though you're not a genius. God, how hard it is to have mediocre brothers!
(to brother Alexander)
Medicine and literature
He began writing in high school, under the pseudonym "Chekhonte." He was 16 when his father went bankrupt, forcing him to earn a living by giving private lessons. In 1879, he entered the medical faculty of Moscow University, and after graduating, he worked as a district doctor. He joked that medicine was his wife, literature his mistress: "When I get tired of one, I spend the night with the other."
Of all the Serpukhov doctors, I am the most pitiful; my horses and carriage are lousy, I don’t know the roads, I can’t see anything in the evenings, I have no money, I get tired very quickly, and most importantly, I can’t forget that I have to write
Glory and dispute with Suvorin
In the mid-1880s, he achieved fame as a "miniaturist writer": his stories, one a day at a time, were widely published in newspapers and magazines. Publisher Alexander Suvorin scolded him for wasting his talent on "trifles": "Better starve... save your impressions for thoughtful work!" Chekhov countered:
Besides an abundance of material and talent <> you need maturity - that's one; secondly, you need a sense of personal freedom, and this feeling has only recently begun to flare up in me
Travel to Sakhalin
In the late 1880s, he began traveling. He brought back "The Steppe" from a trip to the Azov region. After the death of one of his brothers, he decided to go to Sakhalin.
I want to erase a year or a year and a half from my life
He set out in the spring of 1890. During his 82-day journey across Siberia, he wrote nine essays. During his several months on the island, he conducted a complete census of the local population: convicts, exiles, and free citizens (filling out 10,000 personal cards). Five years later, the collected material became the book "Sakhalin Island," which has been called "an artistic document of the era."
All newly built Sakhalin settlements give the same impression of being destroyed by the enemy or long abandoned villages, and only by the fresh, clear color of the log houses and shavings can it be seen that a process is taking place here that is just the opposite of destruction.
If there's a pig, it's with a shackle around its neck. The rooster is also tied by the leg. "Why are your dog and rooster tied?" I ask the owner. "On Sakhalin, everything is chained," he jokes in response.
Cholera and voluntary work as a doctor
In 1891–1892, at the height of the cholera epidemic, he abandoned his income-generating literature and went to the countryside to treat peasants.
My soul is tired <> Not to belong to myself, to think only about diarrhea, to shudder at night from the barking of dogs and knocking at the gate (have they come for me?), to ride disgusting horses on unknown roads and read only about cholera and wait only for cholera <> When you learn from the newspapers that cholera is already over, it means that I have already taken up writing again
Illness and death
He himself had poor health since childhood, often suffering from bronchitis. The first signs of tuberculosis appeared at 24. He hid it from his family for ten years. After a trip to Sakhalin, he felt his heart stop intermittently. According to one theory, a stroke may have been the cause of his death.
It's good where we are not: in the past we are no longer there, and it seems wonderful
