REMINISCENCES OF TC . HEKHOV

I HAVE written down these fragmentary recollections from the talks my colleagues and I had about the Moscow Art Theatre, its life, our dreams of its future, our memories of its past—memories in which the name of Anton Tchekhov occupies a most prominent place.

From lack of time I have not been able to do justice to my subject, to make it as full and systematic as I should have liked. Some of the recollections (written down by me at various moments and by snatches, but mainly consecutive in order of time) I have managed to connect into one whole, as, for instance, all that I have recorded from Mr. K. S. Stanislaysky's words. As regards the other records, I have put them down here just as I wrote them at the time. This also refers to a conversation I had with Anton Tchekhov's brother, Ivan, which I wrote down later on from memory.

Some of these records I am publishing now as material for fixing certain aspects of Anton Tchekhov's attitude to the stage. L. A. SOULERZHITSKY (Shipovnik, Petersburg, 1914).

* * * FROM THE TALK OF IVAN TCHEKHOV.

Anton was fond of the theatre from his early childhood the First performance he saw was the musical comedy Fair Helen. We two used to go to the theatre together, getting seats in the gallery. The seats in the gallery in the Taganrog theatre were not numbered ones, and Anton and I used to come a couple of hours before the performance so as to secure front seats.

The stairs and corridors were yet dark, and we used to tbiimb up and take our stand. The top flight was a narrow wooden staircase with a landing, from which a door opened on to the gallery. There, on the steps we used to sit, patiently waiting, until the door should open. Gradually the gallery public would collect. At last the lock of the door grated from inside, the door opened, and Anton and myself rushed wildly to occupy the front seats. With shouts and yells the impatient public rushed after us, and no sooner had we seized our seats than we found ourselves squeezed out and pushed mercilessly against the rail.

There still remained ample time until the beginning of the performance. Except for the gallery, the whole theatre was empty and dark. Only one gas jet was alight, and it smelt awfully. The gallery benches had no backs, so that we, who stood close to the rail, served as a support to the spectators behind us, who would stretch their arms on our shoulders and use our backs as a rest. The spectators, to while away the time, would nibble sunflower seeds. It used to be so crowded that during the whole evening we could not manage to take off our overcoats. Yet, despite the discomforts, we did not budge from our places all through the performance, for we knew that if we moved, they would at once be seized. Going to the theatre, we did not know what the play was about—we did n.)1, know the difference between drama, opera and musical comedy—but we were equally interested in all of them. • On occasions we were joined by one more passionate lover o? the theatre, our uncle Mitrofan Tchekhov. In Taganrog 11.?, was nicknamed Pray-God for his religious observances. He kept Lent most strictly, and on the day of communion he had no food or drink at all, so that we had to support him on his way to church, for fear that he might fall into a faint. On Easter Day he used to call at the prison and at the lunatic asylum to take paschal cakes, eggs and food to the prisoners and lunatics, and to embrace everyone in the Orthodox fashion. And along with this religious devotion he was no less desperate a lover of the theatre than Anton or myself. As he was poor, he could only afford to go to the gallery.

Every time we youngsters succeeded in saving up the necessary amount, the three of us would immediately start off for the theatre to enjoy ourselves, without ever troubling to enquire what, the play was. Coming out of the theatre, on our way home, paying no heed to the weather, or to the unsafe roads, we walked the streets, animatedly discussing the performance we had just witnessed.

Next day Anton would give an imitation of the actors in the play. If we went to a musical comedy, our brother Nicolay, who had an exceptionally fine ear, would play the music from memory, and Anton would imitate the actors. Our family used to enjoy it all and laugh heartily.

When Anton was somewhat older we once happened to stop in Moscow, on our way home to Taganrog. We learnt that Lensky was to act that evening in Richard the Third. We rushed off to the theatre, but there were only front seats in the gallery left, no cheaper seats to be obtained. Anton showed no hesitation : we put together all we possessed, after a thorough emptying of our pockets, and the same evening we sat in grand fashion in the theatre. But neither Anton nor 1 had a penny in the world left, and next day was a day of cruel retribution.

* * * * When Anton's play, The Bear, was first produced at Korsh's Theatre in Moscow he did not say a word about it to any one of us at home. He was afraid that it might agitate us. But our father, by mere chance, happened to see a poster announcing " The Bear by A. P. Tchekhov," and he went to the gallery to see it. Solovzov and Mlle. Rybchinsky acted in it. The success was tremendous ; there was no end to the applause. Anton himself was in raptures. On coming home, our father said to Anton : " What a very fine thing you have done, Anton ; how very good the actors were ! "

* * * * Alexander III. often went to see The Proposal, and would sometimes go behind the scenes to have a talk with the actors.

