Chekhov: Shorts (NHB Classic Plays)

Anton Chekhov

• Publisher: Nick Hern Books
• Year: 2014
• ISBN:
  9781780012599
• Topic: Literature
• Subtopic: Drama
• Index: Literature

This collection features Chekhov's best-known short plays in brand new translations: three farces, two comic duologues and a monologue, all of them referred to by Chekhov as 'vaudevilles' and all written in the late 1880s before any of his great full-length plays. 'I don't much care for theatre, ' he wrote at the time, 'but I do enjoy vaudevilles.'

The Bear, The Proposal and The Wedding are all farces on the preposterous busness of courtship and marriage. A Tragic Figure and Swansong are comic duologues: one about a civil servant sweltering in Moscow coping with the incessant demands of his family from their summer dacha, the other about a melancholy old actor perked up by memories of past glories. On the Evils of Tobacco is a bittersweet monologue in which a scientific lecture is hijacked by thoughts of domestic misery.

These accurate and actable translations by Chekhov expert Stephen Mulrine reveal a dramatist revelling in the broad comedy of human behaviour, a comedy which was refined in his later masterpieces.

Highly entertaining, these comic shorts offer a fascinating insight into Chekhov's development as a dramatist, and will provide actors at any level - student, amateur or professional - with an ideal showcase.

This edition also includes an introduction, a chronology of key dates, and a pronunciation guide.

THE PROPOSAL

A farce in one act

Characters

STEPAN STEPANOVICH CHUBUKOV, a landowner

NATALYA STEPANOVNA, his daughter, aged twenty-five

IVAN VASILIEVICH LOMOV, a neighbouring landowner, in robust good health, but a chronic hypochondriac

The action takes place in the drawing room of CHUBUKOV’s country house.

LOMOV enters, wearing a frock coat and white gloves. CHUBUKOV goes over to greet him warmly.

CHUBUKOV. Goodness me, if it isn’t my dearest friend! Ivan Vasilievich, I’m absolutely delighted! (Shakes his hand.) Heavens, what a surprise! How are you keeping?

LOMOV. Fine, thank you. And yourself, how are you?

CHUBUKOV. Oh, getting along, my angel, thanks to your prayers and all that. Sit down, have a seat, please do. It’s not a good thing, dear heart, to forget one’s neighbours, eh? But what’s all this? Frock coat, white gloves – why so formal? I mean, you’re surely not going somewhere else, my precious?

LOMOV. No, just to see you, dear sir.

CHUBUKOV. Yes, but the frock coat, man, all the trimmings – anyone would think it was Christmas!

LOMOV. Well, you see, the thing is… (Takes him by the arm.) My dear Stepan Stepanovich, I’ve come to trouble you for a favour. This isn’t the first time I’ve been privileged to approach you for assistance, and in the past you’ve always… well, you know… I’m sorry, this isn’t easy… If I could have a drink of water, dear sir… (Takes a drink.)

CHUBUKOV (aside). He’s after money. Well, he’s had it! (Aloud.) Tell me, my lovely – what is it?

LOMOV. The thing is… what I mean… Stepan Stepanovich… Good sir… My dear… Oh, Lord, I’m getting all worked up… You see what a state I’m in… The thing is… I mean, you’re the only one who can help me, though God knows I don’t deserve it, and I’ve absolutely no right to count on your assistance either…

CHUBUKOV. Stop beating about the bush, dear fellow! Spit it out! Well?

LOMOV. Yes, of course… in a minute… The fact is… Well, actually, I’ve come to ask for the hand of your daughter, Natalya Stepanovna, in marriage…

CHUBUKOV (ecstatic). Gracious me! Ivan Vasilievich! Say that again, I’m not sure I heard right!

LOMOV. Sir, I have the honour to ask for…

CHUBUKIN (interrupting him). My dearest friend! I’m so pleased – absolutely thrilled, delighted, and all that! (Warmly embraces him.) I’ve been wanting this for ages. It’s been my greatest wish, always… (Sheds a tear.) I’ve always loved you, dear heart, like my very own son. God bless you both with good counsel and love and all that – oh, yes, it’s what I’ve always wanted! But what am I standing here for, like an idiot? I’m overcome with joy, absolutely overcome. From the bottom of my heart, I… I’ll go and call Natasha, and all that…

LOMOV (deeply moved). Dear Stepan Stepanovich, tell me – do you think I can count on her acceptance?

CHUBUKOV. What, a handsome fellow like you, and she’d turn you down? She’s probably in love with you already, head over heels and all that… I’ll be back in a minute… (Goes out.)

