The Complete Plays

THE WEDDING

Chekhov characterized The Wedding as a “play in one act,” thus distinguishing it from his one-act comedies called “jokes” (shutki). It differs, too, in being based on real experiences and individuals from Chekhov’s past. The Greek confectioner Dymba was modeled on a clerk in his father’s grocery store in Taganrog; the flirtatious midwife he had met when serving as best man at a wedding in 1887. Between 1885 and 1886, Chekhov had lived in a Moscow flat beneath the quarters of a caterer who rented out rooms for weddings and balls. At times, he seemed obsessed with nuptial ceremonials, which are the subject of many of his stories written in the 1880s. This play was first performed at the Art and Literary Society at the Moscow Hunt Club on November 28, 1900, as part of a Chekhov evening. Lev Tolstoy, who was present, laughed till he cried.

The Wedding masterfully displays the dissolution of social convention. Every pretense kept up by one character is demolished by another. No one’s secrets are safe. Over the course of the play, we discover that the groom has married the bride for the sake of a paltry dowry, which has yet to be paid; that the bride is herself totally insensitive to her situation; that her parents are the most narrow and parsimonious of philistines; and that the guests bear no particular goodwill to the newlyweds. The play revolves around one principal deception: to dress out the banquet, a “General,” that is, a high-ranking official, a V.I.P., is required as guest of honor. The bride’s mother has charged a friend with this task; he has pocketed the money and brought a deaf naval captain. The mother discovers the swindle and turns the old man out without further ado. At that moment, the farcical tone of the play alters. The old captain, disabused and stripped of any consideration, can only gasp in horror, “How disgusting! How revolting!” After the old man’s exit, the guests and hosts revert to their squabbling. The moment of genuine feeling has made no dent in their thick hides.

Again, Chekhov employed the comic device of the gap between reality and the characters’ aspirations. Hoping to sound refined, they mangle French and mispronounce polysyllabic words. Zmeyukina, a midwife whose profession is of the earthiest, constantly demands “atmosphere” and delicate feelings. In anticipation of Solyony in Three Sisters, she quotes the romantic poet Lermontov. The father of the bride invariably dismisses anything unfamiliar with contempt, branding it “monkeyshines.” The main oration of the evening is delivered by a Greek who butchers the Russian language. Yet when a native Russian speaker rises to address the guests, it is the retired Captain, whose naval lingo is every bit as incomprehensible. Assuming that he is entertaining the company, the old salt bores the guests into stupor and then mutiny.

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 . . .

ZMEYUKINA. Phooey, don’t be so vulgar! Don’t you dare use such expressions!

YAT. Sorry! Of course, you’re accustomed, pardon the expression, to aristo-cratical society and . . .

ZMEYUKINA. Aah, leave me alone! I need poetry, excitement! Fan me, fan me . . .

ZHIGALOV (to Dymba). Shall we have another? (Pours.) There’s always time for a drink. The main thing, Kharlampy Spiridonych, don’t neglect your business. Drink up, but keep a clear head . . . Though if you want a little nip, why not have a little nip? Always time for a little nip . . . Your health! (They drink.) Say, have you got any tigers in Greece!

DYMBA. We got.

ZHIGALOV. How about lions?

DYMBA. And lions we got. In Russia is notting, in Greece is all ting.⁸ Dere I got fodder and oncle and brodders, but here is notting.

ZHIGALOV. Hmm . . . any whales in Greece?

DYMBA. All ting we got.

NASTASYA TIMOFEEVNA (to her husband). Why are you eating and drinking any old way? It’s time we all sat down. Don’t stick your fork in the lobsters . . . That’s there for the General. He may show up yet . . .

ZHIGALOV. Have you got lobsters in Greece?

DYMBA. We got . . . All ting we got dere.

ZHIGALOV. Hmm . . . have you got senior civil servants too?

ZMEYUKINA. I can imagine what a wonderful atmosphere there is in Greece!

ZHIGALOV. And I’ll bet a lot of monkeyshines as well. Greeks are just like Armenians or gypsies. Can’t sell you a sponge or a goldfish without trying to put one over on you. Shall we have another?

