The Complete Plays

THE CELEBRATION

In 1891, private commercial banks were a relatively new feature in Russian life. The State bank itself dated back only to the reforms of 1866. The financial institution in Chekhov’s farce is about to celebrate its fifteenth birthday, on which occasion the bank manager Shipuchin will receive a testimonial from grateful shareholders. While he prepares a speech of thanks and his clerk Khirin is, with an ill will, crunching numbers for the thank-you speech, they are interrupted, first by Shipuchin’s giddy and garrulous wife, and then by old Mrs. Merchutkina, nagging on behalf of her civil-servant husband. The more the women talk, the more the men are driven to distraction. The deputation arrives with its scroll and silver loving-cup to behold a vision of chaos: the manager’s wife fainting on the sofa, the old lady collapsing in the arms of a babbling Shipuchin, and Khirin threatening the females with murder.

The peculiar position of The Celebration lies halfway between the failed experiment of The Wood Goblin and Chekhov’s transitional play The Seagull. Founded on a published short story, “A Defenseless Creature” (1887), it was written in December 1891 but not performed until a Chekhov evening at the Moscow Hunt Club in 1900. By the time The Celebration reached the stage, Chekhov was already known to the public as the author of The Seagull, Uncle Vanya, and Three Sisters. Many were upset by what seemed a throwback to comic anarchy. The Moscow News referred to it as a “strange play” that ends with “the bank manager making an insulting gesture at his bookkeeper, while the latter tears books and files to pieces, tossing the ravaged pieces in the manager’s face.” Chekhov later rewrote this finale into the Gogolian tableau that greets the astonished delegation of shareholders.

The first St. Petersburg production, on the stage of the Alexandra Theatre in May 1903, was even more questionably received. Although the audience was dying with laughter at the antics of the elephantine Varlamov as Khirin and the hilarious comedienne Levkeeva as Merchutkina, certain critics wondered at the crude vulgarity of it all, and speculated about whether such a piece had a place in a national theater. They could not reconcile its extravagant comedy with the Chekhov they had come to expect.

There is a savagery to The Celebration that exceeds even the contumely of The Wedding. Each member of the comic quartet is despicable: both women are portrayed as idiotic chatterboxes, the clerk is a crabbed misogynist, and the bank manager is an ineffectual fussbudget. The setting enforces hypocrisy. As Shipuchin says, “at home I can be a slob, a low brow, and indulge my bad habits, but here everything has to be on a grand scale. This is a bank!” The impending ceremony imposes a temporal pressure that propels the mounting hysteria. The result is a hilarious clash of monomanias, not at all what the textbooks call a “Chekhovian mood.”

THE CELEBRATION

IO·илeй

A Joke in One Act

CHARACTERS¹

SHIPUCHIN, ANDREY ANDREEVICH, Chairman of the Board of the —— Mutual Credit Society, a middle-aged man, with a monocle

TATYANA ALEKSEEVNA, his wife, 25

KHIRIN, KUZMA NIKOLAEVICH, the bank’s bookkeeper, an old man

MERCHUTKINA, NASTASYA FYODOROVNA, an old woman in a baggy overcoat

SHAREHOLDERS OF THE BANK EMPLOYEES OF THE BANK

The action takes place at —— the Mutual Credit Bank.

The office of the Chairman of the Board. A door at left, leading to the bank’s boardroom. Two desks. Pretentious furnishings displaying refined taste: velvet armchairs, flowers, statues, carpets, a telephone.—Midday.

KHIRIN alone; he is wearing felt boots.²

KHIRIN (shouts through the door). Have the pharmacy send over fifteen kopeks’ worth of valerian drops³ and tell them to bring fresh water to the Chairman’s office! I have to tell you a hundred times! (Goes to the desk.) They’ll be the death of me with their tormenting. I’ve been writing for four days straight without a wink of sleep; from morning to night I’m here writing, and I’m home only from night to morning. (Coughs.) And on top of that there’s an inflammation running through my whole body. Chills, fever, coughing jags, my legs ache and swimming before my eyes there’s something like . . . exclamation points. (Sits.) That fancy-pants of ours, that skunk, the Chairman of the Board, is going to make a speech to our general assembly today: “Our bank now and in the future.” A silver-tongued orator,⁴ take my word for it . . . (Writes.) Two . . . one . . . one . . . six . . . zero . . . seven . . . Then, six . . . zero . . . one . . . six . . . He wants to pull the wool over their eyes, while I sit here and slave for him like a convict! . . . All he’s put in this speech is hearts and flowers, not one hard figure, so I have to spend the livelong day clicking the abacus, damn his soul to hell! . . . (Clicks bead on the abacus.) I can’t stand it! (Writes.) Which means, one . . . three . . . seven . . . two . . . one . . . zero . . . He promised to reward my hard work. If everything comes off successfully today and he manages to hoodwink his audience, he’s promised me a gold medal and a bonus of three hundred . . . We shall see. (Writes.) Well, if my labors go unrewarded, pal, don’t be surprised if . . . I’ve got an explosive temper . . . Pal, when I fly off the handle, I’m liable to do something violent . . . Believe you me!

