Letters of Anton Chekhov (Tchekhov) - Penn State University

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Letters of Anton Chekhov to His Family and Friends with biographical sketchTO HIS SISTER.KRASNOYARSK, May 28, 1890.What a deadly road! It was all we could do to crawl to Krasnoyarskand my trap had to be repaired twice. The first thing to be brokenwas the vertical piece of iron connecting the front of the carriagewith the axle; then the so-called circle under the front broke. I havenever in all my life seen such a road—such impassable mud andsuch an utterly neglected road. I am going to write about its horrorsto the Novoye Vremya, and so won’t talk about it now.The last three stations have been splendid; as one comes down toKrasnoyarsk one seems to be getting into a different world. Youcome out of the forest into a plain which is like our Donets steppe,but here the mountain ridges are grander. The sun shines its verybest and the birch-trees are out, though three stations back the budswere not even bursting. Thank God, I have at last reached a summerin which there is neither rain nor a cold wind. Krasnoyarsk is apicturesque, cultured town; compared with it, Tomsk is “a pig in askull-cap and the acme of mauvais ton.” The streets are clean andpaved, the houses are of stone and large, the churches are elegant.I am alive and perfectly well. My money is all right, and so are mythings; I lost my woollen stockings but soon found them again.Apart from my trap, everything so far has been satisfactory and Ihave nothing to complain of. Only I am spending an awful lot ofmoney. Incompetence in the practical affairs of life is never felt somuch as on a journey. I pay more than I need to, I do the wrongthing, and I say the wrong thing, and I am always expecting whatdoes not happen.… I shall be in Irkutsk in five or six days, shall spend as manydays there, then drive on to Sryetensk—and that will be the end ofmy journey on land. For more than a fortnight I have been drivingwithout a break, I think about nothing else, I live for nothing else;every morning I see the sunrise from beginning to end. I’ve grownso used to it that it seems as though all my life I had been drivingand struggling with the muddy roads. When it does not rain, andthere are no pits of mud on the road, one feels queer and even a168
Anton Chekhovlittle bored. And how filthy I am, what a rapscallion I look! What astate my luckless clothes are in!… For mother’s information: I have still a jar and a half of coffee;I feed on locusts and wild honey; I shall dine to-day at Irkutsk. Thefurther east one gets the dearer everything is. Rye flour is seventykopecks a pood, while on the other side of Tomsk it was twenty-fiveand twenty-seven kopecks per pood, and wheaten flour thirty kopecks.The tobacco sold in Siberia is vile and loathsome; I tremblebecause mine is nearly done.… I am travelling with two lieutenants and an army doctor whoare all on their way to the Amur. So my revolver is after all quitesuperfluous. In such company hell would have no terrors. We arejust having tea at the station, and after tea we are going to have alook at the town.I should have no objection to living in Krasnoyarsk. I can’t thinkwhy this is a favourite place for sending exiles to.Your Homo Sachaliensis,A. CHEKHOV.169
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