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Overview
Product Details
| ISBN-13: | 9781566636261 |
|---|---|
| Publisher: | Dee, Ivan R. Publisher |
| Publication date: | 10/28/2004 |
| Pages: | 304 |
| Product dimensions: | 5.56(w) x 8.64(h) x 0.88(d) |
About the Author
Anton Chekhov (1860-1904) was a Russian author of plays and short stories. Although Chekhov became a physician and once considered medicine his primary career, he gained fame and esteem through writing, ultimately producing a number of well-known plays, including The Seagull and Uncle Vanya, and a large body of innovative short stories that influenced the evolution of the form.
Read an Excerpt
CHEKHOV The Four Major Plays
By Anton Pavlovich Chekhov Ivan R. Dee
Copyright © 2005
Curt Columbus
All right reserved.
ISBN: 978-1-56663-626-1
Chapter One SEAGULL
A COMEDY IN FOUR ACTS
* * *
CHEKHOV'S Seagull is a fascinating and problematic play. Much of what draws interpreters to the play is also what makes it difficult to execute in production: a lyrical setting with an almost magical mood. A country house sits beside a lake, and we watch a play against this backdrop as the moon rises. But how does one capture that onstage? It is impossible to approach this challenge literally, yet if the set is too poetical or too abstract, much of the atmosphere is lost.
Then there is the problem of the passage of time between Acts III and IV. Flashing forward to the events of several years later is vital to what the author is saying about dreams and success, hope and loss. Yet it is such a lopsided structure to have all the events of the first three acts occur in a short period of time, and then to present an audience with the wildly different fourth act. Much more than a conclusion, it is almost its own play, with a separate atmosphere and a different tone altogether.
Finally there is the question of balancing humor and drama in Seagull. A good example of this delicate balance is the play within a play, which Constantine has written and which is performed in Act I. It is clearly a strange piece of theater(though not unfamiliar to any audience member who has ever seen contemporary performance art), and it must be played for laughs at least on some level. But if we are to trust Dr. Dorn, who likes the play and who seems to be among the most rational of those in the household, there must be something significant in this strange little piece of work. Indeed, one of the great dramatic moments of a good production of Seagull is when Nina returns in Act IV to recite lines from the play to Constantine. What once sounded ridiculous must now sound tragic and poetic. What seemed juvenile now seems wise.
So we are drawn to Seagull for the very reasons that make it difficult. After all, how often do we meet characters like Arkadina or Trigorin, self-involved and petty yet utterly compelling. Or Constantine and Nina, so young and hopeful, by the end of the play so lost. Or Masha and Medvedenko, who open the proceedings with their impossible relationship and end the play in a loveless marriage. (It is not accidental or unimportant that Masha begins every act of this play; Chekhov has some meaning hidden in her for interpreters.) The play that would launch Chekhov's reputation as a great dramatist remains a fascinating challenge for audiences and interpreters alike.
CHARACTERS
MADAME IRINA ARKADINA, an actress whose married name was Trepleva
CONSTANTINE TREPLEV, her son, a young man
PETER SORIN, her brother
NINA ZARECHNAYA, a young girl, daughter of a wealthy landowner
ILYA SHAMRAYEV, a retired lieutenant, the manager of Sorin's estate
PAULINA SHAMRAYEV, his wife
MASHA, his daughter
BORIS TRIGORIN, a writer of fiction
YEVGENY DORN, a doctor
SIMON MEDVEDENKO, a teacher
YAKOV, a servant
COOK
MAID
The action takes place on Sorin's estate. Two years pass between the third and fourth acts.
ACT I
A park on Sorin's estate. A wide avenue between the trees leads down into the park and, farther, to the lake. A small, temporary stage is built in the middle of the avenue, the kind that would be thrown together for amateur theatricals. The curtain is drawn and obscures the lake completely. Both sides of the stage are surrounded by bushes. There are several chairs and a small table.
The sun has just set. Behind the curtain, Yakov and other workers are moving about. Coughing and knocking can be heard. Masha and Medvedenko enter, returning from a walk.
MEDVEDENKO: Why are you always wearing black?
MASHA: It's mourning for my life. I'm unhappy.
