Anton Tchekhov 1890

We don't wish to disturb your party.

Thank you.

We're looking for the writer Antosha Chekhonte.

These Africans are my five brothers.

You must discover which of us is Antosha.

lt's you.

l'm the eldest.

The most intelligent and most reliable.

l write.

But what l write is mediocre and pompous.

Antosha drives us insane with envy.

He's a genius.

With a golden quill!

That's enough!

l am Antosha.

You?

We came from Petersburg to meet you in the flesh.

Could we go somewhere quiet?

What we have to tell you is of the highest importance.

ln that case, let us go into my study.

Please sit down.

l came across a short story of yours in a literary review.

l was stupefied by its originality.

l have since read all your work.

l informed Suvorin,

Russian's top publisher

and editor of New Times.

l have such love for literature

that l owe it to myself to shake your hand.

My name is Grigorovich.

Sir, you have true talent, placing you at the forefront of your generation.

Just a second...

Excuse me, but are you Dmitry Grigorovich?

Who wrote The Village?

Yes.

And you...

You're the famous Suvorin.

lt's my brother you've come to see.

Antosha, come here! This is too serious.

Please excuse this bad joke.

Allow me to introduce my brother...

Antosha Chekhonte!

l've never worked longer than a day on any of my stories.

When we discuss my work,

everyone here advises me not to give up medicine.

lt would be a serious mistake not to exercise your talent.

l write to make a bit of money.

To support my family.

l'm a doctor too.

lt's hard to do both at once.

What are you writing right now?

A boy and girl are playing in the snow,

huddled together on a sledge.

On each ride,

when the girl is scared the boy whispers to her,

''l love you, Nadenka.''

When they've finished,

the girl doesn't know if she dreamt it or if the boy really said it.

l write as one eats a pancake.

l put pen to paper. When l lift it off, it's finished.

Henceforth, you should proof-read.

And heed my advice.

l will publish any short stories you entrust to me,

and pay 1 5 kopeks per line.

Fifteen?

Make the stories as long as you like.

My newspapers set a maximum of 1 20 lines.

A thousand lines, two thousand... Why not a novel?

Write about poverty.

The suicide of a young peasant, for example.

Or about your own youth.

l would ask you...

to take your time.

You will reach great heights.

Why ''Chekhonte''?

Sign with your own name!

Anton Chekhov. lt's a fine name.

Very well.

Send your writings to Suvorin in Petersburg.

Our Father, which art in heaven

Hallowed be Thy name...

Papa!

You promised not to shout your prayers!

lf l don't sing out loud, l can't do it.

Show Father some respect, Alexander.

He disapproves of my private life.

He's against smoking and cohabitation. You can't change him.

How much did Suvorin offer?

1 5 kopeks per line.

No limit to the number of pages.

My little brother!

We have to feed Papa and Mama.

You have huge talent, Antosha. You're a phenomenon!

l didn't need Grigorovich to tell me.

Don't be venal.

Get away from here.

Papa is gnawing at your heart, like a rat at a candle.

Mama thinks she loves you.

She's destroying you.

lt's making you cheerless, unpleasant.

You're making fun of me.

No, l'm not.

Antosha.

l'm going to bed.

lvan, Micha, to bed!

lsaac.

Where are you sleeping?

ln the corridor.

When will you be doing a dissection, Doctor?

l love it when you chop up corpses.

The dead know no shame.

But they don't half stink!

How can you be interested in science

when it's so intoxicating to write or paint?

This is the century of medicine.

We now know how tuberculosis is transmitted.

One day we'll be able to cure it.

Really, little brother?

Yes, l promise you.

- When will you come to Petersburg? - Let him write!

Masha.

Yes?

l haven't had a kiss.

Come here.

No, you!

Do you promise to paint until l come again?

Take time to do so.

Don't let your brother's work take over.

He's selfish. Talented, it's true, but dangerous!

See you soon, brothers.

And you, lsaac.

Goodbye, Antosha.

ls that you, Mama?

Yes.

Come in.

Sorry to bother you, Antosha. Lunch is ready.

What have you made?

Not much.

Soup.

Hello.

My name is Lika. l'm passionate about literature.

- Welcome to my class. - Thank you.

Thank you.

Have a seat.

Hello.

My daughter's very sick.

l'll see her right away.

Hello, Doctor.

Breathe in.

l approached your sister because of my interest...

in you.

l read some of your short stories.

l love them.

l was in love with you before we even met.

Love doesn't interest me.

lt's a trap which uses up all one's energy.

That isn't true.

Love gives you wings.

lt gives you talent.

lt stops you ageing, going rusty...

lt makes you immortal.

ln bad novels, perhaps. Not in real life.

l can philosophise about love, but l am incapable of it.

l'll come and see you again soon.

l forbid it.

You smell of mothballs. lt's not unpleasant.

- l've recopied your new stories. - They'll bring in some money.

Written at one sitting!

Do you like them?

Amusing. The peasant who insults his beloved.

Yes. And the other one?

Sleepy-Eyed? lt's terrifying!

She kills the baby.

You're cruel.

Her life is cruel. And unjust.

This is Chekhov, not Chekhonte.

Thank you.

l planned a novel but it's just a longer short story.

A more polished style?

For 1 5 kopeks per line!

Post it to Suvorin.

The title?

The Steppe.

Early memories,

nature writing,

childhood tragedy, loneliness,

immensity of the future...

Let's see...

lt's too heavy. Leave it.

We can walk. lt's not far, Doctor.

An hour earlier and l could have saved her.

lt's terrifying, being a doctor.

Goodbye, Doctor. Thank you.

Goodbye, Elena.

What do you want from me?

Why are you hounding me?

''Hounding''! That's the word.

Why me, when you're surrounded by men?

l could love no man as l love you.

Lika,