Letter · 1885

To M. V. Kiseleva, 1 October 1885. Moscow.

М. В. Киселевой, 1 октября 1885 г. Москва.

Headnote

Written on October 1, 1885, from Moscow, this short letter is addressed to Maria Vladimirovna Kiseleva, mistress of Babkino, the family estate near Voskresensk where the Chekhovs had spent their summer, and mother of young Sofa (Sofochka) and the children Serozha and Vasilisa mentioned in the letter. Chekhov, having returned to the city, writes half in jest that he is claiming a corner of his sister’s allotted space in the family correspondence to open his own heart to Kiseleva, just as young Sofa had apparently done in a letter of her own.

The result is a wistful, comic miniature of post-Babkino homesickness: Chekhov confesses that his mind is still full of fishing rods, ruffe, camphor oil, and the path through the marsh, and that he wakes each morning half-expecting to check his lines. Moscow, by contrast, is "infernally dull," relieved only by a small win at the races and a mounting pile of work. The letter closes with playful, mock-formal bows to Kiseleva’s husband Alexei Sergeyevich and warm greetings to the children, before Chekhov signs off. It is a slight but characteristic piece – affectionate, self-deprecating, and steeped in the rural idyll that recurs throughout his Babkino-era correspondence.

October 1, 1885. Moscow.
1 октября 1885 г. Москва.
I take advantage of the strong one’s right and steal a bit of territory from my sister, so that, like little Sofa, I may open to you the secret chambers of my soul... and, I hope, you will understand me better than you understood Sofa. The fact is that in my poor soul there is still nothing but memories of fishing rods, ruffe, wicker fish-traps, the long green thing for worms... of camphor oil, Anfisa, the path across the marsh to the Daraganovsky woods, of lemonade, the bathing-place... I haven’t yet weaned myself from summer, so much so that, waking in the morning, I ask myself the question: did anything get caught or not? In Moscow it is infernally dull, in spite of everything... I was just now at the races and won 4 rubles. There’s an abyss of work... My bow to Alexei Sergeyevich, such as collegiate registrars bow to privy councillors, or Father Sergius to Prince Golitsyn. To Serozha and Vasilisa, whom I see every night in my dreams, salute and honor. And with that, wishing you health and good weather, I remain devotedly yours
Пользуюсь правом сильного и отнимаю у сестры кусочек территории, чтобы, подобно Софочке, открыть Вам тайники моей души... и, надеюсь, Вы поймете меня больше, чем Софочку. Дело в том, что в моей бедной душе до сих пор нет ничего, кроме воспоминаний об удочках, ершах, вершах, длинной зеленой штуке для червей... о камфарном масле, Анфисе, дорожке через болото к Дарагановскому лесу, о лимонаде, купальне... Не отвык еще от лета настолько, что, просыпаясь утром, задаю себе вопрос: поймалось что-нибудь или нет? В Москве адски скучно, несмотря ни на что... Был сейчас на скачках и выиграл 4 р. Работы пропасть... Кланяюсь Алексею Сергеевичу так, как коллежские регистраторы кланяются тайным советникам или отец Сергий – князю Голицыну. Сереже и Василисе, которых я каждую ночь вижу во сне, салют и почет. А за сим, пожелав Вам здоровья и хорошей погоды, пребываю преданный
А. Чехов.

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To M. V. Kiseleva, 1 October 1885. Moscow.

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