NASTASYA TIMOFEEVNA. Why keep drinking any old way? It’s time to sit down. Almost midnight! . . .

ZHIGALOV. If it’s sitting you want, sitting you’ll get. Ladies and gentlemen, please be so kind! Do me the favor! (He shouts.) Supper’s on! Young people!

NASTASYA TIMOFEEVNA. Dear guests! Be so kind! Take your seats!

ZMEYUKINA (sitting at the table). I need poetry! “But he, the rebel, seeks the storm, as if a storm could offer peace.”⁹1 need a storm!

YAT (aside). Wonderful woman! I’m in love! Head over heels in love!

Enter DASHENKA, MOZGOVOY, BEST MAN, GROOM’S MEN, MAIDS OF HONOR, etc. Everyone sits noisily at the table. A moment’s pause, the band plays a march.

MOZGOVOY (rising). Ladies and gentlemen! I’m supposed to say the following . . . We’ve got all sorts of toasts and speeches lined up. So let’s not beat around the bush, but start right in! Ladies and gentlemen, I propose a toast to the newlyweds!

The band plays a fanfare. Cheers. Clinking glasses.

MOZGOVOY. It’s bitter!¹⁰ Sweeten it up!

EVERYONE. It’s bitter! Sweeten it up!

APLOMBOV and DASHENKA kiss.

YAT. Spectacular! Spectacular! I must remark, ladies and gentlemen, and give credit where credit’s due, that this room and the whole affair is magnificent! First-rate, enchanting! But do you know the one thing missing for absolute perfection? Electric lighting, pardon the expression! Every country has already installed electric lighting, and only Russia lags behind.

ZHIGALOV (weightily). Electricity . . . Hm . . . Well, in my opinion, electric light is just a lot of monkeyshines . . . They shovel in a little coal and think they’ve pulled the wool over your eyes! No, pal, if you’re going to light us up, don’t give us coal, but something with body to it, something special that a man can sink his teeth into! Give us fire—got me? —fire, which comes from nature, not your imagination!

YAT. If you’d ever seen what an electric battery’s made out of, maybe you’d change your mind.

ZHIGALOV. But I don’t want to see it. Monkeyshines. They’re swindling the common man . . . Squeezing the last drop out of him . . . We know their kind . . . As for you, young man, why stick up for monkeyshines, better have a drink and fill the glasses. That’s the thing to do!

APLOMBOV. I’m in complete agreement, Dad. What’s the point of trotting out these highbrow conversations? Personally I’ve got nothing against discussing any kind of invention in a scientific context, but is this the proper time! (To Dashenka.) What’s your opinion, “ma chair”?¹¹

DASHENKA. The gentleman’s just trying to show off his eddication, talking about what nobody understands.

NASTASYA TIMOFEEVNA. We’ve lived all our life without education, thank God, and this is the third daughter we’ve married off to a good man. If, according to you, we’re so uneducated, why come here? Go back to your educated friends!

YAT. Nastasya Timofeevna, I’ve always respected your family, so if I bring up the electric light, it doesn’t mean I’m showing off. I’ll even have a drink. I’ve always wished Darya Yevdokimovna a good husband from the bottom of my heart. Nowadays, Nastasya Timofeevna, it’s not easy to find a good husband. These days everyone’s getting married for what he can make off it, for the money . . .

APLOMBOV. That’s an insinuation!

YAT (backing off). No insinuations intended . . . I wasn’t talking about present company . . . I just . . . generally speaking . . . For heaven’s sake! Everybody knows you’re marrying for love . . . The dowry’s skimpy enough.

NASTASYA TIMOFEEVNA. No, it is not skimpy! You open your mouth, young sir, and pay no mind to what comes out. Besides the thousand rubles cash money, we’re giving three ladies’ coats, a bed, and all the furniture. Just try and dig up such a dowry anywheres else!

YAT. I didn’t mean . . . Certainly, furniture’s a fine thing and . . . so are coats, of course, but I was concerned about this gentleman’s taking offense at my insinuations.