Offstage noise and applause. SHIPUCHIN’s voice: “Thank you! Thank you! I’m very moved!” Enter SHIPUCHIN. He is wearing white tie and tails; he is holding an album that has just been presented to him.

SHIPUCHIN (standing in the doorway and addressing the boardroom). This gift of yours, my dear co-workers, I shall cherish until my dying day as a memento of the happiest hours of my life! Yes, my dear sirs! I thank you once again! (Blows a kiss and goes to Khirin.) My dear fellow, my most respected Kuzma Nikolaich!

The whole time he is on stage employees occasionally come in with papers for him to sign and then leave.

KHIRIN (rising). I’m honored to congratulate you on the fifteenth anniversary of our bank and wish that . . .

SHIPUCHIN (shakes his hand energetically). Thank you, my dear man! Thank you! On this very special day, in view of the celebration, I propose that we exchange kisses! . . .

They exchange kisses.

Delighted, delighted! Thank you for your work . . . for everything, thanks for everything! If, during the time I have been Chairman of the Board of this bank, I have accomplished anything of use, I am first and foremost obliged to my co-workers. (Sighs.) Yes, dear fellow, fifteen years! Fifteen years, or my name’s not Shipuchin! (Brightly.) Well, how’s my speech coming? Any progress?

KHIRIN. Yes. There’s still about five pages to go.

SHIPUCHIN. That’s fine. In other words, it’ll be ready by three o’clock?

KHIRIN. If nobody gets in the way, I can finish it. There’s only a trifling amount left to do.

SHIPUCHIN. Splendid. Splendid, or my name’s not Shipuchin! The general assembly begins at four. Please, my dear fellow. Let me have the first half, I’ll give it a once-over . . . Let me have it now . . . (Takes the speech.) I invest enormous hopes in this speech . . . It is my profession de foi,⁵ or, to put it more clearly, my display of fireworks . . . Fireworks, or my name’s not Shipuchin! (Sits and reads the speech to himself.) I’m worn out, though, damnably worn out . . . Last night I had an attack of gout, all morning I’ve been hustling and bustling and running around, then this excitement, ovations, all this commotion . . . I’m worn out!

KHIRIN (writes). Two . . . zero . . . zero . . . three . . . nine . . . two . . . zero . . . The numbers are turning green before my eyes . . . Three . . . one . . . six . . . four . . . one . . . five . . . (Clicks the beads on the abacus.)

SHIPUCHIN. Something else unpleasant . . . This morning your wife came to me and complained about you again. She said that last night you chased her and your sister-in-law with a knife. Kuzma Nikolaich, what way is that to behave? Ay-ay!

KHIRIN (sternly). In view of the celebration, Andrey Andreich, may I make a request. Please, at least out of respect for my hard labor in this penitentiary, don’t get involved in my home life. Please don’t!

SHIPUCHIN (sighs). You have an impossible temper, Kuzma Nikolaich! You’re a splendid fellow, highly respectable, but with women you behave like some kind of Jack the Ripper.⁶ Honestly. What I don’t understand is why you hate them so much?

KHIRIN. And what I don’t understand is: why you love them so much?

Pause.

SHIPUCHIN. The employees just presented me with an album, and the shareholders of the bank, so I’ve heard, want to present me with a testimonial and a silver loving cup . . . (Toying with his monocle.) Lovely, or my name’s not Shipuchin! It’s not a meaningless gesture . . . To uphold the reputation of the bank one needs some pomp and circumstance, damn it! You’re part of the team, so of course you know what’s going on . . . I composed the testimonial myself, I also bought the silver loving cup myself . . . Why, the binder for the testimonial cost forty-five rubles, but you can’t do without it. It would never have crossed their minds. (Looks around.) What a set of furniture! What interior décor! They do say that I’m too fussy, that all I want is for the door knobs to be polished, the employees to wear tasteful neckties, yes, and for there to be a stately doorman at the entrance. Well, no, my good sirs. Doorknobs and a stately doorman are not mere baubles. A man may be as much of a slob as he likes at home, eat and sleep like a hog, take too much to drink . . .

KHIRIN. Please, I beg you, no insinuations!

