A Sourcebook on Naturalist Theatre

by Christopher Innes (ed)

  (My Life in Art, 1926)

  Chekhov’s evident joyfulness and laughter conflicts with the interpretation of the play that Stanislavsky had already arrived at, and that formed the basis of his production. And indeed the essentially comic nature of the play was a continuing point of disagreement and misunderstanding.

  In addition to the comedy, and the insights into characterization provided by Chekhov’s suggestions for casting, other aspects of the play that are discussed in the letters and illuminate his thematic concepts or visualization of the action include the setting and dramatic weighting of different characters. The correspondence also shows the degree to which, as Olga Knipper later commented, “The directors and the author could not understand each other could not agree” – one example being Stanislavsky’s introduction of a cemetery into Act II. These letters contain comments on Chekhov’s health, daily activities, views on other writers (such as Maxim Gorky’s plan to found a theatre in Novgorod – “both theatres for the people and literature for the people are ridiculous … What needs to be done is not lower Gogol to the people’s level, but raise the people to Gogol’s level”) or critics (particularly Efros). Since most of these topics do not add to our understanding of the play, they have been omitted. Only directly relevant extracts are included; and except in one case – where Chekhov’s reply is placed immediately after the letter it answers – the correspondence is in chronological order.

  Despite his enthusiastic response to early readings of the play – “it is so completely a whole that one cannot delete a single word from it” – Stanislavsky certainly made at least one alteration to the text. As his memoirs admit, this was done for solely conventional reasons, to make the structure correspond more to standard theatrical expectations. This scene was also omitted from the published version of The Cherry Orchard. However, evidence from the manuscript of the play shows that instead of deleting Charlotta’s monologue, as Stanislavsky indicates, Chekhov transferred it to the beginning of Act II; and that this happened before the first performance, not in reaction to audience response.

  5.4.2 Stanislavsky, Changing Act II of The Cherry Orchard

  My Life in Art, 1926

  […] When we dared to suggest to Anton Pavlovich that a whole scene be shortened, the whole end of the second act of The Cherry Orchard, he became very sad and so pale that we were ourselves frightened at the pain that we had caused him. But after thinking for several minutes, he managed to control himself and said: ‘Shorten it.’

  Never after did he say a single word to us about this incident. And who knows, perhaps he would have been justified in reproaching us, because it may very well be that it was the will of the stage director and not his own which shortened a scene that was excellently written. After the young people left Varya with a great deal of noise, Sharlotta came on the stage with a rifle and lay down in the hay, singing some popular German song. Hardly able to move his feet, there entered Firs, lighting matches, looking in the grass for the fan dropped by his mistress. There takes place a meeting of two lonely people. They have nothing to speak about, but they so want to speak, for a human being must speak to someone. Sharlotta begins to tell Firs of how she worked in her youth in a circus and performed the salto mortale, in those very words, which, in our version she says in the beginning of the act when on the stage with Epikhodov, Yasha, and the maid. In answer to her story, Firs talks at length and randomly about something that cannot be understood that happened in the days of his youth, when somebody was taken somewhere in a wagon accompanied by sounds of squeaking and crying, and Firs interprets these sounds with the words cling-clang. Sharlotta does not understand anything in his story, but catches up his cue so that the one common moment in the lives of these two lonely people may not be disturbed. They cry ‘Cling-Clang’ to each other and both laugh very sincerely. This was the way Chekhov ended the act.

  After the stormy scene with the young people, such a lyric ending lowered the atmosphere of the act and we could not lift it again. I suppose that it was mainly our own fault but it was the author who paid for our inability.

  The Cherry Orchard: chronology of major early performances February 1903, Chekhov begins The Cherry Orchard, in the spring. He completes the play by autumn.

