The sun is hiding behind the clouds, the sky is overcast, and the broad Volga looks gloomy. Levitan ought not to live on the Volga. It lays a weight of gloom on the soul. Though it would not be bad to have an estate on its banks.
If the waiter would wake I should ask him for some coffee; as it is, I have to drink water without any relish for it. My greetings to Maryushka and Olga. [Footnote: The Chekhovs’ servants.]
Well, keep well and take care of yourselves. I will write regularly.
Your bored Volga-travelling
Homo Sachaliensis,
A. CHEKHOV.
FROM THE STEAMER,
Evening, April 24, 1890.
MY DEAR TUNGUSES!
I am floating on the Kama, but I can’t fix the exact locality; I believe we are near Tchistopol. I cannot extol the beauties of the scenery either, as it is hellishly cold; the birches are not yet out, there are still patches of snow here and there, bits of ice float by—in short, the picturesque has gone to the dogs. I sit in the cabin, where people of all sorts and conditions sit at the table, and listen to the conversation, wondering whether it is not time for me to have tea. If I had my way I should do nothing all day but eat; as I haven’t the money to be eating all day long I sleep and sleep. I don’t go up on deck, it’s cold. By night it rains and by day there is an unpleasant wind.