SHIPUCHIN. Ah, no one’s making insinuations! What an impossible temper you have . . . I’m only saying: at home I can be a slob, a lowbrow, and indulge my bad habits, but here everything has to be on a grand scale. This is a bank! Here every little detail has to make an impression, in a manner of speaking, and present a solemn appearance. (Picks up a piece of paper from the floor and tosses it into the fireplace.) My great achievement is precisely my upholding the reputation of the bank! . . . The main thing is tone! The main thing, or my name’s not Shipuchin. (After a glance at Khirin.) My dear man, the deputation of shareholders might come in at any moment, and you’re wearing felt boots, that muffler . . . some jacket of an uncivilized color . . . You should put on tails, or, at least a black frockcoat . . .

KHIRIN. I consider my health more precious than your bank shareholders. I’ve got inflammation all through my body.

SHIPUCHIN (getting excited). But you must agree that this is a mess! You’re spoiling the effect of the ensemble!

KHIRIN. When the deputation arrives, I can always hide. It’s no big problem . . . (Writes.) Seven . . . one . . . seven . . . two . . . five . . . zero. I’m no fan of messes myself! You would have done better not to invite ladies to the celebratory banquet today. . .

SHIPUCHIN. What piffle . . .

KHIRIN. I know, you’ve let them in today so you’ll have a full house, and it’ll look chic, but, listen, they’ll spoil the whole thing for you. They lead to nothing but stress and mess.

SHIPUCHIN. On the contrary, the company of females is uplifting!

KHIRIN. Yes . . . Your wife is supposed to be well-bred, but last Wednesday she blurted out something that had me in a dither for the next two days. Suddenly in the presence of bystanders she asks: “Is it true that for our bank my husband bought shares in the Trashko-Pashko bank, and now they’ve gone down on the stock exchange? Oh, my husband is so worried!” This in front of bystanders! And why you confide in her I can’t understand! You want them to bring you up on criminal charges?

SHIPUCHIN. Now, that’ll do, that’ll do! For a celebration this is all far too depressing. By the way, you’ve reminded me. (Looks at his watch.) My wifie is supposed to be here any minute. Actually, I should have driven to the station to meet her, poor dear, but there’s no time and . . . and I was worn out. To tell the truth, I’m put out with her! I mean, I’m not put out, but I would prefer if she stayed another little day or two at her mother’s. She insists that I spend the whole evening with her, today, when they’ve been planning a little postprandial excursion . . .⁷ (Shudders.) There now, I’ve started to get a nervous twitch. My nerves are so frayed that I think the least little trifle is enough to make me burst into tears! No, I have to be firm, or my name’s not Shipuchin.

Enter TATYANA ALEKSEEVNA in a mackintosh,⁸ with a traveling handbag on a strap across her shoulder.

SHIPUCHIN. Bah! Speak of the devil!

TATYANA ALEKSEEVNA. My dear! (Runs to her husband, a protracted kiss.)

SHIPUCHIN. Why, we were just talking about you! . . . (Looks at his watch.)

TATYANA ALEKSEEVNA (panting). Were you bored without me? Are you well? I haven’t even been home yet, I came straight from the station. I’ve got so much to tell you about, so much . . . I can’t wait . . . I won’t take off my things, I’ll only be a minute. (To Khirin.) How are you, Kuzma Nikolaich! (To her husband.) Is everything all right at home?

SHIPUCHIN. Everything. Why, you’ve got plumper and prettier this past week . . . Well, how was the trip?

TATYANA ALEKSEEVNA. Wonderful. Mamma and Katya send you their regards. Vasily Andreich told me to give you a kiss. (Kisses him.) Auntie sent you a pot of jam, and everyone’s annoyed that you don’t write. Zina told me to give you a kiss. (Kisses him.) Oh, if you only knew the things that went on! The things that went on! I’m even terrified to tell you! Ah, the things that went on! But I can tell from your eyes that you’re not pleased to see me!

SHIPUCHIN. On the contrary . . . My dearest . . . (Kisses her.)

KHIRIN coughs angrily.

TATYANA ALEKSEEVNA (sighs). Oh, poor Katya, poor Katya! I feel so sorry for her, so sorry!

SHIPUCHIN. We’re having the celebration today, my dearest, at any moment a deputation of the bank’s shareholders might show up, and you’re not dressed.

TATYANA ALEKSEEVNA. That’s right, the celebration! Congratulations, gentlemen . . . I wish you . . . That means, today is the assembly, the banquet . . . I love it. But you remember, that lovely testimonial, which you took so much trouble to compose for the shareholders? Will they be reading it to you today?

KHIRIN coughs angrily.