According to Svobodin, who acted in that play, the con- versation was usually like this :- " I laughed very much to-night," Alexander III. would say. " I am very glad, Your Majesty," Svobodin would answer. " Who's the author of that play ? "

" Tchekhov, the author of Ivanov, Your Majesty."

" Oh, Ivanov Alexander HI. would say, " I see ! "

* * * * The Proposal was so much liked at Court that often Mme. Savina, Varlamov and Svobodin were asked at act at Tsarskoye Selo. " When I glance at the audience," Svobodin used to say, " I see only stars and ribbons and orders."

* * * * FROM THE TALK OF V. I. KACHALOV.

Before the first performance of The Cherry Orchard took place it was decided to fête Anton Tchekhov. He was against it ; and when he learnt that G. was to take part in the celebra- tion he said :- " Look here, you must not arrange that affair. G. will make a speech in my honour, as Gayev does in the first act of The Cherry Orchard, when he addresses himself to the cupboard. . . ."

- And sure enough, when the celebrations began, G. came out on the platform and started " Dear and deeply respected Anton Pavlovich ! " . . Tchekhov gave a side glance in the direction of the artists, asmile flickering on his lips.

* * * - Tchekhov once sat in my dressing-room in the theatre, Miroliubov; the editor, was also there. Tchekhov felt tired. , Soddenly Gorki rushed into my room and began to scold Miroliubov for some neglect in a literary matter. Then they both went out.

, " He ought not to have done it," Tchekhov said of Gorki. "Ile ought to be more patient. Miroliubov is all right, he is, a fine fellow—only he's the son of a priest . . . He loves church singing, the ringing of bells " . .

After some silence and a few coughs, looking up, he added : ":He shouts at tram conductors " . . .

* * * *

Once Tchekhov was handed a card from a medical colleague, desirous of meeting him. Tchekhov took the card, on which there were several telephone numbers. " H-m . . H-m . . . Why so many telephones. . . . I can't see him. . . Tell him I am not at home."

* * * When Tchekhov praised an actor he did it in a way which aas somewhat puzzling.

Thus he praised me for my acting in The Three Sisters.

" You act Tusenbach wonderfully, wonderfully . . " he repeated the word with conviction. I felt terribly pleased. A few minutes later, he added with the same convincing tone :— " Now N. acts in Gorki's Bousghers very well."

But N. happened to act that part very badly. He was too old for that youthful, lively role, and he failed in it completely.

So to this day I do not know whether Tchekhov liked my acting of Tusenbach, or not.

When I acted the part of Vershinin (in The Three Sisters. Tchekhov said :

" Good, very good. Only you salute not as a colonel does.

You salute like a lieutenant. You ought to do it more gravely, with more confidence."

And that was all he said.

* * * *

I was rehearsing the part of Trigorin (in The Seai,111).

Tchekhov asked me to come to him to have a talk.

" You see," he began, " the fishing rods ought to be crooked, home-made. Trigorin makes them himself with his pen- knife. . . . The cigar he smokes is a good one. . . . Perhaps it is not an expensive one, but it must be in silver paper ! . .

Then he became silent, thought for a while and said : " But the chief thing is the fishing rods " . . .

And he fell into a silence. I began asldng him how to take this or that passage in the play. At last he said : " H-m . . . I don't know ; you should do it as it ought to be done."

I kept on asking him questions.

" Now, you know," he said, seeing my persistence. " When Trigorin drinks vodka with Masha, I should do it like that "

. And he got up, pulled down his waistcoat and drew a deep breath.

" Now, you know, I should do it just like that. When a

man has been sitting for a long while, he always acts like that . . . "

" But how should I act such a difficult part ? " I went on.

Then he seemed to have become somewhat irritated.

" I know no more ; it is all said there," he replied. And

he talked no more of the part the whole evening.

- * * * * Tchekhov often spoke about my health and advised me to give up smoking and to take cod-liver oil. He spoke of it quite often ; he particularly insisted on my giving up tobacco.

I tried to take cod-liver oil, but could not stand the smell.

So I said to Tchekhov•that I was not going on with the cod

Wier oil, but that I should certainly give up smoking.

" That's good ! " ; he felt quite cheered. " That is fine ! "

And coming out of my dressing-room, he turned back and said : " It is a pity, you know, that you are going to give up smoking. I intended making you a present of a very nice

cigarette holder." - • •

Only once I saw him angry, even red with anger. It was

when we played at the Hermitage. The performance over, a crmItcl- of students gathered grit the Stage door, intending' to.

give hini an ovation, arid this drove hini into a fit of anger. * * * *

[The Reminiscences of Tchekhov will be continued in the Literary Supplement of the Spectator. The next instalment will be published in the issue of November 7th.]