Without a Dowry and Other Plays

by Alexander Ostrovsky

  The little satire of the play is directed mostly against Knurov. In his setting Knurov is a giant whose every act is justified since money’s might makes right. However, Ostrovsky exposes him for what he is—a cynical, callous, self-righteous, pompously arrogant snob, whose cleverness backed by wealth helps him to maintain his prestige and bring him the pleasures he desires. When he makes his proposition to Larisa that she become his kept woman, he feels he has to mention the prejudice some might have about it, but he reassures her that there’s nothing at all to worry her pretty head inasmuch as the all-powerful whitewashing capacity of his money will make everything fine.

  In Act Two Knurov demonstrates a skill which shows that while he is not interested in others for their own sake, he knows how to deal with them for his own ends. He bargains with Mme. Ogudalov for her sympathetic alliance, giving her three hundred rubles, a thinly disguised retainer fee for her potential lobbying services on his behalf relative to Larisa. He assumes (and maybe even finds it congenial) that Larisa will marry Karandyshov, but he has no trouble making the quick-minded Mme. Ogudalov realize that when the marriage inevitably goes downhill, then he, Knurov, will be ready, able, and only too willing to rescue poor Larisa from the tedium of everyday family humdrum.

  Paratov has his demonic side, reminding some of Pechorin, the hero of Lermontov’s Hero of Our Times, and he’s close enough to the truth when he claims that for him nothing is sacred. When he causes Larisa grief, it bothers him a little, but not overly; after all, it’s a woman’s lot to weep! He cares for Larisa somewhat, almost certainly more than he has ever cared for another woman, but not to the point of losing anything by it. If it becomes necessary to sell his assets to pay for the pleasures of life he’s become accustomed to, then he’ll do it, even to the point of selling his matehood. But if Paratov were only a black villain as just described, we would be puzzled by Larisa’s attraction to him. So Ostrovsky makes Paratov charismatic. Paratov is charming, a bit sophisticated, self-assured, intelligent, imaginative, playful in speech, and appreciative of beauty, qualities contributing to Larisa’s enchantment. It’s easy enough to see how Larisa would prefer the dashing Paratov over the petty and lackluster Karandyshov.

  Robinson as an outsider who knows the score, so to speak, from the ground up sees Knurov, Vozhevatov, and Paratov for what they are and says so but guardedly, for Robinson’s main interest is self-interest. While we won’t admire Robinson for his pliability, we can sympathize with him since he, paralleling Larisa, is treated as a thing.

  The off-stage chorus of the gypsies at the end may be considered symbolically as a hymn in Larisa’s honor. Paratov wants the gypsies silenced, but Larisa says no, let them have their fun, that she doesn’t want to get in anyone’s way, that she loves everybody. Some may find this a bit histrionic, but it’s all consistent with her past life when all she asked for was true love and during which she hurt nobody except Karandyshov (that at least partly forgivable in the circumstances).

  The play rushes with an intense pace, taking place within a represented time span of little more than twelve hours. The psychological compression is heightened by each succeeding act’s being shorter than the preceding one.

  Some, including me, consider Without a Dowry to be Ostrovsky’s finest play. The Russian critic Yefim Kholodov has this to say:

  But neither before nor after Without a Dowry did Ostrovsky rise to such dramatic heights, attain such artistic force, reach such psychological subtlety in the portrayal of characters. It may now be considered generally accepted that “opus 40” is the best play of the best Russian playwright of the past century.

  NOTE

  1. VI. Filippov discussed Larisa’s mixed background as the daughter of a Russian nobleman (apparently long dead) and a gypsy mother, Mme. Ogudalov. He noted that Kharita was a name often given to gypsy women, and also that Ignat, from which the patronymic for Mme. Ogudalov would be derived, was often used as a nickname for gypsy men.

  Filippov assumed that, as was not uncommon at the time, Larisa’s father married Mme. Ogudalov after ransoming her from a gypsy camp. At one point Vozhevatov makes a point of telling Knurov that Mme. Ogudalov is not Russian, and Filippov claimed that she uses a number of non-Russian phrases.

  Filippov conjectured that what he considered to be contradictory traits in Larisa could be attributed to her mixed parentage. Larisa clearly has much of the gypsy in her, but in her moral values is hardly her mother’s daughter. Filippov’s remarks accompanied an anthology of Ostrovsky’s plays (A. N. Ostrovskii, Izbrannye proizvedeniia, Moscow, 1965, 404).