SHIPUCHIN (embarrassed). My dear, people don’t talk about such things . . . Really, you ought to go home.

TATYANA ALEKSEEVNA. Right away, right away. It’ll take a minute to tell you about it and then I’ll go. I’ll start the whole story right from the beginning. Well now . . . After you left me off, remember, I sat next to that stout lady and started reading. I never try to make conversation on a train. I went on reading for three stations and not a single word to anybody . . . Well, night came on, and you know, all these gloomy thoughts came with them! Across from me sat a young man, quite proper, not bad at all, dark-haired . . . Well, we started talking . . . A sailor dropped in, then some student or other . . . (Laughs.) I told them I wasn’t married . . . The way they paid court to me! We chattered away till midnight, the dark-haired one told awfully funny stories, and the sailor kept singing. My chest began to hurt from laughing. And when the sailor—oh, those sailors! — when the sailor happened to find out my name is Tatyana, you know what he sang? (Sings in a bass voice.) “Onegin, this I cannot hide, Tatyana’s my love, she is my bride! . . .”⁹ (Laughs loudly.)

KHIRIN coughs angrily.

SHIPUCHIN. However, Tatyana, we’re disturbing Kuzma Nikolaich. Go home, my dear . . . Later . . .

TATYANA ALEKSEEVNA. Never mind, never mind, let him listen, this is very interesting. I’ll be done in a minute. At the station Seryozha came for me. Some other young man turned up there, a tax collector, I believe . . . Quite acceptable, good-looking little fellow, especially his eyes . . . Seryozha introduced him, and all three of us drove off . . . The weather was wonderful . . .

Offstage voices: “You can’t! You can’t! What do you want?” Enter MERCHUTKINA.

MERCHUTKINA (in the doorway, waving someone away). What are you grabbing at? I never! I have to talk to him myself! . . . (Enters. To Shipuchin.) I have the honor, Your Excellency . . . Wife of a county clerk, Nastasya Fyo-dorovna Merchutkina, sir.

SHIPUCHIN. How can I help you?

MERCHUTKINA. If you don’t mind, Your Excellency, my husband, county clerk Merchutkin, was ailing for five months, and while he was home in bed getting better, they fired him for no reason at all, Your Excellency, and when I went to get his salary, they’d, if you don’t mind, gone and deducted from his salary twenty-four rubles thirty-six kopeks. What for? I ask. “Well,” says they, “he borrowed from the mutual-aid fund and other people vouched for him.” How could that be? Could he borrow anythin’ without my consent? It’s impossible, Your Excellency! I’m a poor woman, I only keep body and soul together by taking in lodgers . . . I’m weak, defenseless . . . I put up with everybody’s insults and never hear a kind word from a soul.

SHIPUCHIN. If I may . . . (Takes her petition from her and reads it standing up.)

TATYANA ALEKSEEVNA (to Khirin). But I should begin at the beginning . . . Suddenly last week I got a letter from Mamma. She writes that my sister Katya was proposed to by a certain Grendilevsky. A good-looking, unpretentious young man, but without any means and no fixed occupation. And to make it worse, can you imagine, Katya was attracted to him. What was there to do? Mamma writes that I should come without delay and bring my influence to bear on Katya . . .

KHIRIN (severely). If you don’t mind, you’ve put me out! You —Mamma and Katya, and now I’m put out and totally confused.

TATYANA ALEKSEEVNA. As if it makes any difference! You listen when a lady’s talking to you! Why are you so touchy today? In love? (Laughs.)

SHIPUCHIN (to Merchutkina). If I may, though, what is this all about? I don’t understand . . .

TATYANA ALEKSEEVNA. In love? Aha? He’s blushing!

SHIPUCHIN (to his wife). Tanyusha, my dear, step into the boardroom for a minute. I’ll be there right away.

TATYANA ALEKSEEVNA. All right. (Exits.)

SHIPUCHIN. I don’t understand any of this. Apparently, madam, you have come to the wrong place. Your request has absolutely nothing to do with us. You should take care to apply to the department where your husband worked.

MERCHUTKINA. My good sir, I’ve already been to five different places, they won’t even accept my petition anywheres. I was losing my mind, but thanks to my son-in-law Boris Matveich, I got the bright idea to come to you. “Ma dear,” says he, “you appeal to Mister Shipuchin: he’s got pull, that gent can do anything . . .” Help me, Your Excellency!

SHIPUCHIN. Mrs. Merchutkina, we can do nothing for you. You understand: your husband, so far as I can tell, worked in the medical division of the War Office, whereas our institution is entirely private, mercantile, we’re a bank. How can you fail to understand this?

