Ivanov

Full Text and Introduction

Anton Chekhov, Stephen Mulrine

• Publisher: Nick Hern Books
• Year: 2019
• Print ISBN: 9781848420687
• eBook ISBN: 9781788502450
• Topic: Literature
• Subtopic: Drama
• Index: Literature

Drama Classics: The World's Great Plays at a Great Little Price Set in a country weighed down by political, ideological and spiritual stagnation, Chekhov's compelling early play is rooted in the revolutionary atmosphere of Russia at the turn of the 20th century.

Anton Chekhov's play Ivanov was first performed in 1887 at the Korsh Theatre in Moscow.

This English version, in the Nick Hern Books Drama Classics series, is translated and introduced by Stephen Mulrine, with notes on Further Reading, a Chronology and a Pronunciation Guide.

ACT ONE

The garden of IVANOV’s estate. At left, the front of the house, with a veranda. One window is open. In front of the house, a wide semicircular area, from which paths lead off right and centre to other parts of the garden. At right, some garden seats and small tables, on one of which a lamp is burning. Evening is drawing on. As the curtain rises, a piano and cello duet can be heard from inside the house.

IVANOV is sitting at a table reading a book. BORKIN appears at the bottom of the garden in top-boots, carrying a shotgun. He is a little drunk. Catching sight of IVANOV, he tiptoes up to him and points the gun at his head.

IVANOV (starts up in alarm). Misha, for God’s sake! You gave me a fright. I’ve got enough on my plate without your silly jokes. (Sits down again.) I suppose you think that’s funny.

BORKIN (chuckling). Alright, alright, I’m sorry. (Sits down beside him.) I won’t do it again, I promise. (Takes off his cap.) Phew, it’s hot! Would you believe – I’ve just ridden fifteen miles in under three hours? I’m worn out. Look, feel that – that’s my heart pounding.

IVANOV (reading his book). Yes, fine – later.

BORKIN. No, listen. Feel, right now. (Takes IVANOV’s hand and places it on his chest.) You hear that? Ba-boom, ba-boom, ba-boom . . . That’s a sign of heart trouble, that is. I could drop dead any minute. Would it upset you, d’you think, if I died?

IVANOV. Not now – I’m trying to read.

BORKIN. No, but seriously – would you be upset, if I suddenly dropped dead? Nikolai Alekseyevich, would you be upset if I died?

IVANOV. Oh, stop pestering me!

BORKIN. My dear, just tell me – would it upset you?

IVANOV. You’re reeking of vodka, that’s what upsets me! It’s disgusting, Misha.

BORKIN (laughs). Am I really? Well, that is a surprise. Actually, there’s nothing surprising about it. I happened to bump into the magistrate in Plesniki, and the pair of us, would you believe, downed about eight vodkas each. And not to put too fine a point on it, drinking’s bad for you. I mean, isn’t it? Eh? It’s bad for you, right?

IVANOV. Oh, this is intolerable! You’re doing this deliberately to annoy me, Misha.

BORKIN. Alright, I’m sorry, I’m sorry. Sit down, for goodness’ sake. (Stands up, makes to exit.) Honestly, some people – you can’t even have a word with them! (Comes back.) Oh yes, I almost forgot . . . Eighty-two roubles, please.

IVANOV. What eighty-two roubles?

BORKIN. To pay the workmen tomorrow.

IVANOV. I haven’t got it.

BORKIN. Well, thank you most humbly! (Mimicking him.) ‘I haven’t got it.’ I mean, the men have to be paid. Haven’t they?

IVANOV. I don’t know. I’ve got nothing today. If you can wait till the first of the month, till I get my salary.

BORKIN. You know, it’s a waste of time even discussing these things with you. The men’ll be here for their money tomorrow morning, not the first of the month!

IVANOV. So what do you want me to do? You keep nagging me, you’re worse than toothache. And you have a nasty habit of badgering me just when I’ve started to read or write or whatever . . .

BORKIN. I’m asking you – do the men get paid or not? Oh, this is pointless! (Waves his hands dismissively.) Huh, landowners, gentlemen farmers – the hell with the lot of them! Call themselves agriculturists – three thousand acres and not a penny to show for it! Like having a wine-cellar and no corkscrew! Well, I’ll just have to sell the horse and cart tomorrow. Yes, sir, I might just do that. I’ve already sold the oats before they’re even harvested, and I’ll do the same tomorrow with the rye. (Paces up and down the stage.) You think I won’t? Well, sir, if that’s what you think, you’ve got the wrong man.

SHABELSKY and ANNA PETROVNA are inside the house meanwhile, and SHABELSKY is heard through the open window.

SHABELSKY. Really, it’s quite impossible trying to play with you! You’ve no ear for music, and your touch is dreadful. You’re about as sensitive as a stuffed pike!

ANNA P (appearing at the open window). Who was that talking just now? Was that you, Misha? What are you doing, pacing up and down like that?

BORKIN. It’s that Monsieur Nicolas of yours – he’d drive you to it!

ANNA P. Listen, Misha – tell the servants to cart some hay over to the croquet lawn.

BORKIN (with a dismissive wave). Oh, leave me in peace . . .

ANNA P. You know, that’s no way to talk, it does nothing for you. Not if you want to be a hit with the ladies. You shouldn’t ever let them see you in a bad mood, or on your high horse. (To her husband.) Come on, Nikolai, let’s go and tumble in the hay!

IVANOV. Anna, it’s not good for your health, standing at that open window. Go back in, please do. (Shouts.) Uncle, close the window! (The window is closed.)

