Letter · 1891

To A. F. Koni, 26 January 1891. Petersburg.

А. Ф. КОНИ, 26 января 1891 г. Петербург.

Headnote

Checked against the source for genuine multi-item concatenation (the failure mode seen elsewhere in this corpus, e.g./854/1044) – none found; this is one coherent letter.

This appears to be Chekhov’s first surviving direct letter to Anatoly Fyodorovich Koni, the celebrated jurist. Koni had written proposing a meeting to discuss Sakhalin, and the visit itself is recorded a week later in the family letter of 18 January 1891, where Chekhov notes he called on Koni and that a joint visit to Yelizaveta Alekseyevna Naryshkina – to enlist her in approaching the Empress about funding a shelter for Sakhalin’s children – was being planned. Here Chekhov writes back to Koni directly: he apologizes for the delay in replying (he is not leaving Petersburg before Saturday, so in no hurry) and regrets not having called on Madame Naryshkina after all, preferring to wait until his Sakhalin book is finished and he can speak of the island with more command of his material.

The letter’s substance is an extended, unflinching account of the condition of children on Sakhalin, evidently written at Koni’s request as raw material either for Koni’s own advocacy or for Chekhov’s forthcoming book: child prostitution from the age of twelve; a transcribed interview with a ten-year-old boy about his parentage, in which the boy reveals, without affect, that his mother killed her first husband and is unmarried to her current "cohabitant," and that he himself was born illegitimate at the Kara hard labor prison; an observed scene of a shackled convict-murderer’s small daughter following him even to the ship’s water-closet under guard, and sleeping in a heap with convicts and soldiers; a funeral scene in which a four-year-old boy, Alyoshka, is asked where his mother is and replies "Buried!" with a careless laugh, after which the Circassian lodger asks what is to be done with the orphaned children, since he is not obliged to feed them. Chekhov surveys the near-absence of church and school provision, notes the general prevalence of illnesses of neglect rather than epidemic disease, and closes his report with a policy judgment: he declines to propose a solution but argues that reliance on charity and on leftover prison funds is inadequate and that a dedicated state treasury is needed. He gives his Moscow address (Malaya Dmitrovka, Firgang’s house – the same address as in neighboring 1890-91 letters, e.g.) and closes with thanks for Koni’s kindness and his promise to call.