  January 1904 Moscow Art Theatre Lopakhin: Leonid Leonidov

  Moscow Directors: Konstantin Anya: Maria Liiina

  January 17, 1904: Chekhov’s 44th birthday and celebrations of the 25 th anniversary of his literary work.) Stanislavsky and Vladimir Nemirovich-Danchenko Madame Ranevsky: Olga Knipper Leonid Gayev: Konstantin Stanislavsky Charlotta: E.P. Muratova

  1904 Companions of New Drama Trofimov: Vsevolod

  Kherson Director: Vsevolod Meyerhold Meyerhold

  1911 Aldwych Theatre Varya: Maryjerrold

  London Producers: Stage Society Trofimov: Harcourt Williams Pishtchik: Nigel Playfair Epikhodov: Ivan Berlyn

  1917 Irish Theatre Company Lopakhin: Paul Farrel

  Dublin Director: Edward Martyn Translator: George Calderon Pishtchik: Oliver Clonabraney Firs: Jimmy O’Dea

  March 1928 Bijou Theatre Lopakhin: Edwin Maxwell

  New York Director and Producer: James B. Fagan Translator: George Calderon Anya: Gemma Fagan Madame Ranevsky: Mary Grev Leonid Gayev: James B. Fagan Charlotta: Ethel Griffies

  October 1928 Civic Repertory Theater Varya: Eva Le Gallienne

  New York Madame Ranevsky: Alla Nazimova

  Performance and reception

  Figure 5.6 The Cherry Orchard, Moscow Art Theatre: 1904 (directed by Stanislavsky). The return in Act I

  Figure 5.7 Landscape and graveyard in Act II

  As for his earlier productions of Chekhov’s plays, Stanislavsky created an extremely detailed mise-en-scène for The Cherry Orchard. As with The Seagull, these notes contain a beat by beat breakdown of moves, gestures and blocking for all the actors, precise indications of complex sound effects and sketches of floor plans. However, here – for the first time – these notes also focus on the motivations of the characters, and on their inner feelings. The way this psychology has been recorded is essentially novelistic, and the technical demands on the actors – the wide register of mental states and swift changes of emotion described can be seen as a measure of Stanislavsky’s growing confidence in the Moscow Art Theatre company. A good example of this is in Act III, when Lopakhin announces that it is he who has purchased the orchard.

  RANEVSKAIA. Has the cherry orchard been sold?

  LOPAKHIN. (202. Guiltily, examining his handkerchief. Looks down. Doesn’t answer at once.) It has.

  RANEVSKAIA. (203. Pause, barely audible.) Who bought it?

  LOPAKHIN. (204. Pause. Even quieter and more embarrassed.) I bought it. (205. Agonizing pause. Lopakhin feels badly and this arouses the beast in him. The awkwardness of his position starts to make him angry. He nervously pulls at his handkerchief…)

  After recording the family’s response to this, Stanislavsky’s notes continue with Lopakhin’s reaction to Aria throwing down the keys to the house.

  (His tone is bitter and insolent as he almost shouts.) I bought it. (Pause. Having shouted, Lophakin tears his handkerchief in two and flings it away. He is still for a moment. He calms down. Then he gets up, covers his ears with his hands and crosses to the table. […] He sits. […] Pishchick goes to Lophakin and sits on the arm of the sofa. Now, at a distance from Ranevskaia, the feeling ofpleasure and commercial pride leads them way over a proper sense of embarrassment and Lophakin begins to boast as a businessman does faced with his brother-merchants or his assistants. The account of the sale (not small minded) with artistic enthusiasm over his skill and efficiency. It is essential to justify Lopakhin that there should be precisely this ‘artistic enthusiasm’) […] Now the cherry orchard is mine. Mine! (Gross guffaw. He clowns, leaning his head on the table, ruffles his hair, butts Pishchick who is sitting next to him in the chest. Stands up, raises his arms and bears his chest. He continues his speech as he does so. All this clowning is exp
licable by the force of his character, his unbridled nature, his ecstasy.) God almighty, gentlemen, the cherry orchard is mine! Tell me I’m drunk, or out of mind, or that I’m imagining all this … (Pause. He thumps the table and the sofa like a kulak. Laughs.) Don’t you dare laugh at me! Don’t you laugh, don’t you dare! (Suddenly stops and changes tone. Now he is stern, imperious. The drink is coming into its own. He moves forward. Now he knows no mercy. The drink has gone to his head. He cannot feel Ranevskaia’s sorrow and misery. Darkening malice and resentment towards the trials and tribulations of his childhood have been aroused in him. All this will be accepted if the actor goes at it boldly, powerfully, like a warrior, not a bruiser.)