NASTASYA TIMOFEEVNA. Then don’t make any. Out of consideration for your parents we invited you to this wedding, and you make all kinds of remarks. If you knew that Epaminond Maksimych was marrying for money, why didn’t you say something earlier? (Tearfully.) I reared her, nursed her, cared for her . . . she was her mother’s pride and joy, my little girl . . .

APLOMBOV. So you believe him? Thank you ever so much! Most grateful to you! (To Yat.) As for you, Mr. Yat, although you’re a friend of mine, I won’t have you acting so discourteously in other people’s houses! I’ll thank you to clear out!

YAT. How’s that again?

APLOMBOV. If only you were the same kind of gentleman what I am! In a word, please clear out of here!

The band plays a fanfare.

GROOM’S MEN (to Aplombov). Let it alone! Calm down! Hey, cut it out! Sit down! Take it easy!

YAT. I didn’t do a thing . . . I just . . . I certainly don’t understand why . . . As you like, I’ll go . . . Only first pay me back the five rubles you borrowed last year for a quilted, pardon the expression, waistcoat. I’ll have one more drink, and then . . . I’ll go, only first you pay me what you owe me.

GROOM’S MEN. Hey, come on, come on! That’s enough! Is it worth arguing over nothing?

BEST MAN (shouts). To the health of the bride’s parents, Yevdokim Zakharych and Nastasya Timofeevna!

The band plays a fanfare. Cheers.

ZHIGALOV (moved, bows in all directions). I thank you! Dear guests! I’m most grateful to you for remembering us and showing up, and not being standoffish! . . . Now don’t think that this is a lot of hooey or monkeyshines on my part, for it’s strictly from the heart! From the very bottom of my heart! Nothing’s too good for decent people! My humble thanks! (Exchange of kisses.)

DASHENKA (to her mother). Mummy dear, why are you crying? I’m so happy!

APLOMBOV. Maman’s upset at the imminent parting. But I suggest that she’d better remember what we were talking about before.

YAT. Don’t cry, Nastasya Timofeevna! Don’t you realize what human tears are? A sign of feebleminded psychiatrics, that’s all!

ZHIGALOV. Have you got mushrooms in Greece?

DYMBA. We got. All ting we got dere.

ZHIGALOV. Well, I bet you haven’t got the creamy ones.

DYMBA. Krim we got. All ting we got.

MOZGOVOY. Kharlampy Spiridonych, it’s your turn to make a speech! Ladies and gentlemen, let him make a speech!

EVERYONE (to Dymba). Speech! Speech! Your turn!

DYMBA. Pliss? Not to understanding . . . How is what?

ZMEYUKINA. No, no! Don’t you dare turn us down! It’s your turn! Stand up!

DYMBA (rises, bashful). I talk sometings . . . Is Russia and is Griss. Now in Russia is such a pipples, and in Griss is such a pipples . . . And pipples on ocean is sailing karávia, in Russian means sheeps, but on land is all sorts which is railroad trains. I understanding good . . . We Griks, you Russians, and I not needing nottings . . . I can talk also dis . . . Is Russia and is Griss.

NYUNIN enters.

NYUNIN. Wait a minute, ladies and gentlemen, stop eating! Hold on! Nastasya Timofeevna, step over here a minute! (Takes Nastasya Timofeevna aside; out of breath.) Listen . . . The General’s on his way . . . I finally got hold of one . . . Had a perfectly awful time of it . . . The General’s genuine, highly respectable, old, must be about eighty, then again maybe ninety . . . .

NASTASYA TIMOFEEVNA. When will he get here?

NYUNIN. Any minute now. You’re going to thank me for the rest of your life. Not a general, but a rose garden, a Napoleon!¹² Not an ordinary foot soldier, not infantry, but navy! In rank he’s a captain second class, but in their lingo, the navy’s, that’s the same as a Major-General or in the civil service an actual State Councilor. Absolutely the same. Even higher.

NASTASYA TIMOFEEVNA. You’re not trying to finagle me, are you, Andryu-sha sweetie?

NYUNIN. What’s that, you think I’m a four-flusher? Don’t you worry!

