A sense of inhumanity hangs over the entire action, with no character ever making true contact with another. A deeply etched caricature in the style of Daumier or Goya, The Wedding subjects the lower-middle class to merciless derision. And in the process, Chekhov casts a shadow over that stalwart family value, the institution of holy matrimony.
THE WEDDING
C‚a‰ь·a
A Play in One Act
CAST1
Yevdokim Zakharovich ZHIGALOV, civil servant, retired
NASTASYA TIMOFEEVNA, his wife
DASHENKA, their daughter
Epaminond Maksimovich APLOMBOV, her bridegroom
Fyodor Yakovlevich REVUNOV-KARAULOV, naval captain, 2nd class, retired
Andrey Andreevich NYUNIN, an insurance agent
Anna Martynovna ZMEYUKINA, a midwife, 30, in a bright crimson dress
Ivan Mikhailovich YAT, a telegraph operator
Kharlampi Spiridonovich DYMBA, a Greek caterer
Dmitry Stepanovich MOZGOVOY, sailor in the Volunteer Fleet2
GROOM’S MEN,3 BRIDESMAIDS, WAITERS, ETC.
A brightly lit reception room. A large table, laid for supper. Tailcoated waiters are fussing around the table. Offstage, a band is playing the last figure of a quadrille.
ZMEYUKINA, YAT, and BEST MAN cross the stage.
ZMEYUKINA. No, no, no!
YAT (following her). Take pity on me! Take pity on me!
ZMEYUKINA. No, no, no!
BEST MAN (chasing after them). You can’t do this, people! Where are you off to? What about the “gran rawn”? “Gran rawn, seel voo playt!”4
They leave. Enter NASTASYA TIMOFEEVNA and APLOMBOV.
NASTASYA TIMOFEEVNA. Why are you pestering me with this silly talk, you’d better go dance.
APLOMBOV. I’m no Spinoza to spin around with my legs bent into a pretzel.5 I’m a respectable person, with good references, and I derive no amusement from such idle pursuits. But this isn’t about dancing. Excuse me, maman, but I can’t figure out why you act the way you do. For instance, in addition to some indispensable domestic articles, you promised to give me, along with your daughter, two lottery tickets. Where are they?
NASTASYA TIMOFEEVNA. I’ve got such a splitting headache . . . It must be this awful weather . . . we’re in for a thaw!
APLOMBOV. Don’t try to hoodwink me. Today I found out you put those tickets in pawn. Pardon me, maman, but the only people who act like that are swindlers. I’m not complaining out of selfishness — I don’t need your lottery tickets, but it’s the principle of the thing, and I won’t have anybody putting anything over on me. I’ve procured your daughter’s happiness, but if you don’t hand over those tickets today, I’ll make your daughter’s life a living hell. On my honor as a gentleman!
NASTASYA TIMOFEEVNA (glancing at the table and counting the place settings). One, two, three, four, five . . .
A WAITER. The chef wants to know how you’d like the ice cream served: with rum, Madeira, or on its own?
APLOMBOV. Rum. And tell your boss there’s not enough wine. Tell him to serve more “Ho Soturn.”6 (To Nastasya Timofeevna.) Likewise you promised, and it was fully agreed upon, that there’d be a General at this supper party. Well, where is he, I’d like to know?
NASTASYA TIMOFEEVNA. This, my dear, is not my fault.
APLOMBOV. Whose then?
NASTASYA TIMOFEEVNA. It’s Andrey Andreevich’s fault . . . Yesterday he went and promised to bring the most genuine General. (Sighs.) Must not have run across one anywheres, or he would have brought him . . . Does that mean we’re stingy? For our darling daughter we wouldn’t stint a thing. You want a General, you’ll get a General . . .
APLOMBOV. And besides that . . . Everyone, you included, maman, knows that before I’d proposed to Dashenka, that telegraph operator Yat was going out with her. Why did you invite him? Didn’t you realize it would get on my nerves?
NASTAYA TIMOFEEVNA. Ooh, what’s your name? — Epaminond Mak-simych, you’ve not been married a full day yet, and already you’ve tortured both me and Dashenka to death with your blather. What’ll it be like after a year? You’re such a pest, ooh, a pest.
APLOMBOV. You don’t like hearing the truth? Aha? Thought so. Then behave like a decent person. That’s all I ask of you: behave like a decent person!
Couples dancing the grand rond cross the room from one door to the other. The first couple is the BEST MAN and DASHENKA, the last YAT and ZMEYUKINA. These last two fall behind and remain in the room.
ZHIGALOV and DYMBA enter and walk up to the table.
BEST MAN (shouting). Promenade! M’sewers, promenade! (Offstage.) Promenade!
The couples go off.
YAT (to Zmeyukina). Take pity on me! Take pity, fascinating Anna Martynovna!
ZMEYUKINA. Aah, what’s wrong with you . . . I already told you, I’m not in voice today.
YAT. Sing something, I implore you! Just one single note! Take pity on me! Just one note!
ZMEYUKINA. You’re driving me crazy . . . (She sits and waves her fan.)
YAT. No, you’re simply heartless! That so cruel a creature, pardon the expression, should have so spectacular a voice, spectacular! With a voice like that, excuse the expression, you shouldn’t be a midwife, but a singer in concert halls with an audience! For instance, the divine way you handle those trills . . . like this. (He croons.) “I loved you once, but ever loved in vain . . .” Spectacular!
ZMEYUKINA (croons). “I loved you, and that love might still perhaps . . .”7 Is that it?
YAT. That’s the very thing! Spectacular!
ZMEYUKINA. No, I’m not in voice today. Here — fan a breeze my way . . . It’s so hot. (To Aplombov.) Epaminond Maksimych, why so melancholy? Is that the way a bridegroom should behave? Aren’t you ashamed of yourself, you naughty man? Well, a penny for your thoughts?
APLOMBOV. Marriage is a serious step! You’ve got to consider everything in depth and in detail.
ZMEYUKINA. You’re all such naughty cynics! Just being around you smothers me . . . I need atmosphere! You hear! I need atmosphere! (She croons.)
YAT. Spectacular! Spectacular!
ZMEYUKINA. Fan me, keep fanning, or I think my heart’ll burst. Tell me, please, why do I feel so smothered?
YAT. It’s because you’re sweating, ma’am . . .