MERCHUTKINA. Your Excellency, to prove my husband was sick, I got a doctor’s certificate. Here it is, Your Excellency . . .

SHIPUCHIN (annoyed). Lovely, I believe you, but, I repeat, this has nothing to do with us.

Offstage TATYANA ALEKSEEVNA’s laugh; then men’s laughter.

(After a glance at the door.) She’s keeping the employees from their work. (To Merchutkina.) This is bizarre, even laughable. Your husband must know where to apply, doesn’t he?

MERCHUTKINA. He, Your Excellency, so far as I’m concerned, don’t know a thing. All he keeps saying is: “It’s none of your business! get out!” and that’s all . . .

SHIPUCHIN. I repeat, madam: your husband worked in the medical division of the War Office, and this is a bank, a private, mercantile institution . . .

MERCHUTKINA. Right, right, right . . . I understand, my good sir. In that case, your Excellency, make them give me at least fifteen rubles! I’ll settle for not all at once.

SHIPUCHIN (sighs). Oof!

KHIRIN. Andrey Andreich, at this rate I’ll never finish the speech!

SHIPUCHIN. Right away. (To Merchutkina.) I’m not getting through to you. Try and understand that to apply to us with such a request is as strange as filing for a divorce, for instance, at a pharmacy or the Assay Office.¹⁰

Knock at the door. TATYANA ALEKSEEVNA’s voice: “Andrey, may I come in?”

(Shouts.) Wait, my dear, just a minute! (To Merchutkina.) They didn’t pay you in full, but what’s it got to do with us? And besides, madam, we’ve got a celebration today, we’re busy . . . and somebody might come in here at any moment . . . Excuse me . . .

MERCHUTKINA. Your Excellency, take pity on me, an orphan! I’m a weak, defenseless woman . . . They’ve been the death of me with their tormenting . . . What with suing my lodgers, and dealing with my husband’s stuff, and running around on household chores, and besides that my son-in-law is out of work.

SHIPUCHIN. Mrs. Merchutkina, I . . . No, excuse me, I cannot talk to you! You’ve even got my head swimming . . . You are keeping us from work, and wasting time for no good reason . . . (Sighs, aside.) Here’s a holy terror, or my name’s not Shipuchin! (To Khirin.) Kuzma Nikolaich, will you please explain to Mrs. Merchutkina . . . (Waves his hand in dismissal and exits into the boardroom.)

KHIRIN (walks over to Merchutkina. Sternly.) How can I help you?

MERCHUTKINA. I’m a weak, defenseless woman . . . I may look tough, but if you take me to pieces, there’s not a single healthy nerve in me! I can barely stand on my feet and I got no appetite. When I had my coffee today, I didn’t get the least bit o’ satisfaction from it.

KHIRIN. I’m asking you, how can I help you?

MERCHUTKINA. Make them, my good sir, give me fifteen rubles, and the rest at least in a month.

KHIRIN. But I thought you were told in plain Russian: this is a bank!

MERCHUTKINA. Right, right . . . And if necessary, I can produce a doctor’s certificate.

KHIRIN. Have you got a brain in your head or not?

MERCHUTKINA. Dearie, I’m asking for what’s legally mine, that’s all. I don’t want nobody else’s.

KHIRIN. I’m asking you, madam: have you got a brain in your head or what? Well, damn it all, I haven’t got the time to chitchat with you! I’m busy. (Points to the door.) Please!

MERCHUTKINA (surprised). But what about the money? . . .

KHIRIN. In other words, you haven’t got a brain in your head, here’s what you’ve got . . . (Taps a finger on the desk, then on his forehead.)

MERCHUTKINA (offended). What? Well, never you mind, never you mind . . . Behave that way with your own wife . . . I’m a county clerk’s wife . . . With me you better not!

KHIRIN (flaring up, in an undertone). Get out of here!

MERCHUTKINA. But, but, but . . . You better not!

KHIRIN (in an undertone). If you don’t get out this second, I’ll send for the porter! Out! (Stamps his feet.)

MERCHUTKINA. Never you mind, never you mind! I’m not scared o’ you! We seen your sort before . . . You empty space!

KHIRIN. I don’t think in all my life I’ve ever laid eyes on anything more repulsive . . . Oof! She’s got the blood rushing to my head . . . (Breathing heavily.) I’ll say it once more . . . Now listen! If you, you old gargoyle, don’t clear out of here, I’ll grind you into powder! I’ve got the kind of temper that can make you a cripple for the rest of your life! I might do something violent!

MERCHUTKINA. Hark, hark, the dogs do bark. You blowhard. You don’t scare me. We seen your kind before.

