Writer who saw himself more as a doctor
 A century ago, on 2 July 1904, Anton Pavlovitch Chekhov died from tuberculosis in the south German spa of Badenweiler. He had suffered from the disease for nearly 20 years.
Chekhov came of lowly stock, being the third son of a country shopkeeper
and the grandson of a serf. He was born in 1860 in the port of Taganrog,
and spent a rather miserable childhood in the remote provinces of Russia.
However, he managed to study medicine at Moscow University and qualified
in June 1884.
Despite persistent ill-health Anton succeeded in supporting his family
by the dual practice of medicine and writing. Despite his times and background
he was a generous man, keeping himself much to himself but freely treating
the local peasants for their everyday ailments, particularly during times
of famine and cholera epidemics.
When he acquired a rural estate in Melikhovo he planted trees, helped
to build schools, and provided books for the local library.
He had far-reaching interests. In 1890 he ventured on a hazardous journey
across Siberia to Sakhalin, where he undertook a survey of some 10,000
convicts and settlers and their diseases. He also did some travelling
in western Europe, in France and Italy in particular.
However, after suffering a massive lung haemorrhage in 1897 Chekhov retreated
to Yalta, and occasionally Nice, marrying the actress Olga Knipper in
1901.
Chekhov regarded himself as a doctor rather than a writer. His full-length
plays ‘The wood demon’ (1889) and ‘The seagull’ (1896)
were failures initially. On the other hand, his ‘Uncle Vanya’ (1897), ‘The
three sisters’ (1901) and ‘The cherry orchard’ (1904)
brought loud acclaim. His short stories show his belief that worldly
success is achieved only at the cost of loss of spiritual essence, and
his heroes are struggling people, eventually overcome by malign forces.
He presents a picture of middle-class life and peasant violence attributable
to vodka, intoxication, where violent husbands beat their wives and daughters
without mercy. Nevertheless, reading Chekhov is almost addictive.
Sometimes Chekhov grows prophetic, as in this remark in ‘Uncle
Vanya’: “Man has been endowed with reason, with the power
to create, so that he can add to what he has been given. But up to now
he has not been a creator, only a destroyer. Forests keep disappearing,
rivers dry up, wild lives become extinct, the climate is ruined, and
the land grows poorer and uglier every day.” That, written in 1897,
is a remarkable forecast for our own times. Yet still we do not heed.
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