  TALENTS AND ADMIRERS

  A Comedy in Four Acts

  (1882)

  CAST OF CHARACTERS*

  ALEXÁNDRA NIKOLÁVNA NYÉGIN (SÁSHA). An actress in a provincial theater. Young and unmarried.

  DÓMNA PANTELYÉVNA NYEGIN (MME. NYEGIN). Alexandra’s mother, a widow and very simple woman over forty. Her husband was a musician in a provincial orchestra.

  PRINCE IRÁKLY STRATÓNYCH DULYÉBOV. An imposing gentleman in the old style. Elderly.

  GRIGÓRY ANTÓNYCH BÁKIN. A provincial official in a important position. About thirty.

  IVÁN SEMYÓNYCH VELIKÁTOV. A very rich landowner, owner of well-run estates and factories. A retired cavalry officer with a practical mind. His behavior is modest and well-controlled. He has constant dealings with merchants, and he clearly tries to imitate their tone and manners. Middle-aged.

  PETER YEGÓRYCH MELÚZOV (PÉTYA). A young man who has finished the university and is awaiting a teaching position.

  NÍNA VASÍLYEVNA SMÉLSKY. An actress. Older than Alexandra.

  MARTÝN PROKÓFYICH NARÓKOV. Assistant to the stage director and also property man. An old man, who is dressed very well, though cheaply. His manners are refined.

  GAVRÍLO PETRÓVICH MIGÁEV (GAVRYÚSHKA). Theater manager.

  YERÁST GROMÍLOV (also called Tragedian). Tragedian.

  VÁSYA. A young merchant of pleasant appearance and proper manners.

  MATRYÓNA. Cook in the Nyegin household.

  CHIEF TRAIN CONDUCTOR.

  TRAIN CONDUCTOR.

  RAILROAD STATION CLERK.

  VARIOUS PASSENGERS AND RAILROAD STATION WORKERS.

  A VARIED PUBLIC, mostly of the merchant class (in Act Two).

  * Meanings which would probably or possibly be suggested to Ostrovsky’s contemporaries: Nyegin—comfort, bliss, tenderness; Dulyebov—blockhead, simpleton; Bakin—eloquent; Velikatov—majestic, eminent; Meluzov—groats, chaff; Smelsky—bold; Narokov—reproach; Gromilov—devastate, loot, fulminate (against).

  ACT ONE

  The action takes place in a provincial town [Bryakhimov]. The actress Nyegin’s apartment. On the left of the actors is a window. In the corner in the background is a door to the anteroom. On the right is a partition with a door into another room. There is a table with some books and notebooks on it by the window. The furniture is cheap.

  MME NYEGIN (alone, talking through the window). Come back in three or four days. After the benefit performance they’re giving for us we’ll pay you everything. Eh? What? Oh, he’s deaf! He doesn’t hear me. I say we’re getting a benefit performance, so after that we’ll pay you everything. Well, he’s gone. (She sits down.) All those debts, all those debts! A ruble here, a couple there… And what they’ll take in at the box office is anybody’s guess. In the winter there was a benefit for us, and after expenses there were only forty-two and a half rubles. And there was that half-crazy merchant who brought some turquoise earrings… a lot of good they were! What a thing to do! But now that the fair is here we ought to be getting some two hundred rubles from it. But even if we should get three hundred it’s not likely we’ll keep it long; it’ll go through our fingers like water. My Sasha just doesn’t have any luck! She behaves the way she ought to, but the public isn’t well disposed to her, she doesn’t get any gifts worth speaking of, nothing like the ones the others get, those who… if… Take the prince now… What would it
cost him! Or Ivan Semyonych Velikatov… they say his sugar factories are worth millions… What would it cost him to send a couple pounds of that sugar? It would last us a long time… Those people sit buried up to their ears in money and don’t think of helping a poor girl out. I’m not talking about the merchants, what could anyone get out of them! They don’t even go to the theater, they’d have to go plumb crazy first, get blown there by the wind… disgraceful things is all you can expect from them…

  Narokov enters.

  Oh, Prokofyich, hello.

  NAROKOV (gloomily). Hello, Prokofyevna.

  MME NYEGIN. My patronymic isn’t Prokofyevna but Pantelyevna, what’s the matter with you!