MEDVEDENKO: Why? I don't understand.... You're healthy, your father's not rich, but you have enough. My life is much harder than yours. I make twenty-three rubles a month, and they subtract some from that for the retirement fund, and I don't go around wearing mourning.
MASHA: Money isn't the point. Even a poor man can be happy.
MEDVEDENKO: Theoretically, yes. But in real life, it works out like this: me, and my mother, and my two sisters, and my little brother, all on my salary of twenty-three rubles a month. We need to eat and drink, right? What about tea and sugar? What about tobacco? It always comes back around to money.
MASHA: The play will begin soon.
MEDVEDENKO: Yes. Nina is playing the lead. In that piece that Constantine composed. They are in love, and today their souls will become united as they strive to realize their common artistic vision. My soul and your soul, however, have nothing in common. I love you, I can't sit at home, I long for you so much. Every day I walk four miles here and four miles back, and I'm confronted only by your indifference each time. It's perfectly understandable. I have nothing but this large family.... Who wants to marry someone who has nothing?
MASHA: Don't be ridiculous. (takes snuff) Your love is touching, but I can't return it, that's all. (offers snuff) Have some.
MEDVEDENKO: I don't want any. (pause)
MASHA: So muggy, must be a storm on the way tonight. All you ever talk about is money. According to you, there's nothing worse than poverty. I think it's a thousand times easier to go around in nothing but rags, begging, than ... What does it matter, you won't understand....
(enter Sorin and Treplev)
SORIN (walks with a cane): The country isn't for me, my boy, and the thing of it is, I can never get used to it. Last night I went to bed at ten, woke up this morning around nine, and I couldn't shake the feeling that my brain was glued to the inside of my skull from all that sleep. And after lunch, I fell asleep again. Now I'm just worn out, all sorts of bad dreams and all....
TREPLEV: It's true, you're better off in town. (seeing Masha and Medvedenko) Please, we'll call you when we're ready, but you can't be here right now. Please leave.
SORIN: Masha, would you be so kind as to ask your father to see that the dog is let off her leash, or she'll just keep barking. Kept my sister up all night.
MASHA: Ask him yourself, I'm not going to. If you'll excuse us. (to Medvedenko) Let's go!
MEDVEDENKO (to Treplev): Please send someone to tell us when it starts.
(they exit)
SORIN: That means that dog is going to be barking all night again. Same old story, I can never live my life how I want to when I'm here. There was a time when I would have nearly a month off, and I would come here to rest and all. But no sooner would I arrive, and the same old crap would start up, and I'd want to get the hell out on the very first day. (laughs) The greatest pleasure in coming here was leaving here. Of course, now I'm retired, there's nowhere to go really. Just keep on living, whether you feel like it or not....
YAKOV: We're going for a swim, Mr. Constantine.
TREPLEV: Just make sure you're back and at places in ten minutes. (looks at his watch) We'll begin soon.
YAKOV: Right. (exits)
TREPLEV: There's a real theater for you. A curtain, two wings, and an open playing space. No scenery. The whole thing opens right onto the lake and the horizon. The curtain goes up at exactly eight-thirty, just as the moon is rising.
SORIN: Spectacular.
TREPLEV: If Nina is late, then, of course, the whole effect will be lost. She should have been here by now. Her father and stepmother watch her every move, it's harder for her to get out of her house than it is to escape from prison. (fixes his uncle's tie) Your hair and beard are a mess. We've got to get you a haircut.
SORIN (smoothing his beard): The tragedy of my life. Even when I was young I looked like this, like I was drunk and all. Women never took to me. Why is my sister so gloomy?
TREPLEV: Why? Bored. Jealous. She's already against me, against my play, because she's not acting in it, Nina is. She hasn't even read the play and she already hates it.
SORIN (laughs): You're making that up....
TREPLEV: She's annoyed that on this little stage, it's Nina that will be the star, not her. (looks at his watch) She's a psychological curiosity, my mother. She's unquestionably talented, she's smart, she's so empathetic that she'll bawl her eyes out over a novel, she can recite love poems by heart and tends to you like an angel when you're sick. But just try to say one kind word about Eleanora Duse in her presence. Oh-ho-ho! You can only sing her praises, write about her, cry about her, go into ecstasy about her performance in La Dame aux Camelias or in The Fumes of Life. Here, in the country, there's none of that to feed her habit, so she gets bored and nasty, and we're all her enemies, we're all to blame. On top of that, she's superstitious, afraid of three candles on the table, of the number thirteen. She's also cheap. She has seventy thousand in the bank in Odessa, I know that for a fact! But just ask her for a loan and she'll burst into tears.