  (Translated by Jean Benedetti, in

  Stanislavski, A Biography, 1988)

  At the end of this section of the scene Lopakhin is described as feeling twinges of remorse, then undergoing a sudden change of mood at the sight of Ranevskaia’s tears, which arouse “the good and sincere man in him and his tender love for the whole family and her especially”. However, this tenderness is presented as drunken farce with Lopakhin on his knees, weeping and kissing her skirt “ like a little puppy dog* – and the tinge of contempt in his analysis of Lopakhin’s behaviour suggests why Stanislavsky himself played Gayev instead of this part, despite Chehkov’s explicit wishes: “Why then, if he is so tenderhearted, didn’t he help Ranevskaia? Because he is a slave to merchant’s prejudices, because they would have made him a laughing-stock. Les affaires sont les affaires”. At the end of the act, as a symbolic way of marking the change in ownership, the “trite polka” of aristocratic balls switches to a crude peasant dance.

  From descriptions of the production, Stanislavsky’s performance as Gayev was an intriguing combination of dandyish elegance and strong sentimental emotion. It also exemplified Stanislavsky’s interpretation of The Cherry Orchard as a threnody for the passing of the old order, transferring the focus from the upcoming merchant (for Chekhov the central figure in the play) to the humane but useless aristocrat, and was given a heavily symbolic significance.

  Chekhov had complained about the rhythm of the action in the way Stanislavsky had staged The Cherry Orchard commenting on two reports he had received: “both say that Stanislavsky acts revoltingly in Act IV, that he drags everything out painfully. How terrible! An act which should last a maximum of twelve minutes lasts forty in your production“ (Letter to Olga Knipper, 29 March 1904). The fast pacing Chekhov wanted carries an automatic comic effect, and is associated with farce. (Chekhov is undoubtedly exaggerating – a performance that rushed through the 10 pages of dialogue, with nine distinct scenes and 33 speeches, in just twelve minutes would be literally breathless – but his intention is clear. By contrast, such protracted slowness was undoubtedly intended to maximize the emotional pathos, reinforcing Stanislavsky’s view of the play as a tragedy. This view was also shared by Meyerhold, though he attributed the slow pacing to a representation of “boredom”. Meyerhold’s vision of the dancing was “the vortex of a nightmare” – but he too emphasized the importance of rhythm in the play.

  The following harmony is established in the last act: on one hand, the lamentations of Ranevskaya with her presentiment of approaching disaster (fate in the new musical drama of Chekhov); on the other, the puppet show (not for nothing does Chekhov make Charlotta dance among the ‘Philistines’ in a familiar puppet theatre costume – black tail-coat and check trousers). Translated into musical terms, this is one movement of the symphony. It contains the basic elegaic melody with alternating moods in pianissimo, outbursts in forte (the suffering of Ranevskaya), and the dissonant accompaniment of the monotonous cacophony of the distant dance band and the dance of the living corpses (the Philistines).

  (Literaturnoe nasledstvo, 1960)

  Figure 5.9 The departure in Act IV

  This reading of the play aligns The Cherry Orchard with the symbolist movement. It is certainly true that Chekhov was contemplating a very different type of drama right at the end of his life. Stanislavsky gives a brief scenario: a love triangle in which the two jealous rivals go on a polar expedition, and “the last act portrays a large ship crushed amid icebergs. The play ends with both friends seeing a white vision slipping over the snow. Apparently this is the shade, soul or symbol of the woman they both love, who has died while they were away” (My Life in Art, 1926). This may be the play he spoke of writing, both to Vera Komissarzhevskaya in response to her request for rights to The Cherry Orchard (“why don’t I write a play for you … It’s an old dream of mine” – Letter, 27 January 1903), and to the touring actor-manager P. N. Orlenov, when he visited Chekhov at Yalta in March 1904. Meyerhold’s own production of The Cherry Orchard was not overtly symbolist, though as his letter to Chekhov indicates rhythm was an important element of his directorial concept; and his criticism of the Moscow Art Theatre staging is valid.

  5.4.3 Vselovod Meyerhold, Letter to Anton Chekhov: 8 May 1904

  Translated by Nora Beeson

  Tulane Drama Review 25, vol. 9, no. 1

  May 8, 1904

  (Lopatino)

  […] Next year my company will play in Tiflis. Come to see us, because we have grown in an artistic sense. We do The Cherry Orchard well. After I saw it at the Moscow Art Theatre, I wasn’t ashamed of our production. I did not altogether like the performance in Moscow. In general.

