Tchekov’s characters never, of their own accord, take off their masks for the benefit of the audience, but they retain them in exactly the same degree as people retain them in real life; that is to say, we sometimes guess by a word, a phrase, a gesture, the humming of a tune, or the smelling of a flower, what is going on behind the mask; at other times we see the mask momentarily torn off by an outbreak of inward passion, but never by any pressure of an outside and artificial machinery, never owing to the necessity of a situation, the demands of a plot, or the exigencies of a problem; in fact, never by any forces which are not those of life itself. In Tchekov’s plays, as in real life, to use Meredith’s phrase, “Passions spin the plot”; he shows us the delicate webs that reach from soul to soul across the trivial incidents of every day.
I will now analyse in detail two of the plays of Tchekov. The first is a drama called Chaika. “Chaika” means “Sea-gull.” It was the first serious play of Tchekov that was performed; and it is interesting to note that when it was first produced at the Imperial Theatre at St. Petersburg it met with no success, the reason being, no doubt, that the actors did not quite enter into the spirit of the play. As soon as it was played at Moscow it was triumphantly successful.
The first act takes place in the park in the estate belonging to Peter Nikolaievitch Sorin, the brother of a celebrated actress, Irina Nikolaievna, whose stage name is Arkadina. Preparations have been made in the park for some private theatricals. A small stage has been erected. The play about to be represented has been written by Constantine, the actress’s son, who is a young man, twenty-five years old. The chief part is to be played by a young girl, Ina, the daughter of a neighbouring landowner. These two young people are in love with each other. Irina is a successful actress of the more or less conventional type. She has talent and brains. “She sobs over a book,” one of the characters says of her, “and knows all Russian poetry by heart; she looks after the sick like an angel, but you must not mention Eleanora Duse in her presence, you must praise her only, and write about her and her wonderful acting in La Dame aux Camélias. In the country she is bored, and we all become her enemies, we are all guilty. She is superstitious and avaricious.” Constantine, her son, is full of ideals with regard to the reform of the stage; he finds the old forms conventional and tedious, he is longing to pour new wine into the old skins, or rather to invent new skins.
There is also staying in the house a well-known writer, about forty years old, named Trigorin. “He is talented and writes well,” one of the other characters says of him, “but after reading Tolstoy you cannot read him at all.” The remaining characters are a middle-aged doctor, named Dorn; the agent of the estate, a retired officer, his wife and daughter, and a schoolmaster. The characters all assemble to witness Constantine’s play; they sit down in front of the small extemporised stage, which has a curtain but no back cloth, since this is provided by nature in the shape of a distant lake enclosed by trees. The sun has set, and it is twilight. Constantine begs his guests to lend their attention. The curtain is raised, revealing a view of the lake with the moon shining above the horizon, and reflected in the water. Ina is discovered seated on a large rock dressed all in white. She begins to speak a kind of prose poem, an address of the Spirit of the Universe to the dead world on which there is supposed to be no longer any living creature.
Arkadina (the actress) presently interrupts the monologue by saying softly to her neighbour, “This is decadent stuff.” The author, in a tone of imploring reproach, says, “Mamma!” The monologue continues, the Spirit of the World speaks of his obstinate struggle with the devil, the origin of material force. There is a pause. Far off on the lake two red dots appear. “Here,” says the Spirit of the World, “is my mighty adversary, the devil. I see his terrible glowing eyes.” Arkadina once more interrupts, and the following dialogue ensues:
Arkadina: It smells of sulphur; is that necessary?
Constantine: Yes.
Arkadina (laughing): Yes, that is an effect.
Constantine: Mamma!
Ina (continuing to recite): He is lonely without man.