SORIN: You've decided that she doesn't like your play, so you're getting all worked up. Your mother adores you.
TREPLEV (pulling the petals off of a flower): She loves me, she loves me not, she loves me, she loves me not, she loves me, she loves me not. (laughs) See, she doesn't love me. What's more, she wants to live, to love, to wear fancy clothes, but here I am, twenty-five years old and a constant reminder that she is no longer young. When I'm not around, she's thirty-two. When I am, she's forty-three, so she hates me for that. She also knows that I don't accept her kind of theater. She loves the Theater, she thinks she is serving humanity with her sacred art! All I see is that the contemporary theater is nothing but the same old thing, the same old conventions. The curtain goes up, those bright lights come on, and you have a room with three walls! And those great talents, the high priests of that sacred art will demonstrate for you how people eat, drink, love, walk, wear their coats! From those sad little pictures and words, they try to squeeze a moral-of course, only little, palatable morals, please, something we can take home with us! When they've smothered me for the thousandth time with the same thing over and over and over, then I run and I run. Like Maupassant ran from the Eiffel Tower, its ugliness crushing his brain.
SORIN: We can't do without the theater.
TREPLEV: But we need new forms! New forms are necessary, otherwise it's better to have nothing at all. (looks at his watch) I love my mother, I love her so much, but the kind of life she leads, carrying on with that writer of hers, her name in all the papers. It makes me sick. I know that's just me being selfish, but sometimes I hate that my mother is a famous actress! I guess I would be happier if she was just an ordinary woman. Uncle Peter, do you know that I constantly find myself in a room with her and all these famous people, actors, writers, artists? And the only one who is a nobody ... is me. Can you imagine anything more awful, more stupid? Tolerated, just because I'm her son. Who am I? What do I do? Left university in my third year, due to circumstances beyond our control, as they say. No talent, no money, passport says I'm not even Russian, no, just a middleclass nobody from Kiev. Thanks to my father-Kiev, middle class. Of course, he was a famous actor. So here we are, at these parties and all of those writers and artists turn in my direction, with such kind interest and attention. I can feel them measuring me with their eyes, realizing that I am nothing. I know what they're thinking. I just feel so small....
SORIN: Speaking of writers, tell me about that one of hers. What sort of fellow is he? I don't get him. He's so quiet.
TREPLEV: He's smart, simple, a little melancholy, you know. Very proper. He's turning forty soon, but he's already famous and very well fed. As for his writing, what can I say? It's nice, there's talent there, but after Tolstoy or Zola, you wouldn't want to read Trigorin.
SORIN: I love literary men, my boy. Two things I wanted once upon a time, more than anything else: to get married and to become a literary man. Neither one worked out. Yes. Even if you aren't all that successful, it would be nice.
TREPLEV (listening): I hear footsteps.... I can't live without her, even the sound of her footsteps is beautiful. I'm insanely happy. (goes to meet Nina as she enters) My enchantress, my dream....
NINA (out of breath): I'm not late.... Tell me I'm not late.
TREPLEV (kissing her hands): No, no, no....
NINA: All day, I was so upset, I was so frightened! I was afraid that my father wouldn't let me out of the house. But he just left with my stepmother. The sky was turning red, the moon was already rising, but I drove my horse hard, just drove him. (laughs) Now I'm happy. (squeezes Sorin's hand)
SORIN (laughs): Your little eyes look like they were crying ... that's not good!
NINA: It's just ... I'm still catching my breath. I have to leave in a half an hour, we'd better hurry. You mustn't, mustn't keep me any later, for God's sake. My father doesn't know I'm here.
TREPLEV: Actually, it's time to begin. We should call the others.
SORIN: I'll go and call. This very minute. (begins to exit, singing) "In France, two grenadiers there were ..." (stops and looks around) I remember I was singing once and one of my colleagues said to me, "Your excellency has a powerful voice...." After a moment he added, "And a truly awful one." (laughs and exits)
NINA: My father and his wife won't let me come here. They say you're all a bunch of bohemians. They're afraid I'll become an actress. Something draws me to the lake, though, like a seagull. My heart is full of you. (looks around)
TREPLEV: We're alone.
