Anton Pavlovich Chekhov 



   A Tragic Actor

    It was the benefit night of Fenogenov, the tragic actor. They  were  acting 
"Prince Serebryany." The tragedian himself was  playing  Vyazemsky;  Limonadov, 
the  stage  manager,   was  playing  Morozov;   Madame  Beobahtov,  Elena.  The 
performance was a grand success. The  tragedian  accomplished  wonders  indeed. 
When he was carrying off Elena, he held her in one hand above his  head  as  he 
dashed across the stage. He shouted, hissed, banged with  his  feet,  tore  his 
coat across his chest. When he refused to fight Morozov, he trembled  all  over 
as nobody ever trembles in reality, and gasped loudly. The theatre  shook  with 
applause. There were endless calls.  Fenogenov  was  presented  with  a  silver 
cigarette-case and a bouquet tied with long ribbons.  The  ladies  waved  their 
handkerchiefs and urged their men to applaud, many shed tears...  But  the  one 
who was  the  most  enthusiastic  and  most  excited  was  Masha,  daughter  of 
Sidoretsky the police captain. She was sitting in the first row of  the  stalls 
beside her papa; she was ecstatic and could not take her  eyes  off  the  stage 
even between the acts. Her delicate little hands and feet were  quivering,  her 
eyes were full of tears, her cheeks turned paler and  paler.  And  no  wonder - 
she was at the theatre for the first time in her life. 
    "How well they act! how splendidly!"  she  said  to  her  papa  the  police 
captain, every time the curtain fell. How good Fenogenov is!" 
    And if her papa had been capable of reading faces he would have read on his 
daughter's pale little countenance a rapture that was almost anguish.  She  was 
overcome by the acting, by the play, by the surroundings. When  the  regimental 
band began playing between the acts, she closed her eyes, exhausted. 
    "Papa!" she said to the police captain during the last interval, "go behind 
the scenes and ask them all to dinner to-morrow!" 
    The police captain went behind the scenes, praised them for all their  fine 
acting, and complimented Madame Beobahtov. 
    "Your lovely face demands a canvas, and I  only  wish  I  could  wield  the 
brush!" 
    And with a scrape, he thereupon invited the company to dinner. 
    "All except the fair sex," he whispered. "I don't want the actresses, for I 
have a daughter." 
    Next day the actors dined at the police captain's. Only  three  turned  up, 
the manager Limonadov, the tragedian Fenogenov, and the  comic  man  Vodolazov; 
the others sent excuses. The dinner was a dull affair. Limonadov  kept  telling 
the police captain how much he respected him, and how highly he thought of  all 
persons in authority; Vodolazov mimicked drunken merchants and  Armenians;  and 
Fenogenov (on his passport his name was Knish), a tall,  stout  Little  Russian 
with black eyes and frowning brow, declaimed "At the portals of the great," and 
"To be or not to  be."  Limonadov,  with  tears  in  his  eyes,  described  his 
interview with the former Governor,  General  Kanyutchin.  The  police  captain 
listened, was bored, and  smiled  affably.  He  was  well  satisfied,  although 
Limonadov smelt strongly of burnt feathers, and Fenogenov was wearing  a  hired 
dress coat and boots trodden down at heel. They pleased his daughter  and  made 
her lively, and that was enough for him. And Masha never took her eyes off  the 
actors. She had never before seen such clever, exceptional people! 
    In the evening the police captain and Masha  were  at  the  theatre  again. 
A week later the actors dined at the police captain's  again,  and  after  that 
came almost every day either to dinner or supper. Masha became  more  and  more 
devoted to the theatre, and went there every evening. 
    She fell in love with the tragedian. One  fine  morning,  when  the  police 
captain had gone to meet the bishop, Masha ran away  with  Limonadov's  company 
and married her hero on the way. After  celebrating  the  wedding,  the  actors 
composed a long and touching letter and sent it to the police captain. 
    It was the work of their combined efforts. 
