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.... TO E. M. S. MOSCOW, November 19, 1891. HONOURED ELENA MIHAILOVNA, I am at home to all commencing, continuing, and concluding authors--that is my rule, and apart from your authorship and mine, I regard a visit from you as a great honour to me. Even if it were not so, even if for some reason I did not desire your visit, even then I should have received you, as I have enjoyed the greatest hospitality from your family. I did not receive you, and at once asked my brother to go to you and explain the cause. At the moment your card was handed me I was ill and undressed--forgive these homely details--I was in my bedroom, while there were persons in my study whose presence would not have been welcome to you. And so--to see you was physically impossible, and this my brother was to have explained to you, and you, a decent and good-hearted person, ought to have understood it; but you were offended. Well, I can’t help it.... But can you really have written only fifteen stories?--at this rate you won’t learn to write till you are fifty. I am in bad health; for over a month I have had to keep indoors--influenza and cough. All good wishes. Write another twenty stories and send them. I shall always read them with pleasure, and practice is essential for you. TO A. S. SUVORIN. MOSCOW, November 22, 1891. My health is on the road to improvement. My cough is less, my strength is greater. My mood is livelier, and there is sunrise in my head. I wake up in the morning in good spirits, go to bed without gloomy thoughts, and at dinner I am not ill-humoured and don’t say nasty things to my mother.