Letters of Anton Chekhov (Tchekhov) - Penn State University

Anton Chekhovforget that I ought to be writing, and I long to spit on the choleraand sit down and write to you, and I long to talk to you. I am inabsolute loneliness.Our farming labours have been crowned with complete success.The harvest is considerable, and when we sell the corn Melihovowill bring us more than a thousand roubles. The kitchen garden ismagnificent. There are perfect mountains of cucumbers and thecabbage is wonderful. If it were not for the accursed cholera I mightsay that I have never spent a summer so happily as this one.Nothing has been heard of cholera riots yet. There is talk ofsome arrests, some manifestoes, and so on. They say that A., thewriter, has been condemned to fifteen years’ penal servitude. Ifthe socialists are really going to exploit the cholera for their ownends I shall despise them. Revolting means for good ends makethe ends themselves revolting. Let them get a lift on the backs ofthe doctors and feldshers, but why lie to the peasants? Why persuadethem that they are right in their ignorance and that theircoarse prejudices are the holy truth? If I were a politician I couldnever bring myself to disgrace my present for the sake of the future,even though I were promised tons of felicity for an ounce ofmean lying. Write to me as often as possible in consideration ofmy exceptional position. I cannot be in a good mood now, andyour letters snatch me away from cholera concerns, and carry mefor a brief space to another world ….307