You reproach me for my objectivity, [he wrote to Suvorin, 1 April 1890] calling it indifference to good and evil, absence of ideals and ideas, etc. You want me to say, when I depict horsethieves: horse-stealing is a bad thing. But that's been known for a long time, without my help, hasn't it? Let juries pass verdicts on horse-thieves; as for me, my work is only to show them as they are.
The year before77ze
Secure in his reputation and income at the age of thirty, Chekhov made the surprising move of travelling ten thousand miles to Sakhalin, the Russian Devil's Island, in 1890; the journey alone was arduous, for the Trans- Siberian Railway had not yet been built. The enterprise may have been inspired by a Tolstoy-influenced desire to practice a new-found altruism. In any case, the ensuing documentary study of the penal colony was a model of impartial field research and may have led to prison reforms. On a more personal level, it intensified a new strain of pessimism in Chekhov's work, for, despite his disclaimers, he began to be bothered by his lack of outlook or mission. The death of his brother Nikolay and his own failing health led him to question the dearth of ideals or motives in his writing. ,4
The steady flow of royalties enabled Chekhov in 1891 to buy a farmstead at Melikhovo, some fifty miles south of Moscow, where he settled his parents and siblings. There he set about 'to squeeze the last drop of slave out of his system' (to Suvorin, 7 January 1899); 'a modern Cincin- natus,' he planted a cherry orchard and became a lavish host. This rustication had a beneficial effect on both his literary work and his humanitarianism. He threw himself into schemes for road-building, ameliorating peasant life, establishing schools and other improvements; during the cholera epidemic of 1892-93, he acted as an overworked member of the sanitary commission and head of the famine relief board. These experiences found their way into the character of Dr. Astrov in
The success of
Not until January 1894 did he announce that he had again begun a play, only to renounce it a year later: 'I am not writing a play and I don't feel like writing one. I've grown old and I've lost my spark. I'd rather like to write a novel a hundred miles long' (to V. V. Bilibin, 18 January 1895). A year and a half later he was to break the news, \ . . can you imagine, I'm writing a play. . . it gives me a certain pleasure, although I rebel dreadfully against the conventions of the stage. It's a comedy, three female roles, six male roles, a landscape (view of a lake); lots of talk about literature, little action, a ton of love' (to Suvorin, 21 October 1895).