  I want to say this. When some author with his genius stirs a theatre to life, then he understands the secret of performing his plays, finds the key […] If the author begins to perfect his technique, gets to the top of his profession, the theatre only loses this key, because it is an association of creators and consequently more cumbersome. The Deutsches Theater in Berlin, for example, has lost the key to performing Hauptmann’s plays; the great tragi-comedy Der rote Hahn, Schluck undjau, and Der arme Heinrich were failures. It seems to me that the Art Theatre was confused when it tackled your Cherry Orchard.

  Your play is abstract, like a Tchaikovsky symphony. The stage director must above all feel it with his ear. In the third act, against the background of the stupid “stomping” – this “stomping” must be heard – Horror enters unnoticed by anyone.

  “The cherry orchard is sold.” They dance. “Sold.” They dance. And so to the end. When one reads the play, the last act makes the same kind of impression as the ringing in the sick man’s ears in your story Typhus. Some kind of itch. Gaiety in which sounds of death are heard. In this act there is something Maeterlinck-like frightful. I only use this comparison because I’m incapable of saying it more precisely. You are incomparable in your great work. When one reads plays by foreign authors you appear particularly original. In drama the West should learn from you.

  In the Moscow Art Theatre one did not get such an impression from the last act. The background was not concentrated enough and at the same time not remote enough. In the forefront: the story with the billiard cue and the tricks. Separately. All this did not form a chain of “stomping.” And in the meantime all the “dancing” people are unconcerned and do not sense the harm. The tempo of this act was too slow in the Art Theatre. They wanted to convey boredom. That’s a mistake. One must picture unconcern. There’s a difference. Unconcern is more active. Then the tragedy of the act becomes more concentrated.

  *

  Although the Moscow, and later St. Petersburg audiences were enthusiastic, the reception of the Moscow Art Theatre production by the Russian critics was muted. As Stanislavsky informed Chekhov “connoisseurs are rapturous over play. Newspapers not very understanding” (Telegram, 2 April 1904). There were various criticisms of the acting in individual parts, though the staging was generally approved; and on the whole, the commentaries on the play echoed the emphasis Stanislavsky had given the action. It was accepted as a social tragedy in which the sale of the cherry orchard symbolized the displacement of the old aristocratic establishment – as The Literary Digest report on Russian reactions summarized it: “The critics agree that Chekhoff has produced a realistic
and poignant drama of modern Russia which is undergoing the transformation pictured in the play” (30 April 1904). In England from the first, the play was misunderstood. While declaring The Cherry Orchard would never be outdated as long as human desires remained unfulfilled, George Calderon, the English translator of Chekhov, defined the play as “a picture of the nothingness of hope in all countries and all ages” (Quarterly Review, July 1912). The overwhelmingly negative response to the first English production in 1911 can be summed up in the review by The Times:

  For anything I see, said Johnson’s friend “old” Meynell, foreigners are fools. Russians are foreigners, but even so, it is highly improbable that they are such fools as they seem in the English version of Tchehov’s comedy. The fact is, when actors are set to present alien types which they have never seen and which they can only imagine from the necessarily imperfect indications of a translation, they are bound to produce grotesques … Mrs. Edward Garnett’s Cherry Orchard cannot but strike an English audience as something queer, outlandish, even silly. You are shown a family drifting to ruin … They all seem children who have never grown up. Genuine comedy and scenes of pure pathos are mixed with knockabout farce.

  The players did their best: it was not their fault that the entertainment was not entertaining.

  (30 May 1911)

  However, this review provoked the novelist Arnold Bennett, who was also a dramatist specializing in naturalistic comedies, to declare that “In naturalism the play is assuredly an advance on any other play that… has been seen in England” – asserting that Chekhov achieves “another step in the evolution of the drama” because he “never hesitates to make his personages as ridiculous as in life they would be. In this he differs from every other playwright that I know of. Ibsen for instance; and Henri Becque” (Mew Age, 8 June 1911). Another reaction to the same review shows considerable insight into The Cherry Orchard, pointing to a significant change in the appreciation of Chekhov’s work.