Act Three returns to Ivanov’s study, which ought to be his sanctum, but is, as the stage direction makes clear, a jumble, a visual metaphor for the disorder of his existence. His papers, presumably the products of his brain and the instruments of his labor, lie cheek by jowl with food and drink, consumed by others who expatiate on gastronomy. Coming as it does after Anna’s melodramatic discovery, this interlude strikes the note of triviality and neutralizes what might otherwise be overly theatrical. It is Chekhov’s way of cooling overheated actions by pairing them with the banal. Ivanov himself seems aware of this, for he resents the intrusion of his workaday friends on his moping. Their commentary reduces his soul searching to cheap and obvious motives.
“It’s like living in Australia,” says Kosykh, evoking the provincial barbarity where vast expanses stretch between estates, and yet privacy is impossible. The last act interweaves public and private worlds as the wedding party prepares for benediction before going to church. The event could not be more conspicuous, despite the personal nature of the conjugal bond, and the characters have difficulty finding a quiet corner in which to unburden their minds. Ivanov’s entrance is regarded as a tactless invasion, a bridegroom seeing the bride before the ceremony, and his self-destruction is enacted before a crowd of horrified onlookers.
IVANOV
И‚aнo‚
Drama in Four Acts
FINAL VERSION
[Bracketed footnote numerals refer to footnotes in Ivanov, First Version.]
CHARACTERS
IVANOV, NIKOLAY ALEKSEEVICH, Permanent member of the Council for Peasant Affairs[1
ANNA PETROVNA, his wife, born Sarra Abramson[2]
SHABELSKY, MATVEY SEMYONOVICH, Count, his maternal uncle
LEBEDEV, PAVEL KIRILLYCH, Chairman of the Rural Board[3]
ZINAIDA SAVISHNA, his wife
SASHA, the Lebedevs’ daughter, 20
LVOV, YEVGENY KONSTANTINOVICH, a young country doctor[4]
BABAKINA, MARFA YEGOROVNA, a young widow, landowner, daughter of a rich merchant
KOSYKH, DMITRY NIKITICH, a tax collector
BORKIN, MIKHAIL MIKHAILOVICH, a distant relative of Ivanov and manager of his estate
AVDOTYA NAZAROVNA, an old woman of no fixed profession
YEGORUSHKA, a poor relation of the Lebedevs
FIRST GUEST
SECOND GUEST
THIRD GUEST
FOURTH GUEST
PYOTR, Ivanov’s manservant
GAVRILA, the Lebedevs’ manservant
GUESTS of both sexes
MANSERVANTS
The action takes place in one of the districts[5] of Central Russia.
ACT ONE
A garden on Ivanov’s estate. Left, the facade of a house with a veranda. One of the windows is open. In front of the veranda is a broad, semicircular expanse, with paths leading straight ahead and to the left, to the garden. At the right, little garden settees and tables. A lamp is lit on one of the latter. Evening is drawing on. At the rise of the curtain one can hear a duet for piano and cello being practiced in the house.
I
IVANOV and BORKIN.
IVANOV is sitting at a table, reading a book. BORKIN, wearing heavy boots and carrying a rifle, appears at the bottom of the garden; he is tipsy; after he spots Ivanov, he tiptoes up to him and, when he has come alongside him, aims the gun in his face.
IVANOV (on seeing Borkin, shudders and jumps up). Misha, God knows what . . . you scared me . . . I’m jittery enough as it is, but you keep playing these stupid jokes . . . (Sits.) He scared me, so he’s pleased with himself . . .
BORKIN (roars with laughter). Right, right . . . sorry, sorry. (Sits beside him.) I won’t do it any more, no more . . . (Takes off his vizored cap.) It’s hot. Would you believe, sweetheart, I’ve covered over ten miles in something like three hours . . . I’ve knocked myself out . . . Just feel my heart, the way it’s pounding . . .
IVANOV (reading). Fine, later . . .
BORKIN. No, feel it right now. (Takes his hand and puts it on his chest.) You hear it? Boom-boom-boom-boom-boom-boom-boom. That means I’ve got heart trouble. Any minute I could keel over and die. Say, would you be sorry if I died?
IVANOV. I’m reading . . . later . . .
BORKIN. No, seriously, would you be sorry if I suddenly up and died? Niko-lay Alekseevich, would you be sorry if I died?
IVANOV. Stop pestering me!
BORKIN. Dear boy, tell me, would you be sorry?
IVANOV. I’m sorry that you reek of vodka. It’s disgusting, Misha.
BORKIN (laughs). I really reek? I can’t believe it . . . Actually, I can believe it. At Plesniki I ran into the coroner, and the two of us, I must admit, knocked back about eight drinks a piece. Fundamentally, drinking is very bad for your health. Tell me, is it really bad for a person’s health? Is it bad for you?
IVANOV. This is unbearable, for the last time . . . Get it through your head, Misha, that this teasing . . .
BORKIN. Right, right . . . sorry, sorry! . . . Take it easy, sit down . . . (Gets up and walks away.) Incredible people, you’re not even allowed to talk. (Comes back.) Oh, yes! I almost forgot . . . Let’s have it, eighty-two rubles! . . .
IVANOV. What eighty-two rubles?
BORKIN. To pay the workmen tomorrow.
IVANOV. I haven’t got it.
BORKIN. Thank you very kindly! (Mimics him.) I haven’t got it . . . After all, don’t the workmen have to be paid? Don’t they?
IVANOV. I don’t know. I haven’t got anything today. Wait till the first of the month when I get my salary.[6]
BORKIN. Just try and have a conversation with characters like this! . . . The workmen aren’t coming for their money on the first of the month, but tomorrow morning!
IVANOV. What am I supposed to do about it now? Go on, saw me in half, nag at me . . . And where you did you pick up this revolting habit of pestering me whenever I’m reading, writing or . . .
BORKIN. What I’m asking you is: do the workmen get paid or not? Eh, what’s the use of talking to you! . . . (Waves his hand in dismissal.) Landowners too, the hell with ‘em, lords of creation . . . Experimental farming methods . . . Nearly three hundred acres of land and not a penny in their pocket . . . It’s like a wine cellar without a corkscrew. I’ll go and sell the carriage-horses tomorrow! Yes, sir! . . . I sold the oats while they were still standing in the field, tomorrow I’ll go and sell the rye. (Strides up and down the stage.) You think I’ll wait for an invitation? Do you? Well, no sir, you’re not dealing with that sort of person . . .