



Produced by James Rusk and Nicole Apostola





PLAYS BY ANTON CHEKHOV, SECOND SERIES

By Anton Chekhov

Translated, with an Introduction, by Julius West

[The First Series Plays have been previously published
by Project Gutenberg in etext numbers: 1753 through 1756]


CONTENTS

     INTRODUCTION
     ON THE HIGH ROAD
     THE PROPOSAL
     THE WEDDING
     THE BEAR
     A TRAGEDIAN IN SPITE OF HIMSELF
     THE ANNIVERSARY
     THE THREE SISTERS
     THE CHERRY ORCHARD




INTRODUCTION

The last few years have seen a large and generally unsystematic mass of
translations from the Russian flung at the heads and hearts of English
readers. The ready acceptance of Chekhov has been one of the few
successful features of this irresponsible output. He has been welcomed
by British critics with something like affection. Bernard Shaw has
several times remarked: "Every time I see a play by Chekhov, I want to
chuck all my own stuff into the fire." Others, having no such valuable
property to sacrifice on the altar of Chekhov, have not hesitated
to place him side by side with Ibsen, and the other established
institutions of the new theatre. For these reasons it is pleasant to
be able to chronicle the fact that, by way of contrast with the casual
treatment normally handed out to Russian authors, the publishers are
issuing the complete dramatic works of this author. In 1912 they brought
out a volume containing four Chekhov plays, translated by Marian Fell.
All the dramatic works not included in her volume are to be found in the
present one. With the exception of Chekhov's masterpiece, "The Cherry
Orchard" (translated by the late Mr. George Calderon in 1912), none of
these plays have been previously published in book form in England or
America.

It is not the business of a translator to attempt to outdo all others in
singing the praises of his raw material. This is a dangerous process and
may well lead, as it led Mr. Calderon, to drawing the reader's
attention to points of beauty not to be found in the original. A few
bibliographical details are equally necessary, and permissible, and the
elementary principles of Chekhov criticism will also be found useful.

The very existence of "The High Road" (1884); probably the earliest
of its author's plays, will be unsuspected by English readers. During
Chekhov's lifetime it a sort of family legend, after his death it became
a family mystery. A copy was finally discovered only last year in the
Censor's office, yielded up, and published. It had been sent in 1885
under the nom-de-plume "A. Chekhonte," and it had failed to pass. The
Censor, of the time being had scrawled his opinion on the manuscript,
"a depressing and dirty piece,--cannot be licensed." The name of the
gentleman who held this view--Kaiser von Kugelgen--gives another reason
for the educated Russian's low opinion of German-sounding institutions.
Baron von Tuzenbach, the satisfactory person in "The Three Sisters,"
it will be noted, finds it as well, while he is trying to secure the
favours of Irina, to declare that his German ancestry is fairly remote.
This is by way of parenthesis. "The High Road," found after thirty
years, is a most interesting document to the lover of Chekhov. Every
play he wrote in later years was either a one-act farce or a four-act
drama. [Note: "The Swan Song" may occur as an exception. This, however,
is more of a Shakespeare recitation than anything else, and so neither
here nor there.]

In "The High Road" we see, in an embryonic form, the whole later method
of the plays--the deliberate contrast between two strong characters
(Bortsov and Merik in this case), the careful individualization of each
person in a fairly large group by way of an introduction to the main
theme, the concealment of the catastrophe, germ-wise, in the actual
character of the characters, and the of a distinctive group-atmosphere.
It need scarcely be stated that "The High Road" is not a "dirty" piece
according to Russian or to German standards; Chekhov was incapable of
writing a dirty play or story. For the rest, this piece differs from the
others in its presentation, not of Chekhov's favourite middle-classes,
but of the moujik, nourishing, in a particularly stuffy atmosphere, an
intense mysticism and an equally intense thirst for vodka.

"The Proposal" (1889) and "The Bear" (1890) may be taken as good
examples of the sort of humour admired by the average Russian. The
latter play, in another translation, was put on as a curtain-raiser to a
cinematograph entertainment at a London theatre in 1914; and had quite a
pleasant reception from a thoroughly Philistine audience. The humour is
very nearly of the variety most popular over here, the psychology is a
shade subtler. The Russian novelist or dramatist takes to psychology as
some of his fellow-countrymen take to drink; in doing this he achieves
fame by showing us what we already know, and at the same time he kills
his own creative power. Chekhov just escaped the tragedy of suicide by
introspection, and was only enabled to do this by the possession of
a sense of humour. That is why we should not regard "The Bear," "The
Wedding," or "The Anniversary" as the work of a merely humorous young
man, but as the saving graces which made perfect "The Cherry Orchard."

"The Three Sisters" (1901) is said to act better than any other of
Chekhov's plays, and should surprise an English audience exceedingly. It
and "The Cherry Orchard" are the tragedies of doing nothing. The three
sisters have only one desire in the world, to go to Moscow and live
there. There is no reason on earth, economic, sentimental, or other, why
they should not pack their bags and take the next train to Moscow. But
they will not do it. They cannot do it. And we know perfectly well that
if they were transplanted thither miraculously, they would be extremely
unhappy as soon as ever the excitement of the miracle had worn off. In
the other play Mme. Ranevsky can be saved from ruin if she will only
consent to a perfectly simple step--the sale of an estate. She cannot do
this, is ruined, and thrown out into the unsympathetic world. Chekhov is
the dramatist, not of action, but of inaction. The tragedy of inaction
is as overwhelming, when we understand it, as the tragedy of an Othello,
or a Lear, crushed by the wickedness of others. The former is being
enacted daily, but we do not stage it, we do not know how. But who
shall deny that the base of almost all human unhappiness is just this
inaction, manifesting itself in slovenliness of thought and execution,
education, and ideal?