KHIRIN (in despair). I can’t look at her! I feel sick! I can’t! (Goes to the desk and sits.) You’ve filled the bank with females, so I can’t write the speech! I can’t!

MERCHUTKINA. I’m not asking for what’s somebody else’s, just what’s legally mine. Look at this shameless creature! In a workplace he sits in felt boots . . . A peasant . . .

Enter SHIPUCHIN and TATYANA ALEKSEEVNA.

TATYANA ALEKSEEVNA (following her husband.) Then we drove to a soiree at the Berezhnitskys’. Katya was wearing a pale blue cotton-silk dress with light lace and a low neckline . . . A hairdo piled high suits her face very nicely, so I did her hair myself . . . When she was dressed, with her hair done, she was simply bewitching!

SHIPUCHIN (already with a migraine). Yes, yes . . . bewitching . . . They might come in here any minute.

MERCHUTKINA. Your Excellency!

SHIPUCHIN (depressed). Now what? How can I help you?

MERCHUTKINA. Your excellency! . . . (Points to Khirin.) This here one, this one right here . . . this here one here put his finger to his forehead, and then on the desk . . . You ordered him to deal with my case, but he made fun and talked dirty. I’m a weak, defenseless woman . . .

SHIPUCHIN. All right, madam, I’ll take care of it . . . I’ll take measures . . . Please get out . . . later! . . . (Aside.) My gout’s flaring up again! . . .

KHIRIN (walks over to Shipuchin, quietly). Andrey Andreich, let me send for the doorman, he’ll throw her out in two shakes. What’s going on, after all?

SHIPUCHIN (alarmed). No, no! She’ll make an outcry, and there are lots of private apartments in this building.

MERCHUTKINA. Your Excellency!

KHIRIN (in a whining voice). But I have to write the speech, don’t I! I haven’t got the time! . . . (Goes back to the desk.) I can’t do it!

MERCHUTKINA. Your Excellency, when will I get it? I need the money right away.

SHIPUCHIN (aside, indignantly). No, an ex-tra-or-din-ar-i-ly nasty female! (To Merchutkina, blandly.) Madam, I’ve already told you. This is a bank, a private, mercantile establishment . . .

MERCHUTKINA. Do me a favor, Your Excellency, be a father to me . . . If a doctor’s certificate ain’t enough, then I can produce a statement from the police too. Tell them to give me the money!

SHIPUCHIN (breathing heavily). Oof!

TATYANA ALEKSEEVNA (to Merchutkina). Granny, they’re telling you you’re in the way. How can you, really.

MERCHUTKINA. Beautiful lady, be a mother to me, there’s not a soul who’ll take my part. All I can manage to do is eat and drink, and now I don’t get no satisfaction from coffee.

SHIPUCHIN (faintly, to Merchutkina). How much do you want to receive?

MERCHUTKINA. Twenty-four rubles thirty-six kopeks.

SHIPUCHIN. All right! (Pulls twenty-five rubles out of his wallet and give them to her.) Here’s twenty-five rubles for you. Take it . . . and get out!

KHIRIN angrily coughs.

MERCHUTKINA. Thank you kindly, Your Excellency . . . (Puts away the money. )

TATYANA ALEKSEEVNA (sitting beside her husband). Anyway, it’s time for me to go home . . . (After looking at her watch.) But I still haven’t finished . . . . I’ll be done in just one little minute and then I’ll go . . . The things that went on! Ah, the things that went on! So, we drove to the soiree at the Berezhnitskys’ . . . It was all right, it was fun, but nothing special . . . Of course, Katya’s admirer Grendilevsky was there . . . Well, I had a word with Katya, I cried a bit, I worked my influence on her, and that very evening she had it out with Grendilevsky and turned him down. Well, I’m thinking, it’s over and done with, all’s for the best: it’s calmed down mamma, it’s saved Katya and now I myself am calm . . . And what do you think? Just before supper Katya and I are walking down a garden path and suddenly . . . (Getting excited.) And suddenly we hear a gunshot . . . No, I can’t talk about this in cold blood! (Fanning herself with her handkerchief.)

SHIPUCHIN (sighs). Oof!

TATYANA ALEKSEEVNA (weeps). We run to the summer-house and there . . . there lies poor Grendilevsky . . . with a pistol in his hand . . .

SHIPUCHIN. No, I can’t stand it! I can’t stand it! (To Merchutkina.) What can I do for you now?

MERCHUTKINA. Your Excellency, is it possible for my husband to get his job back again?

TATYANA ALEKSEEVNA (weeping). He’d shot himself right in the heart . . . just there . . . Katya fainted dead away, poor thing . . . And he was awfully scared himself, he’s lying there and . . . and asks us to send for a doctor. The doctor came right away and . . . and saved the wretched man . . .