NASTASYA TIMOFEEVNA (sighing). I wouldn’t want to throw our money down the drain, Andryusha sweetie . . .

NYUNIN. Don’t you worry! He’s not just a General, but an oil painting! (Raising his voice.) I says to him, “You’ve quite forgotten us,” I says, “Your Excellency! It’s not nice, Your Excellency, to forget your old friends! Nastasya Timofeevna,” I says, “thinks very highly of you!” (Goes to the table and sits down) Then he says, “Excuse me, my friend, how can I go when I don’t know the groom?”—”Oh, that’s enough of that, Your Excellency, don’t stand on ceremony! The groom,” I says, “is a splendid fellow, wears his heart on his sleeve. Works,” I says, “as an appraiser in a pawnshop, but don’t think, Your Excellency, that he’s some kind of puny little runt or a shifty conman either. Nowadays,” I says, “even highborn ladies work in pawnshops.” He claps me on the shoulder, we each smoke a panatela, and now he’s on his way . . . Wait a bit, ladies and gentlemen, stop eating . . .

APLOMBOV. But when will he get here?

NYUNIN. Any minute now. When I left him, he was putting on his galoshes. Hold on, ladies and gentlemen, don’t eat.

APLOMBOV. Then you’d better tell them to play a march . . .

NYUNIN (shouts). Hey, musicians! A march!

The band plays a march for a minute.

WAITER (announcing). Mister Revunov-Karaulov.

ZHIGALOV, NASTASYA TIMOFEEVNA, and NYUNIN run to meet him.

Enter REVUNOV-KARAULOV.

NASTASYA TIMOFEEVNA (bowing). Make yourself at home, Your Excellency! Pleased to meet you!

REVUNOV. Pleasure’s all mine!

ZHIGALOV. We’re just plain, simple, ordinary people, Your Excellency, but don’t suppose that for our part we’d go in for any monkeyshines. We put great stock in decent folks, nothing’s too good for ‘em. Make yourself at home!

REVUNOV. Pleasure’s all mine, delighted!

NYUNIN. May I introduce, Your Excellency! The bridegroom, Epaminond Maksimych Aplombov, and his newly born . . . I mean, his newly wedded wife! Ivan Mikhailych Yat, who works in the telegraph office! A foreigner of Greek persuasion in the catering line, Kharlampy Spiridonych Dymba! Osip Lukich Babelmandebsky! Et cetera, et cetera . . . All the rest are no account. Take a seat, Your Excellency!

REVUNOV. Pleasure’s all mine! Excuse me, ladies and gentlemen. I’d like to have a word with Andryusha. (Takes Nyunin aside.) I’m a little confused, my boy . . . Why do you call me Your Excellency? For I’m no General, after all! Captain second class — that’s even lower than a colonel.

NYUNIN (speaks in his ear as if he were deaf). I know, Fyodor Yakovlevich, but please allow us to call you Your Excellency! This here family, y’see, is very old-fashioned, they respect their elders and love to kowtow to people of rank . . .

REVUNOV. Oh, if that’s the way things are, all right . . . (Going to the table.) Pleasure’s all mine!

NASTASYA TIMOFEEVNA. Take a seat, Your Excellency! Be so kind! Eat a little something, Your Excellency! Only forgive us, you must be used to delicacies and we only got plain fare!

REVUNOV (not having heard). How’s that, ma’am? I see . . . Yes’m. (Pause.) Yes’m . . . In the olden times people always lived simply and were contented. I’m a man of rank, but even so I live simply . . . Today, Andryusha comes to me and asks me here to the wedding. “How can I go,” I ask, “when I don’t know ‘em? It’s awkward!” But he says, “They’re simple people, old-fashioned, enjoy entertaining guests . . .” Well, of course, if that’s the way things are . . . why not? Happy to oblige. At home, all by my lonesome, it’s boring, but if my presence at the wedding can give anybody pleasure, then, I say, let’s do ‘em a favor . . .

ZHIGALOV. You mean, it was from the heart, Your Excellency? I look up to you! I myself am a simple man, without any monkeyshines, and I look up to others like me. Have a bite, Your Excellency!