NINA: I think someone's over there....
TREPLEV: No.
(they kiss)
NINA: What kind of tree is that?
TREPLEV: Elm.
NINA: Why is it so dark?
TREPLEV: It's that time of day, everything looks dark. Don't leave early, I'm begging you.
NINA: It's impossible.
TREPLEV: What if I come to you, Nina? I'll stand outside your window all night long and look up at your room from the garden.
NINA: Don't, the watchman will see you. And Trezvor isn't used to you, he'll bark.
TREPLEV: I love you.
NINA: Shhhh.
TREPLEV (hearing steps): Who's there? Yakov?
YAKOV (backstage): Yes, sir.
TREPLEV: Have you got the mineral spirits? And the sulfur? When we see the red eyes, we have to smell the sulfur. (to Nina) Go on, everything's ready back there. Are you nervous?
NINA: Very. Your mother doesn't bother me, but that Trigorin is here. I'm a little scared to act for him, a famous writer. Is he young?
TREPLEV: Yes.
NINA: His stories are marvelous!
TREPLEV (coldly): I wouldn't know. I haven't read them.
NINA: Your play is hard to act. There's no live people in it.
TREPLEV: Live people! I don't want to represent life as it is, or even as it should be, but how it appears in one's dreams.
NINA: Nothing really happens in your play either, it's all talk. And I always think that plays should have love in them.... (they exit backstage)
(enter Paulina and Dorn)
PAULINA: It's gotten damp. Go back and get your galoshes.
DORN: I'm too hot.
PAULINA: You don't take care of yourself. And you, a doctor. You know better than that. Damp air is bad for you, but you like to see me suffer. All night on the terrace last night, on purpose....
DORN (sings): "Never say to me that your youth was wasted."
PAULINA: You were so entranced by your conversation with Miss Irina that you didn't notice the cold. You can tell me, I know you're attracted to her.
DORN: I'm fifty-five years old.
PAULINA: That's nothing, with men, age means nothing. You've kept yourself together and women still find you attractive.
DORN: So what do you want me to do?
PAULINA: You all kiss the ground she walks on because she's an actress, that's all I'm saying!
DORN (sings): "Here I am again, before you ..." If people love actors and treat them differently than, say, shopkeepers, that's just the way things are. It's a kind of idealism.
PAULINA: Women were always falling in love with you and hanging all over you. Is that idealism, too?
DORN: So what? I had a lot of good relationships with women. They fell in love with me mostly because I was an excellent doctor. Ten, fifteen years ago, you remember, there was only one good obstetrician in the district. I'm also an honest man.
PAULINA (grabs his hand): My darling.
DORN: Quiet. They're coming.
(enter Arkadina on the arm of Sorin, with Trigorin, Shamrayev, Medvedenko, and Masha)
(Continues...)
<%TOC%> Contents Introduction....................1
Excerpted from CHEKHOV The Four Major Plays by Anton Pavlovich Chekhov Copyright © 2005 by Curt Columbus. Excerpted by permission.
All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
Excerpts are provided by Dial-A-Book Inc. solely for the personal use of visitors to this web site.
Seagull....................15
Uncle Vanya....................83
Three Sisters....................147
Cherry Orchard....................227
What People are Saying About This
Chekhov is the actor's playwright...and Curt Columbus is the actor's translator.
Gone are the stuffy, brittle, unfunny, embalmed translations. Columbus has captured Chekhov's vigor, humor and deep affection for his characters. These translations are an actor's dream.
...Robust and artful adaptor Curt Columbus... resulted in an engaging, completely accessible outing.
"It is through this playwright, more than any other, that we make contact with the myth of modern Russia. "
—American Theatre
I acted in Curt's translation of Uncle Vanya. It flowed like a river. It played like a dream. Do it.
These are wonderfully actable, clear, and concise, and Columbus has perfectly captured Chekhov's unique blend of comic and tragic sensibilities.
Without losing any of the specificity of Chekhov's world, Curt has an uncanny ear for uncovering what is most active and reverberant in the great master's words.
Columbus's translation triumphs through its clarity and consistent use of the active voice.
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