MERCHUTKINA. Your Excellency, it is possible for my husband to get his job back again?

SHIPUCHIN. No, I can’t stand it! (Weeps.) I can’t stand it! (Extends both his arms to Khirin, in despair.) Throw her out! Throw her out, for pity’s sake!

KHIRIN (walking over to Tatyana Alekseevna). Get out of here!

SHIPUCHIN. Not her, the one over there . . . that dreadful . . . (points at Merchutkina) that one there!

KHIRIN (not understanding him, to Tatyana Alekseevna). Get out of here! (Stamps his feet.) Get out now!

TATYANA ALEKSEEVNA. What? What’s wrong with you? Have you gone crazy?

SHIPUCHIN. This is horrible! I’m a miserable wretch! Throw her out! Throw her out!

KHIRIN (to Tatyana Alekseevna). Out! I’ll cripple you! I’ll mangle you! I’ll do something violent!

TATYANA ALEKSEEVNA (runs away from him, he follows her). How dare you! You’re being rude! (Cries out.) Andrey! Save me! Andrey! (Screams.)

SHIPUCHIN (runs after them). Stop it! I implore you! Quiet! Spare me!

KHIRIN (chasing Merchutkina). Get out of here! Catch her! Smash her! Cut her throat!

SHIPUCHIN (shouts). Stop it! Will you please! I implore you!

MERCHUTKINA. Saints alive . . . saints alive! (Screams.) Saints alive! . . .

TATYANA ALEKSEEVNA (shouts). Save me! Save me! . . . Ah, ah . . . I feel faint! Faint! (Jumps onto a chair, then falls on the sofa and groans, as if in a swoon.)

KHIRIN (chasing Merchutkina). Smash her! Flog her! Cut her throat!

MERCHUTKINA. Ah, ah . . . saints alive, I’m blacking out! Ah! (Falls unconscious into Shipuchin’s arms.)

A knock at the door and a voice offstage: “The deputation!”

SHIPUCHIN. Deputation . . . reputation . . . occupation . . .

KHIRIN (stamps his feet). Get out, damn it to hell! (Rolls up his sleeves.) Hand her over to me! I could do something violent!

Enter the five-man deputation; all in tailcoats. One of them is holding the testimonial in a velvet binder, another the loving cup. EMPLOYEES look on through the doorway to the boardroom. TATYANA ALEKSEEVNA is on the sofa, MERCHUTKINA in Shipuchin’s arms, both moaning quietly.

SHAREHOLDER (reads loudly). Highly respected and cherished Andrey Andreich! On casting a retrospective glance at the past of our financial institution and running our mind’s eye over the course of its gradual development, the impression we receive is gratifying to the nth degree. True, in the early days of its existence the limited scope of its original capital, the lack of any profitable operations, as well as the vagueness of its goals gave point to Hamlet’s question: “To be or not to be?,” and at one time voices were even raised in favor of closing the bank. But then you put yourself at the head of our institution. Your knowhow, energy and characteristic discretion were reasons for its exceptional success and rare prosperity. The reputation of the bank . . . (coughs) the reputation of the bank . . .

MERCHUTKINA (groans). Ugh! Ugh!

TATYANA ALEKSEEVNA (groans). Water! Water!

SHAREHOLDER (carries on). Reputation . . . (coughs) reputation of the bank was raised by you to such a height that our institution can now compete with the best foreign institutions . . .

SHIPUCHIN. Deputation . . . reputation . . . occupation . . . “two friends went for a walk one night and business talked in the moonlight . . .”¹¹ “Say not that your youth was wasted, that my jealousy tormented you.”¹²

SHAREHOLDER (carries on in embarrassment). Then, casting an objective glance at the present, highly respected and cherished Andrey Andreich, we . . . (Lowering his voice.) Under the circumstances we’ll come back later . . . We’d better come back later . . .

They leave in confusion.

VARIANTS TO

The Celebration

Early version of the ending to the play (from the autograph manuscript). In this earlier version, Shipuchin is called Kistunov and Merchutkina is Shchukina.

VII

KISTUNOV, KHIRIN, and TATYANA ALEKSEEVNA.

TATYANA ALEKSEEVNA is lying on the sofa and groaning.

KHIRIN (after a brief pause). What did I tell you? What did I tell you? They came, they wrecked the place, they made scenes, one got twenty-five smackers and left, and there’s the other baby-doll . . . (Points at Tatyana Alekseevna.) They outdid themselves! I told you a thousand times that you mustn’t let them within shooting distance of you.