LOMOV (alone). It’s so cold. I’m shaking like a leaf, as if I was sitting an exam or something. Make your mind up, that’s the main thing. I mean, if you keep putting it off, dithering, mulling it over, waiting for the ideal match, true love or whatever, you’ll never get married at all. Brrr – it’s so cold! Natalya Stepanovna is an excellent housekeeper, not bad looking, well educated – what more do I need? But with all this excitement, I’m starting to get a buzzing in my ears. (Takes a drink of water.) I really should get married. In the first place, I’m already thirty-five – at a critical stage, as they say. In the second place, I need a bit of order and regularity in my life. I’ve got a heart condition, constant palpitations, I’m easily irritated, and I worry terribly all the time… I mean, this very minute my lips are trembling, and I’ve got a nervous tic in my right eye. Worst of all is sleep. No sooner do I lie down in bed and start nodding off, than I get some sort of stabbing pain in my left side that shoots straight up to my shoulder and into my head. I spring out of bed like a madman, pace the floor for a bit, then lie back down. And the instant I start to drop off – bang! There goes my side again! And it’s like that twenty times a night…

NATALYA STEPANOVNA enters.

NATALYA. Goodness me, it’s you! Papa said it was some merchant or other, to pick up some goods. Well, how are you, Ivan Vasilievich?

LOMOV. Very well, thank you, dear Natalya Stepanovna.

NATALYA. You’ll have to excuse me, in this apron and housecoat – we’ve been shelling peas for drying. It’s ages since we’ve seen you – why’s that? Sit down, do, please…

They sit down.

Will you have some lunch?

LOMOV. No, thank you – I’ve already eaten.

NATALYA. Or if you want to smoke… here’s some matches. Isn’t the weather lovely? We’d so much rain yesterday the workers couldn’t do a thing the whole day. Have you managed to cut much hay? Believe it or not, I was so keen to get started I cut the whole meadow, and now I’m worried in case it all rots. I’d have been better waiting. Anyway, what’s all this? A frock coat? That’s new – are you going to a ball or something? It suits you very well, by the way, but what’s the fancy dress for?

LOMOV (agitated). Well, you see, dear Natalya Stepanovna… The thing is, I’ve made up my mind to ask you… to… to hear me out… I mean, you’ll no doubt be surprised, and possibly even angry, but I… (Aside.) It’s terribly cold in here!

NATALYA. What is it? Well?

LOMOV. I’ll try and keep it short. Dear Natalya Stepanovna, as you are aware, I’ve had the great privilege of knowing your family a very long time, since I was a boy, in fact. My late aunt and her husband, from whom, as you know, I inherited my land, always had the most profound respect for your father, and dear departed mother. The Lomovs and the Chubukovs have always been on the friendliest of terms – virtually family, one might say. Moreover, as you well know, my property very closely adjoins yours. And if I might remind you, my Ox Meadow actually borders your birch grove.

NATALYA. Excuse me, but I really must stop you there. You say your Ox Meadow. Is it actually yours?

LOMOV. It is, dear lady.

NATALYA. Well, that’s rich! Ox Meadow is ours, not yours.

LOMOV. No no, dear Natalya Stepanovna – it’s mine.

NATALYA. That’s a new one on me. Since when has it been yours?

LOMOV. Since when? I’m talking about Ox Meadow, which forms a wedge between your birch trees and Burnt Marsh.

NATALYA. Yes, yes, that’s right. And it’s ours.

LOMOV. No, you’re mistaken, dear Natalya Stepanovna. It’s mine.

NATALYA. Think again, Ivan Vasilievich! When did it become yours?

LOMOV. When? It’s always been ours, as far back as I remember.

NATALYA. Oh, this is ridiculous!

LOMOV. It’s all down on paper, dear Natalya Stepanovna. There was some dispute about Ox Meadow at one time, that’s true, but everybody knows it’s mine now. There’s no argument. If you’ll let me explain, my aunt’s grandmother handed over that meadow, rent-free and without limit of time, for your father’s grandfather’s peasants to use, because they made bricks for her. Your father’s grandfather’s peasants had the use of it free of charge for about forty years, and came to regard it as their own. And then, after the Emancipation…

NATALYA. That’s not how it was at all! My grandfather, and great-grandfather took it for granted that their land ran right up to the edge of Burnt Marsh, which means that Ox Meadow is ours, end of story. I don’t understand you at all and this is really annoying.

LOMOV. I can show you the papers, Natalya Stepanovna.

NATALYA. No, you’re joking, surely, or trying to make a fool of me. Some sur...