APLOMBOV. Have you been in retirement long, Your Excellency?

REVUNOV. Huh? Yes, yes . . . that’s right . . . Very true. Yessir . . . . but excuse me, what have we here? The herring’s bitter . . . and so’s the bread. Have to sweeten it up!

EVERYONE. Bitter! Bitter! Sweeten it up!

APLOMBOV and DASHENKA kiss.

REVUNOV. Heh, heh, heh . . . Your health.

Pause.

Yessir . . . in the olden days everything was simple and everybody was contented . . . I love simplicity . . . I’m an old man, you know, went into retirement in eighteen hundred and sixty-five . . . I’m seventy-two . . . Yes, indeed. Even so, in the old days, they liked to put on the dog every once in a while, but . . . (Noticing Mozgovoy.) You there . . . a sailor, are you?

MOZOGOY. Aye, aye, sir.

REVUNOV. Aha . . . Aye . . . Yes . . . Serving in the navy was always tough. A man had to keep his wits about him and rack his brains. The slightest little word had its own special meaning, so to speak! For instance, “Topmen aloft to the foresail and mainsail yards!” What does that mean? Never fear, your sailor gets the drift! Heh, heh. It’s as tricky as that arithmetic of yours!

NYUNIN. To the health of His Excellency Fyodor Yakovlevich Revunov-Karaulov!

The band plays a fanfare. Cheers.

YAT. Now, Your Excellency, you’ve been good enough to mention how hard it is serving in the navy. But you think telegraphy’s any easier? These days, Your Excellency, nobody’s employed on the telegraph unless he can read and write French and German. But the toughest thing we’re up against is sending telegrams. Awfully hard! Just listen to this. (Taps his fork on the table, in imitation of sending a telegram in Morse code.)

REVUNOV. What does it mean?

YAT. It means: “I respect you, Your Excellency, for your loving kindness.” You think that’s easy? Here’s some more . . . (Taps.)

REVUNOV. Make it louder . . . I can’t hear . . .

YAT. And that means: “Madam, how happy I am to hold you in my embrace!”

REVUNOV. What’s all this about a madam? Yes . . . (To Mozgovoy.) Look here, suppose you’re running before a full breeze and have to . . . have to set your top-gallants and royals! Then you’ve got to give the command, “Crosstrees aloft to the shrouds, the top-gallants and royals . . .” And while they’re casting loose the sails on the yards, below they’re manning the topgallant and royal sheets, halyards and braces . . .¹³

BEST MAN (rising). My dear ladies and kind gentle . . .

REVUNOV (interrupting). Yessiree . . . No end of different commands . . . Aye, aye . . . “In on the top-gallant and royal sheets! Haul taut the halyards!” Pretty good, eh? But what’s it all mean, what’s the sense of it? Why, very simple. They haul, y’see, the top-gallant and royal sheets and lift off the halyards . . . all together! Next they square the royal sheets and royal halyards as they hoist, and meanwhile, keeping a weather-eye out, they ease off the braces from those sails, so that when, as a result, the sheets are taut and all the halyards run right up, then the top-gallants and royals are drawing and the yards are braced according to the way the wind’s blowing . . .

NYUNIN (to Revunov). Fyodor Yakovlevich, our hostess requests you talk about something else. The guests can’t make head or tail of this, so they’re bored . . .

REVUNOV. What? Who’s bored? (To Mozgovoy.) Young fellow! Now then, suppose your craft lies close-hauled on the starboard tack under full sail and you’ve got to wear ship. What command must you give? Why, look here: pipe all hands on deck, wear ship! . . . Heh, heh . . .

NYUNIN. Fyodor Yakovlevich, that’s enough! Have something to eat.

REVUNOV. As soon as they’re all on deck, the command is given at once: “Stand by to wear ship!” Ech, what a life! You give the commands, and then you watch the sailors running to their posts like lightning, and they unfurl the top-gallants and the braces. And then you can’t hold back and you shout, “Well done, my hearties!” (Chokes and coughs.)

BEST MAN (rushes to take advantage of the consequent pause). On this day of days, so to speak, when we are all gathered together to honor our beloved . . .