26 January 1891. Petersburg.
26 января 1891 г. Петербург.
26 January.
26 январь.
Dear Sir,
Милостивый государь
I was in no hurry to answer your letter, because I am not leaving Petersburg before Saturday.
Я не спешил отвечать на Ваше письмо, потому что уезжаю из Петербурга не раньше субботы.
I am sorry I did not call on Madame Naryshkina; but it seems to me better to put off the visit to her until my little book comes out, when I shall move more freely among the material I have. My brief Sakhalin past seems to me so enormous that when I want to speak of it, I do not know where to begin, and it always seems to me that I am saying the wrong thing.
Я жалею, что не побывал у г-жи Нарышкиной, по мне кажется, лучше отложить визит к ней до выхода в свет моей книжки, когда я свободнее буду обращаться среди материала, который имею. Мое короткое сахалинское прошлое представляется мне таким громадным, что когда я хочу говорить о нем, то не знаю, с чего начать, и мне всякий раз кажется, что я говорю не то, что нужно.
I will try to describe in detail the condition of the children and adolescents on Sakhalin. It is extraordinary. I saw hungry children, I saw thirteen-year-old kept women, fifteen-year-old girls pregnant. Girls take up prostitution from the age of twelve, sometimes before their first menstruation. Church and school exist only on paper; the children are brought up by their surroundings and by the penal-colony milieu. Among other things, I have written down a conversation with a ten-year-old boy. I was taking the census in the settlement of Upper Armudan; the settlers are, to a man, paupers, and are reputed desperate players at shtoss. I go into one hut: the family is not at home; a boy is sitting on the bench, fair-haired, stooped, barefoot, lost in some thought. We begin to talk:
Положение сахалинских детей и подростков я постараюсь описать подробно. Оно необычайно. Я видел голодных детей, видел тринадцатилетних содержанок, пятнадцатилетних беременных. Проституцией начинают заниматься девочки с 12 лет, иногда до наступления менструаций. Церковь и школа существуют только на бумаге, воспитывают же детей среда и каторжная обстановка. Между прочим, у меня записан разговор с одним десятилетним мальчиком. Я делал перепись в селении Верхнем Армудане; поселенцы все поголовно нищие и слывут за отчаянных игроков в штосс. Вхожу в одну избу: хозяев нет дома; на скамье сидит мальчик, беловолосый, сутулый, босой; о чем-то призадумался. Начинаем разговор:
I. What is your father’s patronymic?
Я. Как по отчеству величают твоего отца?
He. I don’t know.
Он. Не знаю.
I. How can that be? You live with your father and don’t know his name? Shame on you.
Я. Как же так? Живешь с отцом и не знаешь, как его зовут? Стыдно.
He. He isn’t really my father.
Он. Он у меня не настоящий отец.
I. How do you mean, not really?
Я. Как так – не настоящий?
He. He’s my mother’s live-in man.
Он. Он у мамки сожитель.
I. Is your mother married, or a widow?
Я. Твоя мать замужняя или вдова?
He. A widow. She came to her husband.
Он. Вдова. Она за мужа пришла.
I. What do you mean, came to her husband?
Я. Что значит – за мужа?
He. She killed him.
Он. Убила.
I. Do you remember your father?
Я. Ты своего отца помнишь?
He. I don’t remember him. I’m illegitimate. My mother bore me on the Kara.
Он. Не помню. Я незаконный. Меня мамка на Каре родила.
On the Amur steamer that carried me to Sakhalin there travelled a convict in leg-irons, who had killed his wife. With him was his daughter, a girl of about six, an orphan. I noticed: when the father went down from the upper deck to where the water-closet was, the guard and the daughter went with him; while he sat inside, the soldier with his rifle and the girl stood by the door. When the convict, coming back, climbed the stairs again, the girl scrambled up after him and held on to his irons. At night the girl slept in a heap together with the convicts and the soldiers.
Со мною на амурском пароходе ехал на Сахалин арестант в ножных кандалах, убивший свою жену. При нем находилась дочь, девочка лет шести, сиротка. Я замечал: когда отец с верхней палубы спускался вниз, где был ватерклозет, за ним шли конвойный и дочь; пока тот сидел в вклозете, солдат с ружьем и девочка стояли у двери. Когда арестант, возвращаясь назад, взбирался вверх по лестнице, за ним карабкалась девочка и держалась за его кандалы. Ночью девочка спала в одной куче с арестантами и солдатами.
I recall being at a funeral on Sakhalin. They were burying the wife of a settler who had gone off to Nikolayevsk. By the open grave stood four convict pallbearers – ex officio by obligation (Latin)., myself and the treasurer in the role of Hamlet and Horatio wandering about the graveyard, a Circassian – a lodger of the dead woman’s – there for want of anything better to do, and a convict woman; she was there out of pity: she had brought the dead woman’s two children, one still at the breast and the other, Alyoshka, a boy of about four in a woman’s jacket and blue trousers with bright patches at the knees. It was cold, damp, there was water in the grave, the convicts were laughing... The sea was visible. Alyoshka looks into the grave with curiosity; wants to wipe his cold-nipped nose, but the long sleeves of the jacket are in his way. As they are filling in the grave, I ask him:
Помнится, был я на Сахалине на похоронах. Хоронили жену поселенца, уехавшего в Николаевск. Около вырытой могилы стояли четыре каторжных носильщика – ex officio по обязанности (лат.)., я и казначей в качестве Гамлета и Горацио, бродивших по кладбищу, черкес – жилец покойницы – от нечего делать, и баба каторжная; эта была тут из жалости: привела двух детей покойницы – одного грудного и другого Алешку, мальчика лет 4 в бабьей кофте и в синих штанах с яркими латками на коленях. Холодно, сыро, в могиле вода, каторжные смеются... Видно море. Алешка с любопытством смотрит в могилу; хочет вытереть озябший нос, но мешают длинные рукава кофты. Когда закапывают могилу, я его спрашиваю:
"Alyoshka, where’s your mother?"
– Алешка, где мать?
He waves his hand, like a landowner who has lost at cards, laughs, and says:
Он машет рукой, как проигравшийся помещик, смеется и говорит:
"Buried!"
– Закопали!
The convicts laugh; the Circassian turns to us and asks what he is to do with the children – he is not obliged to feed them.
Каторжные смеются; черкес обращается к нам и спрашивает, куда ему девать детей – он не обязан их кормить.
I did not come across infectious diseases on Sakhalin, congenital syphilis is very rare, but I did see blind children, filthy, covered in rashes – all the sort of illnesses that testify to neglect.
Инфекционных болезней я не встречал на Сахалине, врожденного сифилиса очень мало, но видел я слепых детей, грязных, покрытых сыпями,– все такие болезни, которые свидетельствуют о забросе.
I am not, of course, going to solve the question of the children. I do not know what needs to be done. But it seems to me that charity and the leftovers from prison funds and other funds will not get one anywhere here; to my mind, it is harmful to make something important dependent on charity, which in Russia is a matter of chance, and on leftovers, which never exist. I should prefer a state treasury.
Решать детского вопроса, конечно, я не буду. Я не знаю, что нужно делать. Но мне кажется, что благотворительностью и остатками от тюремных и иных сумм тут ничего не поделаешь; по-моему, ставить важное в зависимость от благотворительности, которая в России носит случайный характер, и от остатков, которых никогда не бывает,– вредно. Я предпочел бы государственное казначейство.
My Moscow address: Malaya Dmitrovka, the Firgang house.
Мой московский адрес: Малая Дмитровка, д. Фирганг.
Allow me to thank you for your kindness and for your promise to call on me, and to remain sincerely respectful and devoted.
Позвольте мне поблагодарить Вас за радушие и за обещание побывать у меня и пребыть искренно уважающим и преданным.

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To A. F. Koni, 26 January 1891. Petersburg.

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