Letters of Anton Chekhov (Tchekhov) - Penn State University

Anton ChekhovI would gladly have spent six months over the “Party”; I like takingthings easy, and see no attraction in publishing at headlong speed. Iwould willingly, with pleasure, with feeling, in a leisurely way, describethe whole of my hero, describe the state of his mind while hiswife was in labour, his trial, the horrid feeling he has after he isacquitted; I would describe the midwife and the doctors having teain the middle of the night, I would describe the rain …. It wouldgive me nothing but pleasure because I like to rummage about anddawdle. But what am I to do? I begin a story on September 10thwith the thought that I must finish it by October 5th at the latest; ifI don’t I shall fail the editor and be left without money. I let myselfgo at the beginning and write with an easy mind; but by the time Iget to the middle I begin to grow timid and to fear that my storywill be too long: I have to remember that the Syeverny Vyestnik hasnot much money, and that I am one of their expensive contributors.This is why the beginning of my stories is always very promisingand looks as though I were starting on a novel, the middle is huddledand timid, and the end is, as in a short sketch, like fireworks. Andso in planning a story one is bound to think first about its framework:from a crowd of leading or subordinate characters one selectsone person only—wife or husband; one puts him on the canvas andpaints him alone, making him prominent, while the others one scattersover the canvas like small coin, and the result is something likethe vault of heaven: one big moon and a number of very small starsaround it. But the moon is not a success because it can only beunderstood if the stars too are intelligible, and the stars are not workedout. And so what I produce is not literature, but something like thepatching of Trishka’s coat. What am I to do? I don’t know, I don’tknow. I must trust to time which heals all things.To tell the truth again, I have not yet begun my literary work,though I have received a literary prize. Subjects for five stories andtwo novels are languishing in my head. One of the novels was thoughtof long ago, and some of the characters have grown old withoutmanaging to be written. In my head there is a whole army of peopleasking to be let out and waiting for the word of command. All thatI have written so far is rubbish in comparison with what I shouldlike to write and should write with rapture. It is all the same to me93