REVUNOV (interrupting). Yessiree! And, y’see, you’ve got to remember all that! For instance: let fly the foresheet, the mainsheet! . . .

BEST MAN (offended). Why does he keep interrupting? We’ll never get through a single speech at this rate!

NASTASYA TIMOFEEVNA. We’re ignorant folk, Your Excellency, we can’t make head or tail of this, so you’d better talk about something that’s more use . . .

REVUNOV (not hearing). I’ve already eaten, thanks. You did say: goose? No thanks . . . Aye . . . I was recalling the olden days . . . Those were jolly times, young fellow! You sail the seas, not a care to your name, and . . . (His voice a-tremble.) remember the excitement when they had to tack about! What seaman doesn’t catch fire at the memory of that maneuver?! Why, as soon as the command rings out: Pipe all hands on deck, ready about—you’d think an electric spark was running through the lot of ‘em. From the admiral down to the lowliest deckhand—every heart is beating faster . . .

ZMEYUKINA. Boring! Boring!

General murmur.

REVUNOV (not hearing). No thanks, I’ve eaten. (Carried away.) They all stand at the ready, and fix their eyes on the first mate . . . “Haul taut the foretop and main braces on the starboard and the mizzentop braces and counterbraces on the port side!” commands the first mate. It’s all carried out in an instant . . . “Let fly the foresheet, the jib sheet . . . Hard a’star-board!” (Rises.) The craft comes up with the wind, and finally the sails start flapping about. First mate: “The braces, look alive to the braces,” and his own eyes are fixed to the main topsail, and when at last even that sail starts to flap, I mean, the moment when the craft comes about, the command rings out like thunder: “Let go the main top bowline, pay out the braces!” Then everything flies, snaps—all hell breaks loose! — it’s all carried out with nary a hitch. We’ve managed to bring her about!

NASTASYA TIMOFEEVNA (boiling over). A general, but with no manners . . . You ought to be ashamed at your time of life! It’s unreal, stop!

REVUNOV. A veal chop? No, I haven’t had one . . . Thanks.

NASTASYA TIMOFEEVNA (loudly). I said, you should be ashamed at your time of life! A general, but with no manners!

NYUNIN (embarrassed). Ladies and gentlemen, look here . . . what’s the difference? Honestly . . .

REVUNOV. In the first place, I’m not a general, I’m a captain second class, which is equivalent in the military ranking to a lieutenant-colonel.

NASTASYA TIMOFEEVNA. If you’re no general, then why did you take the money? We didn’t pay you good money so you could act like a hooligan!

REVUNOV (bewildered). What money?

NASTASYA TIMOFEEVNA. You know what money. You got twenty-five rubles from Andrey Andreevich, no questions asked . . . (To Nyunin.) As for you, Andryusha sweetie, you’re a disgrace! I didn’t ask you to hire this sort of thing!

NYUNIN. Come on . . . cut it out! What’s the difference?

REVUNOV. Hired? . . . Paid? . . . What is this?

APLOMBOV. Excuse me, just a second . . . you did receive twenty-five rubles from Andrey Andreevich, didn’t you?

REVUNOV. What twenty-five rubles? (Realizing.) So that’s it! Now I understand it all . . . How disgusting! How disgusting!

APLOMBOV. You did take the money, didn’t you?

REVUNOV. I never took any money! Get away from me! (Moves away from the table.) How disgusting! How revolting! To insult an old man this way, a navy man, an officer who’s seen active duty! . . . If you were respectable people, I could challenge someone to a duel, but now what can I do? (In despair.) Where’s the door? How do I get out? Waiter, show me the way out! Waiter!¹⁴ (Going out.) How revolting! How disgusting! (Exits.)

NASTASYA TIMOFEEVNA. Andryusha sweetie, where’s the twenty-five rubles?

NYUNIN. Why bother discussing such trifles? Big deal! Everyone else is enjoying himself, but who the hell knows what you’re on about . . . (Shouts.) To the health of the happy couple! Band, play a march! Band!

The band plays a march.

NYUNIN. To the newlyweds’ health!