    "Bring out the motive, the motive!" Limonadov kept saying as he dictated to 
the comic man. "Lay on  the  respect...  These  official  chaps  like  it.  Add 
something of a sort... to draw a tear." 
    The answer to this  letter  was  most  discomforting.  The  police  captain 
disowned his daughter for marrying, as he said, "a stupid, idle Little  Russian 
with no fixed home or occupation." 
    And the day after this answer was received Masha was writing to her father. 
    "Papa, he beats me! Forgive us!" 
    He had beaten her, beaten  her  behind  the  scenes,  in  the  presence  of 
Limonadov, the washerwoman, and two lighting men. He remembered how, four  days 
before the wedding, he was sitting in the London Tavern with the whole company, 
and all were talking about Masha. The company were advising him to "chance it," 
and Limonadov, with tears in his eyes urged: "It would be stupid and irrational 
to let slip such an opportunity! Why, for a sum  like  that  one  would  go  to 
Siberia, let alone getting married! When you marry and have a theatre  of  your 
own, take me into your company. I shan't be master then, you'll be master." 
    Fenogenov remembered it, and muttered with clenched fists: 
    "If he doesn't send money I'll smash her! I won't let myself be made a fool 
of, damn my soul!" 
    At one provincial town the company tried to give Masha the slip, but  Masha 
found out, ran to the station, and got there when the second bell had rung  and 
the actors had all taken their seats. 
    "I've been shamefully treated by your father," said the tragedian;  "all is 
over between us!" 
    And though the carriage was full of people, she went down on her knees  and 
held out her hands, imploring him: 
    "I love you! Don't drive me away, Kondraty Ivanovitch," she  besought  him. 
"I can't live without you!" 
    They listened to her entreaties, and after consulting  together,  took  her 
into the company as a "countess" - the name they used for the  minor  actresses 
who usually came on to the stage in crowds or in  dumb  parts.  To  begin  with 
Masha used to play maid-servants and pages,  but  when  Madame  Beobahtov,  the 
flower of Limonadov's company, eloped, they made her ingénue. She acted  badly, 
lisped, and was nervous. She soon grew used to it, however,  and  began  to  be 
liked by the audience. Fenogenov was much displeased. 
    "To call her  an  actress!"  he  used  to  say.  "She  has  no  figure,  no 
deportment, nothing whatever but silliness." 
    In one provincial town the company  acted  Schiller's "Robbers".  Fenogenov 
played Franz, Masha, Amalie. The tragedian shouted and quivered. Masha repeated 
her part like a well-learnt lesson, and the play would have gone  off  as  they 
generally did had it not been for a trifling mishap. Everything went well up to 
the point where Franz declares his love for Amalie and she  seizes  his  sword. 
The tragedian shouted,  hissed,  quivered,  and  squeezed  Masha  in  his  iron 
embrace. And Masha, instead of repulsing him and crying  "Hence!"  trembled  in 
his arms like a bird and did not move... she seemed petrified. 
    "Have pity on me!" she whispered in his ear. "Oh, have pity on me!  I am so 
miserable!" 
    "You don't know your part! Listen to the prompter!" hissed  the  tragedian, 
and he thrust his sword into her hand. 
    After the performance, Limonadov and Fenogenov were sitting in  the  ticket 
box-office engaged in conversation. 
    "Your wife does not learn her part, you are right there," the  manager  was 
saying. "She doesn't know her line... Every man has his  own  line...  but  she 
doesn't know hers..." 
    Fenogenov listened, sighed, and scowled and scowled. 
    Next morning, Masha was sitting in a little general shop writing: 
    "Papa, he beats me! Forgive us! Send us some money!" 

    1883

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   Notes
    Schiller's "Robbers": Friedrich von Schiller (1759-1805)  was a German poet 
and playwright; "The Robbers" appeared in 1782 and a  Russian  translation  was 
popular with second-rate traveling troupes. 

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