  NAROKOV. And I’m not just Prokofyich but Martyn Prokofyich.

  MME NYEGIN. Oh, excuse me, Mister Actor Man!

  NAROKOV. If you want to be familiar when you speak with me, then call me simply Martyn. At least that would be more suitable. But “Prokofyich”! That’s vulgar, madam, very vulgar!

  MME NYEGIN. You and I, my dear sir, are small fry. Why spout all that fine talk?

  NAROKOV. Small fry? I’m not small fry, pardon me!

  MME NYEGIN. Then I suppose you’re somebody big?

  NAROKOV. Big.

  MME NYEGIN. So from now on we’ll know. And exactly why have you, such a big man, come to see us little people?

  NAROKOV. Must we continue in this tone, Domna Pantelyevna? Why are you so grumpy?

  MME NYEGIN. So I’m grumpy, why hide it! I like to do my work, and bothering to talk with you is something I don’t care for.

  NAROKOV. But where did your grumpiness come from? From nature or upbringing?

  MME NYEGIN. Oh Lord, what from, what did it come from?… But what else could you expect? I lived my whole life in poverty, among lowdown people. Cursing in the house every day and never a chance to rest or catch your breath. I was never in any boarding school, wasn’t brought up with any fine ladies. All that happened to people like us was that time passed, and everybody cursed everybody else. You know, it’s the rich people who’ve thought up all those delicate things.

  NAROKOV. It all makes sense. I understand now.

  MME NYEGIN. So I don’t say tender things to everybody, with every person, if I may say so… I might’ve said something to you, but I didn’t mean to offend. Do you speak respectfully to everybody?

  NAROKOV. I’m familiar when I speak with the common folk…

  MME NYEGIN. “The common folk”! You don’t say! And what sort of a fine gentleman are you!

  NAROKOV. I’m from the gentleman class, a genuine gentleman… Well, all right, let’s you and I speak together on familiar terms, that’s nothing special.

  MME NYEGIN. Nothing special at all, but a very common thing. And in what way are you of the gentleman class?

  NAROKOV. I can tell you that I’m like King Lear, every inch a gentleman. I’m an educated man, I studied in an educational institution, I was rich.

  MME NYEGIN. You?

  NAROKOV. Yes, me!

  MME NYEGIN. Is that really true?

  NAROKOV. Do you want me to take an oath on it?

  MME NYEGIN. No, what for? There’s no need for an oath, I believe you. But then how come you work as a prompeter?

  NAROKOV. I’m not a prompeter nor even a prompter, Madam, I’m assistant to the stage director. This theater was once mine.

  MME NYEGIN (with astonishment). Yours? You don’t say!

  NAROKOV. I maintained it for five years, and Gavryushka was my clerk. He copied out the roles.

  MME NYEGIN (with great astonishment). Gavrila Petrovich, the theater manager here?

  NAROKOV. The very same.

  MME NYEGIN. You poor man! So that’s how it is. It seems God didn’t give you any happiness in this theater play business.

  NAROKOV. Happiness! I didn’t know what to do with my happiness, I had so much of it!

  MME NYEGIN. Then why have you come down so? Did you take to drink? What did you do with your money?

  NAROKOV. I never drank. I spent all my money for my happiness.

  MME NYEGIN. And what was your happiness?

  NAROKOV. It was a happiness that I made into a love affair. (Pensively.) I love the theater, I love art, I love actors, can you understand that? So I sold my estate, got a lot of money, and became a theater manager. Eh, wasn’t that happiness? I rented the theater here and did everything over, the sets and the costumes. I got together a good troupe and began to live in seventh heaven… I didn’t care whether we had a good take at the box office, and I paid everybody a good salary and on time. And so I passed five happy years, till I saw that my money was running out. At the end of the season I paid off all the actors, gave them a farewell dinner, gave each one an expensive gift to remember me by…

  MME NYEGIN. And what happened then?

  NAROKOV. And then Gavryushka rented my theater, and I started working for him. He pays me a small salary and a little for my keep. That’s the whole story, my dear.

  MME NYEGIN. And that’s all you live on?

  NAROKOV. Well, no, I can always earn my bread. I give lessons, I write items for newspapers, I do translations. But I work for Gavryushka because I don’t want to leave the theater, I love art so much. So here I am, an educated man, with fine taste, living among coarse people who offend my artistic feeling every step of the way. (Going to the table.) What kind of books are these?