ZMEYUKINA. I’m suffocating! I need atmosphere! I start to suffocate whenever I’m near you.

YAT (in ecstasy). Spectacular woman! Spectacular!

Noise.

BEST MAN (trying to make himself heard). My good friends! On this day of days, so to speak . . .

Curtain

VARIANTS TO

The Wedding

Lines come from the two surviving manuscript copies.

page 567 / After: Does that mean we’re stingy? — Do me a favor, at least a whole regiment.

page 567 / After: You want a General, you’ll get a General — We’ll provide it all . . . And if not, then it means Andrey Andreich didn’t find a suitable one. It should be time to sit down to supper . . . Twelve o’clock.

page 567 / After: Didn’t you realize it would get on my nerves? —

NASTASYA TIMOFEEVNA. We didn’t invite him, dearie. He came on his own.

APLOMBOV. He’d better not make a scene or else he’ll learn from me what it’s like to come uninvited.

page 568 / After: M’sewers, promenade! — Donay mwa toozhoor!

page 569 / After: have you got senior civil servants too? —

YAT. Why, I’ll bet that in Greece there aren’t such beautiful parties of the female sex as certain individuals . . .

page 570 / Replace: Wonderful woman! I’m in love! Head over heels in love!

with: A midwife, no looks to speak of, but give her the once-over, what manners! Right away an obvious aristocrat!

page 571 / After: Squeezing the last drop out of him — They should all be hanged.

page 573 / After: A sign of feebleminded psychiatrics, that’s all! —

MOZGOVOY (rising). Ladies and gentlemen! Allow me to say the following. Anna Martynovna is in arrears! When we played forfeits, it fell out that she had to kiss the man who was the most dark-haired of them all. The most dark-haired of us all was Lapkin, but he got embarrassed and left. Now Anna Martynovna really has to pick out another dark-haired man and do what needs to be done . . .

EVERYONE. Yes, yes . . . Of course, of course!

ZMEYUKINA. How silly! Leave off!

MOZGOVOY. Who is the darkest of us all?

BEST MAN. Kharlampy Spiridonych!

EVERYONE. Yes, yes! Please, Kharlampy Spiridonych!

ZMEYUKINA. I don’t want to kiss! (Hides her face behind a napkin.)

YAT. No-o, ma’am, no-o, ma’am, Anna Martynovna, please don’t be evasive . . . Have a heart, ma’am!

DYMBA (confused). Why is what? I notting . . .

ZMEYUKINA. Really, I don’t even understand . . . It’s even strange . . . (Aside.) He’s so handsome! Such eyes!

YAT (rubbing his hands). No-o, no-o! You have to!

A fanfare.

ZMEYUKINA. Now what? If that was the forfeit that fell to me, then if you please, but . . . it’s even extravagantly . . .

Exchanges kisses with Dymba. The kiss is prolonged. DYMBA, whose lips were stuck to Zmeyukina’s, staggers back and keeps his balance with his arms.

YAT (anxious). That’s very long! Enough! All right!

EVERYONE (anxious). Enough!

DYMBA (tearing himself away from Zmeyukina). Oof! Why is what? This is who . . . I not understanding.

YAT

together.

She’s faint! Water! Faint!

MOZGOVOY

YAT (giving Zmeyukina water, aside). Right away it’s obvious she’s an aristocrat! (To her.) Calm down! I implore you . . . That’s right . . . She’s opened her eyes . . . (Aside.) Quite the aristocrat!

ZMEYUKINA (coming to herself). Where am I? In what atmosphere am I? Where is he? (To Dymba.) You demon! You have set me afire with your kiss!

