with Russians a small minority, the ratio was reversed in the town of Yalta itself. The ten per cent of the Tatar population in the Crimea who lived in towns resided in separate quarters and came into little contact with the Russian inhabitants. The rest had retreated into the mountains or deep into the steppe. An even smaller ethnic minority in the Crimea were the Turkic-speaking Karaim Jews, who numbered no more than 13,000 in the whole of Tsarist Russia. One of them became Chekhov's trusted friend. Isaak Sinani, who was someone he got to know when he first went to Yalta in 1889, was renowned as a bibliophile and an expert on the Crimea's ethnic groups. It is telling that Chekhov should specifically refer to him as 'the Karaim Sinani' when writing from Siberia to let his sister know she should pick up the telegram he had sent her at the bookshop where his friend worked.54 By the time Chekhov moved to Yalta, Sinani had acquired his own bookshop.55
'I. A. Sinani's Russian Hut. Sale of Books and Newspapers' was located right in the middle of town on the seafront, and decorated like a traditional peasant log house. It immediately became a mecca for the writers, artists and theatrical personalities who came to Yalta. Sinani had placed a bench outside the Russkaya izbushka, and before he became too ill and too much of a local tourist attraction, Chekhov would come most days and sit there, sometimes to chat with other writers like Gorky and Bunin, and sometimes just to watch the world go by. He was such a celebrity by this time, though, that his visits to the shop usually had to be kept quite short because crowds of young female admirers would invariably try to follow him wherever he went – like dolphins behind a ship, as one Russian critic later put it.56 The kind, learned Sinani was devoted to Chekhov, and soon introduced him to his wife, Anastasia, and their children, who lived above his shop. He was the person who would hear what properties were for sale, and it was he who took Chekhov to see the house at Kuchuk-koy, and the plot at Autka where he would build his house. It was Sinani who introduced him to Lev Shapovalov, the young architect who would design it, and he came along to the planning meeting with the contractor before
building work started. He then went every day to check up on how the building was getting on, and later helped with planting trees in the garden. It was Sinani, too, who sold tickets for the Moscow Art Theatre tour in 1900, and who, following Chekhov's initiative, provided the reception point for charitable donations for the many invalids (mostly consumptives) who had come to Yalta without means. Chekhov picked up his telegrams from Sinani, and knew he could be relied on for all the latest Yalta gossip and any other information worth knowing. When Sinani delayed handing over the telegram about his father's unexpected death in October 1898, out of a reluctance to give him bad news, Chekhov was mortified that the whole of Yalta knew about it before he did.57 Two years later, Chekhov had to break the news to Sinani that his student son had committed suicide in Moscow.58
As with his brother Nikolai's death, Chekhov felt guilty about being absent when his father died, but this time the feeling was deepened by the knowledge that he could have prevented it if he had been there. Pavel Egorovich had died three days after being taken to Moscow for an emergency operation, having made his last entry in his legendary diary on the evening of 8 October 1898. While Chekhov was still enjoying summery weather in Yalta, it had already started snowing in Moscow:
Morning: -12'. The windows were frosted up like in winter. Sunrise was bright. It was cold in all the rooms in the house. The firewood has not been brought yet. Midday: 0°. Roman went on the sledge to Lopasnya. Tea, sugar and coffee has arrived from Vogau's. Evening: -2°.59
Chekhov's relationship with his father had always been difficult, but he was not prepared for his death, which shook him deeply, nor for its repercussions. Knowing that his mother would not want to continue living at Melikhovo on her own and that life there would not be the same without his father, he realized the estate would have to be sold. This meant taking up permanent residence in Yalta, rather than only spending winters there, as he had originally planned.
Autka, the Tatar village where Chekhov built his house was about twenty minutes walk uphill from the centre of town, near the Uchan-su River. It was certainly not everybody's first choice for an ideal location; the plot that Chekhov bought, with its withered old vineyard, was next to a Tatar cemetery and when his sister first saw it she burst into tears.
It was perhaps also not a good omen that a funeral was being held the day he first viewed the property. But it suited him. It had its own 'biblical' well, it was far enough from the town centre, he thought, to deter casual visitors and adoring fans (a vain hope: after he moved in, clusters of girls in floppy white hats would stand for hours by the garden railings, hoping to see him come outside), the air was better because of the higher altitude, there was a magnificent view of the Uchan-su River leading down to the sea, and, most importantly, there was room for a garden. Because few Russians wanted to live in a primitive Tatar village, far from the resort's amenities, the land was much cheaper in Autka (and Chekhov got it even cheaper because the vendor was a fan). Not that it was ever Chekhov's intention to go native: his house was the last word in what he referred to as 'American' mod cons, and was designed to his specification. It even had a telephone, which made it possible for him to call up Tolstoy for a chat when he was staying down the road in nearby Gaspra. And he told his brother Ivan jokingly that he was planning a fountain and a pond with goldfish.
His chief adviser, Masha, came down for a vist in November to talk everything over and draw up plans. Chekhov was soon inundated with frustrating offers from acquaintances of roses and trees for his new garden, but it was not possible to plant much in the early months when the plot was just a muddy building site. He had taken on a Tatar contractor whose employees were a little slow-witted, and he was nervous that everything would get trampled on. He also had a Tatar neighbour who always wanted to get into conversation with him whenever he came to see how things were getting on. The house was built directly into the sloping ground, to an asymmetric but simple design, with large south-facing windows and a first-floor terrace. There was a wonderful view of the bay from it.
Ill The White Dacha
If I am Potemkin, then why am I in Yalta, and why is it so horribly boring here?
Letter to L. Avilova, 18 February 1899
While Chekhov was kept busy with the construction of his new house, and thinking about samovars, beds, and other necessary accoutrements for Kuchuk-koy, his spirits were quite buoyant. He had arrived in Yalta at the best time of year, after all, everything was new, there were lots of people in town, his health was bearing up, and he decided that he had never liked the Crimea as much as now. During the balmy autumn weather (it was warmer than it had been in Nice the previous year, he noted) he wrote four stories in quick succession and even found lots of mushrooms in the pine woods, which he knew would make his mother happy when she came to stay. But when he started spitting blood again – in November, just as he had in Nice the previous year – he began instantly to yearn for Moscow: for the company of friends, the theatre, restaurants. He could talk about writers in Yalta, but there was no one to talk to about writing, he complained miserably. Except for the people at the girls' gymnasium, whom he liked very much (they had immediately put him on their board of trustees), Chekhov had also tired of local society by the middle of December and was feeling like Dreyfus on Devil's Island.
His brother Ivan came down to visit over Christmas, but it had started snowing the day after he left, which brought the construction of the new
house to a halt. That is when Chekhov's nostalgia for Russia -particularly for the Moscow newspapers and the church bells he loved so much – really began. He was not accustomed to sitting still in one place for any length of time, and it was unbearable to see other people coming and going. By early January it seemed that everyone but the local tradespeople had left, and he felt he was in exile, a sensation that only deepened when the weather deteriorated. The main access to Yalta was via the sea, and when navigation stopped during storms, and the road
