Letters of Anton Chekhov (Tchekhov) - Penn State University

Letters of Anton Chekhov to His Family and Friends with biographical sketchI am writing all this to you in order to excuse this grievous sin alittle before you. Hitherto my attitude to my literary work has beenfrivolous, heedless, casual. I don’t remember a single story over whichI have spent more than twenty-four hours, and “The Huntsman,”which you liked, I wrote in the bathing-shed! I wrote my stories asreporters write their notes about fires, mechanically, half-unconsciously,taking no thought of the reader or myself …. I wrote anddid all I could not to waste upon the story the scenes and imagesdear to me which—God knows why—I have treasured and keptcarefully hidden.The first impulse to self-criticism was given me by a very kindand, to the best of my belief, sincere letter from Suvorin. I began tothink of writing something decent, but I still had no faith in mybeing any good as a writer. And then, unexpected and undreamedof, came your letter. Forgive the comparison: it had on me the effectof a Governor’s order to clear out of the town within twenty-fourhours—i.e., I suddenly felt an imperative need to hurry, to makehaste and get out of where I have stuck ….I agree with you in everything. When I saw “The Witch” in printI felt myself the cynicism of the points to which you call my attention.They would not have been there had I written this story inthree or four days instead of in one.I shall put an end to working against time, but cannot do so justyet …. It is impossible to get out of the rut I have got into. I havenothing against going hungry, as I have done in the past, but it isnot a question of myself …. I give to literature my spare time, twoor three hours a day and a bit of the night, that is, time which is ofno use except for short things. In the summer, when I have moretime and have fewer expenses, I will start on some serious work.I cannot put my real name on the book because it is too late: thedesign for the cover is ready and the book printed.* Many of myPetersburg friends advised me, even before you did, not to spoil thebook by a pseudonym, but I did not listen to them, probably out ofvanity. I dislike my book very much. It’s a hotch-potch, a disorderlymedley of the poor stuff I wrote as a student, plucked by the censorand by the editors of comic papers. I am sure that many people willbe disappointed when they read it. Had I known that I had readers38