The Russian, painfully conscious of his own weakness, has accepted this
point of view, and regards "The Cherry Orchard" as its master-study in
dramatic form. They speak of the palpitating hush which fell upon the
audience of the Moscow Art Theatre after the first fall of the curtain
at the first performance--a hush so intense as to make Chekhov's friends
undergo the initial emotions of assisting at a vast theatrical failure.
But the silence ryes almost a sob, to be followed, when overcome, by an
epic applause. And, a few months later, Chekhov died.

This volume and that of Marian Fell--with which it is uniform--contain
all the dramatic works of Chekhov. It considered not worth while to
translate a few fragments published posthumously, or a monologue "On the
Evils of Tobacco"--a half humorous lecture by "the husband of his wife;"
which begins "Ladies, and in some respects, gentlemen," as this is
hardly dramatic work. There is also a very short skit on the efficiency
of provincial fire brigades, which was obviously not intended for the
stage and has therefore been omitted.

Lastly, the scheme of transliteration employed has been that, generally
speaking, recommended by the Liverpool School of Russian Studies. This
is distinctly the best of those in the field, but as it would compel
one, e.g., to write a popular female name, "Marya," I have not treated
it absolute respect. For the sake of uniformity with Fell's volume, the
author's name is spelt Tchekoff on the title-page and cover.

J. W.


RUSSIAN WEIGHTS AND MEASURES

AND MONEY EMPLOYED IN THE PLAYS, WITH ENGLISH EQUIVALENTS

     1 verst = 3600 feet = 2/3 mile (almost)
     1 arshin = 28 inches
     1 dessiatin = 2.7 acres
     1 copeck = 1/4 d
     1 rouble = 100 copecks = 2s. 1d.





ON THE HIGH ROAD

A DRAMATIC STUDY


CHARACTERS

     TIHON EVSTIGNEYEV, the proprietor of a inn on the main road
     SEMYON SERGEYEVITCH BORTSOV, a ruined landowner
     MARIA EGOROVNA, his wife
     SAVVA, an aged pilgrim
     NAZAROVNA and EFIMOVNA, women pilgrims
     FEDYA, a labourer
     EGOR MERIK, a tramp
     KUSMA, a driver
     POSTMAN
     BORTSOV'S WIFE'S COACHMAN
     PILGRIMS, CATTLE-DEALERS, ETC.

The action takes place in one of the provinces of Southern Russia


[The scene is laid in TIHON'S bar. On the right is the bar-counter and
shelves with bottles. At the back is a door leading out of the house.
Over it, on the outside, hangs a dirty red lantern. The floor and the
forms, which stand against the wall, are closely occupied by pilgrims
and passers-by. Many of them, for lack of space, are sleeping as they
sit. It is late at night. As the curtain rises thunder is heard, and
lightning is seen through the door.]


[TIHON is behind the counter. FEDYA is half-lying in a heap on one
of the forms, and is quietly playing on a concertina. Next to him
is BORTSOV, wearing a shabby summer overcoat. SAVVA, NAZAROVNA, and
EFIMOVNA are stretched out on the floor by the benches.]

EFIMOVNA. [To NAZAROVNA] Give the old man a nudge dear! Can't get any
answer out of him.

NAZAROVNA. [Lifting the corner of a cloth covering of SAVVA'S face] Are
you alive or are you dead, you holy man?

SAVVA. Why should I be dead? I'm alive, mother! [Raises himself on his
elbow] Cover up my feet, there's a saint! That's it. A bit more on the
right one. That's it, mother. God be good to us.

NAZAROVNA. [Wrapping up SAVVA'S feet] Sleep, little father.

SAVVA. What sleep can I have? If only I had the patience to endure this
pain, mother; sleep's quite another matter. A sinner doesn't deserve to
be given rest. What's that noise, pilgrim-woman?

NAZAROVNA. God is sending a storm. The wind is wailing, and the rain is
pouring down, pouring down. All down the roof and into the windows like
dried peas. Do you hear? The windows of heaven are opened... [Thunder]
Holy, holy, holy...

FEDYA. And it roars and thunders, and rages, sad there's no end to
it! Hoooo... it's like the noise of a forest.... Hoooo.... The wind is
wailing like a dog.... [Shrinking back] It's cold! My clothes are wet,
it's all coming in through the open door... you might put me through a
wringer.... [Plays softly] My concertina's damp, and so there's no music
for you, my Orthodox brethren, or else I'd give you such a concert, my
word!--Something marvellous! You can have a quadrille, or a polka, if
you like, or some Russian dance for two.... I can do them all. In the
town, where I was an attendant at the Grand Hotel, I couldn't make any
money, but I did wonders on my concertina. And, I can play the guitar.

A VOICE FROM THE CORNER. A silly speech from a silly fool.

FEDYA. I can hear another of them. [Pause.]

NAZAROVNA. [To SAVVA] If you'd only lie where it was warm now, old man,
and warm your feet. [Pause.] Old man! Man