KISTUNOV. Deputation . . . reputation . . . Old bag, wife, felt boots . . . Somebody shot himself . . . “Two friends one night went for a walk and business talked.” (Rubbing his eyes.) For two weeks I’ve being composing this speech for the shareholders, bought on my own account a silver loving cup, paid my own seventy-five rubles for the binder for the speech, five whole days stood in front of the mirror and rehearsed the pose . . . and now what? It’s all failed! All of it! I’m disgraced! Ruined! My reputation gone!

KHIRIN. And whose fault is it? Yours! Yours! You ruined the whole business!

KISTUNOV. Shut up! It’s your fault, not mine!

KHIRIN. Yours! Yours!

KISTUNOV. No, yours! If it wasn’t for your nasty felt boots and your damned insufferable temper, none of this would have happened! Why did you chase my wife? Why did you shout at her? How dared you?

KHIRIN. And if you weren’t a coquette, and tried to throw a little less dust in their eyes . . . But, to hell with me, I don’t want to work here any more! Please let me have the gold medal and three hundred bonus! Please hand them over!

KISTUNOV. You’ll get nothing, you old bastard! I’ll give you the finger!

KHIRIN. Is that right? . . . Then here’s your report! (Tears up the report.) There! That’s for you! I’ve put you in hot water! Just you wait!

KISTUNOV (shouts). Clear out of here! (Rings.) Hey, throw him out!

KHIRIN (stamps his feet). Out of my sight! I’m ready to do something violent! I won’t answer for myself! Get away!

KISTUNOV. Get out!

with cries of “Get away! Get out!” they chase one another.

Noise. The employees rush in.

Curtain

Lines from the autograph manuscript.

page 708 / After: while I sit here and — do the sums and calculate the percentages and make fair copies, and

page 710 / After: Pause. —

KISTUNOV. For what . . . Hm . . . Women, my dear fellow, are . . . the sort of thing . . . it’s when . . . it’s the aroma of life . . . But go on writing, my dear man . . . Have to make haste.

KHIRIN. There are all sorts of aromas . . .

Pause.

page 710 / Replace: You’re part of the team, so of course you know what’s going on . . . a stately doorman at the entrance.

with: Only I don’t know where the ceremony of reading the speech is to take place: at the club before the banquet or else here? I’d like it to be here, and hinted as much to them . . . (Looks around.) Such furniture! Neat and tidy! They may say I’m a fussbudget, that all I need is for the doorknobs to be polished, the employees to wear fashionable neckties, and a stately doorman to stand at the entrance, but look—the rest can go to hell.

page 710 / Before: The main thing is tone! — You have to pay attention to public opinion! It’s not a bank, they say, but a government department! There, they say, it’s awesome to go in! . . .

page 714 / After: What was there to do? — If she marries him, what will they live on? On love alone you don’t get fat!

page 715 / After: and that’s all . . . — And who has to deal with it? They’re all hanging ‘round my neck! Mine! (Weeps.)

page 716 / After: and besides that my son-in-law is out of work. — It’s a wonder that I can eat and drink and I can barely keep body and soul together. I didn’t sleep a wink all night . . .

page 717 / Replace: We seen your sort before

with: KHIRIN. Get out of here!

SHCHUKINA. We seen your sort. I’ll go to the lawyer Dmitry Karlych, and you’ll be out of a job. Three lodgers I’ve sued, and for your foul mouth I’ll strip you down to your felt boots.

NOTES

1 The names are suggestive: Shipuchin from shipat, to fizzle or sputter; Khirin from khirit, to be sickly or to decay; and Merchutkina from mertsat, to flicker, mertsalka, nightlight.

2 Valenki are lower-class indoor footwear, the equivalent of Khirin wearing mukluks or fuzzy houseslippers at the office.

3 See The Seagull, note 46.

4 In the original, Gambetta. The French politician Léon Gambetta (1838–1882) was famous as a public speaker.

5 French: my credo.

6 The London murderer and mutilator of prostitutes was frequently discussed in Russian newspapers in 1890.

7 All-male testimonial banquets and school reunions often ended with a trip to a brothel.

8 A woman’s waterproof cape.

9 Prince Gremin’s aria in Pyotr Ilyich Chaikovsky’s 1879 opera Yevgeny Onegin (Act III, scene 1).

10 Prior to 1896, this government office carried out all testing of gold and silver.

11 Opening lines of Ivan A. Krylov’s fable “The Passersby and the Dogs.”

12 “Gypsy Song,” a ballad by Ya. F. Prigozhy to the words of a poem by Nikolay Nekrasov, “A heavy cross fell to her lot . . .” (1856). Also quoted in The Seagull.