If I had been by Prince Andrey I should have saved him. It is strange to
read that the wound of a prince, a rich man spending his days and nights
with a doctor and being nursed by Natasha and Sonya, should have smelt like
a corpse. What a scurvy affair medicine was in those days! Tolstoy could
not help getting soaked through with hatred for medicine while he was
writing his thick novel....
MOSCOW,
November 18, 1891.
... I have read your letter about the influenza and Solovyov. I was
unexpectedly aware of a dash of cruelty in it. The phrase “I hate” does not
suit you at all; and a public confession “I am a sinner, a sinner, a
sinner,” is such pride that it made me feel uncomfortable. When the pope
took the title “holiness,” the head of the Eastern church, in pique, called
himself “The servant of God’s servants.” So you publicly expatiate on your
sinfulness from pique of Solovyov, who has the impudence to call himself
orthodox. But does a word like orthodoxy, Judaism, or Catholicism contain
any implication of exceptional personal merit or virtue? To my thinking
everybody is bound to call himself orthodox if he has that word inscribed
on his passport. Whether you believe or not, whether you are a prince of
this world or an exile in penal servitude, you are, for practical purposes,
orthodox. And Solovyov made no sort of pretension when he said he was no
Jew or Chaldean but orthodox....
I still feel dull, blighted, foolish, and indifferent, and I am still
sneezing and coughing, and I am beginning to think I shall not get back to
my former health. But that’s all in God’s hands. Medical treatment and
anxiety about one’s physical existence arouse in me a feeling not far from
loathing. I am not going to be doctored. I will take water and quinine, but
I am not going to let myself be sounded....
I had only just finished this letter when I received yours. You say that if
I go into the wilds I shall be quite cut off from you. But I am going to
live in the country in order to be nearer Petersburg. If I have no flat in
Moscow you must understand, my dear sir, I shall spend November, December,
and January in Petersburg: that will be possible then. I shall be able to
be idle all the summer too; I shall look out for a house in the country for
you, but you are wrong in disliking Little Russians, they are not children
or actors in the province of Poltava, but genuine people, and cheerful and
well-fed into the bargain.
Do you know what relieves my cough? When I am working I sprinkle the edge
of the table with turpentine with a sprayer and inhale its vapour. When I
go to bed I spray my little table and other objects near me. The fine drops
evaporate sooner than the liquid itself. And the smell of turpentine is
pleasant. I drink Obersalzbrunnen, avoid hot things, talk little, and blame
myself for smoking so much. I repeat, dress as warmly as possible, even at
home. Avoid draughts at the theatre. Treat yourself like a hothouse plant
or you will not soon be rid of your cough. If you want to try turpentine,
buy the French kind. Take quinine once a day, and be careful to avoid
constipation. Influenza has completely taken away from me any desire to
drink spirituous liquors. They are disgusting to my taste. I don’t drink my
two glasses at night, and so it is a long time before I can get to sleep. I
want to take ether.
I await your story. In the summer let us each write a play. Yes, by God!
why the devil should we waste our time....