  MME NYEGIN. Sasha is studying, she has a teacher come.

  NAROKOV. A teacher? What sort of teacher?

  MME NYEGIN. He’s a student. Peter Yegorych. Do you know him by any chance?

  NAROKOV. I know him. A dagger in his chest right up to the hilt!1

  MME NYEGIN. So cruel?

  NAROKOV. Without pity.

  MME NYEGIN. You better wait before sticking him, he’s Sasha’s fiancé.

  NAROKOV (with fright). Fiancé?

  MME NYEGIN. It will work out, of course, as God wills, but anyway we call him a fiancé. She met him somewhere, and he started visiting us. So what could you call him? Well, we call him a fiancé, otherwise what would the neighbors say! I’ll marry her off to him as soon as he gets a good position. It isn’t easy to find eligible bachelors. A merchant with a lot of money would be nice, but a good one wouldn’t take her, and some of them are awfully disgusting, no great joy from them. So why shouldn’t she marry him then, he’s a peaceful lad, Sasha loves him.

  NAROKOV. Loves? She loves him?

  MME NYEGIN. And why shouldn’t she love him? As a matter of fact, why should a young woman wear herself out in the theater? There’s just no way to get a good foothold in life there!

  NAROKOV. And you can say that?

  MME NYEGIN. I can say that, and I’ve been saying it a long time. You can’t get anything good from the theater.

  NAROKOV. But your daughter has talent, she was born for the stage.

  MME NYEGIN. For the stage, for the stage, you hit the nail right on the head! When she was little you couldn’t drag her out of the theater; she’d stand behind the wings, all aflutter. My husband, her father, was a musician, he played the flute. So whenever he’d go to the theater, she’d go after him, staying in the wings, not even breathing.

  NAROKOV. So there you are. The only place for her is on the stage.

  MME NYEGIN. A beautiful place that is!

  NAROKOV. But she has a passion for the theater, you must understand, a passion! You said that yourself.

  MME NYEGIN. And what if she does have a passion for it, what’s the good of that? That’s nothing to brag about. That kind of passion is for you homeless and dissipated people.

  NAROKOV. Oh ignorance! A dagger in the chest right up to the hilt!

  MME NYEGIN. You and your daggers! There’s mighty little good on that stage of yours, and I’m keeping my daughter on the road that ends up in marriage. Men keep coming at her from all sides, trying to get on her good side and whispering all kinds of stupid things in her ear… That Prince Dulyebov’s been coming a lot. In his old
age he’s taken it into his head to go courting… Is that good? What do you say to that?

  NAROKOV. Prince Dulyebov! A dagger in his chest right up to the hilt!

  MME NYEGIN. You’ve gone and stuck an awful lot of people.

  NAROKOV. A lot.

  MME NYEGIN. And they’re still alive?

  NAROKOV. Why not? Of course they’re alive, and all in good health, may they live to a ripe old age. Here, give this to her. (He gives her a notebook.)

  MME NYEGIN. What is it?

  NAROKOV. It’s a role. I copied it out for her myself.

  MME NYEGIN. What’s the great occasion? On thin paper and tied up with a rose-colored ribbon!

  NAROKOV. Well, all you have to do is give it to her! Why all this talk!

  MME NYEGIN. But what use is this tenderness when we’re so hard up? You spent your last twenty kopecks on that ribbon, didn’t you?

  NAROKOV. Suppose I did, so what? She has such nice hands, and her soul is even better, so I couldn’t give her a messy notebook.

  MME NYEGIN. But what for? What’s it all for?

  NAROKOV. Why be so surprised? The whole thing’s very simple and natural. That’s how it should be because I’m in love with her.

  MME NYEGIN. Oh good heavens! It gets worse every minute! You know, you’re an old man, you’re nothing but an old clown. What kind of love could you want?

  NAROKOV. But isn’t she beautiful? Tell me, isn’t she beautiful?

  MME NYEGIN. So she’s beautiful, what’s it to you?

  NAROKOV. And who doesn’t love what’s beautiful? You too love what’s beautiful. Do you think that because a man is in love, there has to be a big racket… that he must get all excited? My soul is full of fine perfumes. But how could you understand that!

  MME NYEGIN. You know, when I look at you I can see you’re some kind of freak!

  NAROKOV. Thank God you’ve realized. I know myself that I’m a freak. Were you trying to call me names?