BORKIN. And don’t forget you’ve to pay the interest to Lebedev, day after tomorrow.

IVANOV. Yes, I know. I’m going over to Lebedev’s later today, and I’ll ask him if he’d mind waiting . . . (Looks at his watch.)

BORKIN. So when are you going?

IVANOV. In a minute.

BORKIN. No, hold on, wait! It’s Sasha’s birthday today, isn’t it. (Tuts.) I almost forgot. Honestly, what a memory. (Springs to his feet.) I’ll come! Yes, I’ll come with you. (Sings.) I’ll come with you! I’ll have a bath, chew some paper, with three drops of ammonia, and I’ll be as right as rain. Dear Nikolai Alekseyevich – God love you, my angel, but you’re a bundle of nerves, down in the dumps all the time, complaining. I mean, just think of the things we could do together, you and I, there’d be no stopping us! And I’d do anything for you, you know that. Would you like me to marry the widow Babakin? You can have half of her dowry, it’s yours. No, take all of it – take the lot, damn it!

IVANOV. Don’t talk such rubbish!

BORKIN. No, I’m serious. Do you want me to marry her, young Marfa? Split the dowry fifty-fifty? But why am I telling you this, you’re not even listening. (Mimicking him.) ‘Don’t talk such rubbish!’ You know, you’re a decent fellow, quite intelligent, but there’s something lacking, some sort of vital spark. You should break out once in a while, and to hell with the consequences. You’re neurotic, forever whining – yet if you were a normal person, you could make a million in a year. For instance, if I had two thousand, three hundred roubles right now, I’d have twenty thousand in two weeks’ time. You don’t believe me? I’m still talking rubbish? Alright, then, give me twenty-three hundred roubles, and within a week I’ll make twenty thousand for you. Ovsyanov’s selling a strip of land, right opposite ours, for twenty-three hundred. If we buy that land, both banks of the river’ll belong to us. And if we own both banks, we’ll be entitled to dam the river. Right? So we can start building a mill, and the minute word gets round that we’re planning to dam the river, all the people downstream’ll raise merry hell, and we’ll just tell them straight – if you don’t want a dam, you’ll have to cough up. D’you follow me? The Zarevsky factory – let’s say five thousand; the Korolkov, three thousand; the monastery, five thousand . . .

IVANOV. That’s sharp practice, Misha. Keep your thoughts to yourself, unless you want an argument.

BORKIN (sits down at the table). Yes, of course – I might’ve known. You’re not prepared to do anything, and my hands are tied.

Enter SHABELSKY and LVOV from the house.

SHABELSKY. Doctors are like lawyers, with one difference. Lawyers rob you blind, but doctors rob you blind, then murder you . . . Present company excepted, of course. (Sits down on a garden seat.) Yes, charlatans and exploiters . . . Maybe in some ideal world, you might bump into some exceptions to the rule, but . . . in the course of a lifetime I must’ve paid out twenty thousand roubles in doctor’s fees, and I’ve never met one yet who didn’t strike me as a licensed swindler.

BORKIN (to IVANOV.) Yes, you won’t do anything, and my hands are tied. That’s why we’ve no money . . .

SHABELSKY. I’ll say again, I’m not talking about present company . . . Maybe there are exceptions, although, generally speaking . . . (Yawns.)

IVANOV (closing his book). Well, Doctor?

LVOV (looking back at the window). Same as I said this morning: she needs to go to the Crimea as soon as possible. (Pacing up and down.)

SHABELSKY (with a snort of laughter). Crimea! . . . Why don’t you and I take up medicine, Misha? It’s a piece of cake . . . Madame So-and-so gets a tickle in her throat, starts coughing out of sheer boredom, and we take a piece of paper, apply our science, and prescribe as follows: first, one young doctor, then a trip to the Crimea, where some handsome young Tartar . . .

IVANOV (to SHABELSKY) Oh, don’t be such a bore! (To LVOV.) Trips to the Crimea cost money. And supposing I can find the money, she’ll almost certainly refuse to go.

LVOV. Yes, I know. (A pause.)

BORKIN. Listen, Doctor – seriously, is Anna Petrovna so ill that she has to go to the Crimea?

LVOV (looks round at the window). Yes . . . tuberculosis.

BORKIN. Phew! That’s bad. Actually, the way she looks, I’ve thought for some time she wouldn’t last long.

LVOV. Anyway . . . keep your voice down. They can hear you inside. (A pause.)

BORKIN (sighs). You know, this life of ours . . . A man’s life is like a little flower, blossoming in a meadow. Along comes a goat, and eats it – no more flower.

SHABELSKY. Nonsense. Nonsense, and more nonsense . . . (Yawns.) Piffle and balderdash. (A pause.)

BORKIN. Meanwhile, gentlemen, I’ve just been instructing Nikolai Alekseyevich on how to get his hands on some money. I’ve given him a brilliant idea, but my seed’s fallen on stony ground, same as usual. You can’t get through to the man. I mean, just look at him – the picture of melancholy, spleen, depression, downright misery . . .

SHABELSKY (stands up and stretches). You’re a regular brainbox, ever ready with some wonderful idea, teaching us all how to live – well, I wish you really did have something to teach me, just once. So come on, clever clogs, show me a way out of this mess . . .

BORKIN (stands up). I’m going for a swim. Goodbye, gentlemen . . . (To SHABELSKY.) You have at least twenty ways out. Put me in your place for a week, and I’d have twenty...

Table of contents

• Cover
• Title page
• Contents
• Introduction
• Chekhov: Key Dates
• Characters
• Ivanov
• Copyright and Performing Rights Information