DYMBA (confused). Why is what? I notting . . .

page 573 / After: in Russia is such a pipples, and in Griss is such a pipples . . . — Is good! So is what?

page 574 / After: not infantry, but navy! — I controlled the seas and commanded the storms.

page 575 / After: Be so kind! — (Aside.) But what a scrawny, what a shop-soiled! Not even any epaulets . . . Well, at least there are lots of medals! (To him.)

page 576 / Replace: Yes . . . Serving in the navy was always tough . . . Never fear, your sailor gets the drift!

with: I guess it’s all newfangled nowadays, not the way it was with us . . . It wasn’t all peaches and cream, cushy . . . However, the naval service was always a tough one. It had nothing to do with the infantry, or, let’s say, the cavalry . . . There’s no brainwork to the infantry . . .There even a peasant can figure out what’s what . . . You know it yourself: left-right, left-right, or form fours, or right turn! But what you and I were up against, young man, no sir! You’re joking! You and I have to think things out and cudgel our brains. The least little word has, so to speak, its secret . . . eh . . . conundrum! For example: topmen to the shrouds, fore- and mainsails! . . . What does that mean? Why, it means that whoever’s assigned to look after the topsails, has to find himself without fail at that time at the top, otherwise you have to give the order: cross-treemen to the shrouds! There’s another meaning as well . . .

page 578 / Replace: (not hearing) . . . I was recalling the olden days . . .

with: You don’t understand because these are . . . terms! Of course! But the young man understands. Yes . . . I was reminiscing about old times with him . . .

page 578 / Replace: (not hearing). No thanks, I’ve eaten . . . We’ve managed to bring her about!

with: (sobbing). Then they raise the jib-halyards, brace the main topsail and others, at the afore-mentioned, close-haul the sail, and then they dash to the location of fore and main tack, haul the sheets and haul in the bowline . . . I’m cry . . . I’m crying . . . So happy . . .

NOTES

1 Most of the names are puns or plays on Russian words. Zhigalov recalls zhigalo, ringleader, bellwether; zhigalka, horse-fly, tallow candle; and zhiga, invective. Aplombov seems to come from the French aplomb, self-confidence; Nyunin, from nyuni, slavering lips; nyunit, to moan and groan; nyunya, whining child, cry-baby; Zmeyukina from zmey, dragon, zmeya, snake. Yat, the name of a letter in the Cyrillic alphabet, sounded like є but written otherwise, thus providing a trap for schoolchildren and clerks (it was abolished in the spelling reforms of 1917). Mozgovoy, from mozg, brain; spinal cord, bone marrow. Revunov-Karaulov, one who cries for help (karaul).

2 Founded during the Russo-Turkish War (1877–1878); its three ships were later ordered to the Pacific to transport prisoners to Vladivostok and the island of Sakhalin.

3 In Russian Orthodox wedding ceremonies, both the bride and the groom have attendants, who hold the crowns over their heads and accompany them in the procession.

4 Mispronounced French, Grand rond, s’il vous plaît. A “grand rond” is a round dance, a figure in a quadrille.

5 The Dutch philosopher Benedictus Spinoza (1632–1677) is confused here with the dancer Leone Espinosa (1825–1903), who worked at the Moscow Bolshoy Theatre from 1869 to 1872.

6 Mispronunciation of Haut Sauternes, a sweet white dessert wine. Drinking it before the meal is another sign of gaucherie.

7 The 1829 poem by Aleksandr Pushkin (1799–1837)—“I loved you once, perhaps I love still . . . / Love has not fully died out in my heart . . .”—was set to music by many composers, including Alyabiev, Bulakhov, Varlamov, and Gurilev, etc.

8 In Russian, Dymba not only makes mistakes in grammar but cannot pronounce the sound ch.

9 Quotation from the poem “The Sail” (“Parus,” 1832) by Mikhail Lermontov, which Chekhov also quotes in the last act of Three Sisters.

10 The idea is that the young couple must kiss to “sweeten things up.”

11 Ma chère, French, my dear.

12 In the original, Boulanger. Georges Ernest Jean Marie Boulanger (1837–1891), French Minister of War from 1886 to 1887, an ambitious and reactionary troublemaker, who preached revenge against the Prussians.

13 In his memoirs, Chekhov’s brother Mikhail reported that in 1883 Chekhov had inherited a book from the late F. F. Popudolgo, Commands for the Most Important Naval Maneuvers, which “provided him material for the role of Revunov-Karaulov.”

14 In Russian, chelovek can mean both “human being, person” and “waiter.” The Captain can be heard to appeal to his fellow men to deliver him from this inhuman herd.