Stage Blood by Michael Blakemore & 9780571311231

Author:Michael Blakemore & 9780571311231 [Michael Blakemore]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9780571311231
Publisher: Faber & Faber
Published: 2023-01-23T00:00:00+00:00

My first task in approaching The Cherry Orchard was to decide on a translation. Ronald Hingley was an Oxford don and fluent Russian speaker who rendered Chekhov in a plain colloquial English that was a mirror to Chekhov’s own use of Russian. He purged the text of the literary overtones of the early translations, and even dispensed with the Russian patronymic – that use of double names which for English audiences moves the plays away from the recognisable world and into a rarefied and exotic Russianness. His translation was my first choice but Larry had already approached Moura Budberg, the Russian countess living in London who, when young and plumply ravishing, had been the mistress first of Gorky and then of H. G. Wells. She had done the translation of Larry’s production of Three Sisters and had already been commissioned for The Cherry Orchard. I had only to read a few pages to realise it was the very opposite of what I was looking for – somewhat flowery and with an uncertain feel for spoken English. I told Larry how much more I preferred the Hingley and he conceded graciously, but left to me the awkward task of explaining the situation to Moura.

Not looking forward to it much, I visited her one morning at her large, rambling flat in Cromwell Road. She was now certainly in her late seventies, maybe older, and like many erstwhile beauties didn’t much care for it. She was attended by a female servant, also Russian, of about the same age, and equally cranky. The appearance of these two women was a match to the apartment, which looked decorated and empty at the same time; various exotic items of furniture were disposed around the room but each seemed to stand apart, not quite relating to the others. Moura had on a long dress, by no means new, but appropriate to a countess, and her grey hair, its colour improved by the application of some silvery liquid, was swept on top of her head. A tiny metallic trickle ran down the side of her face. With much trepidation I began my explanation of why I wanted to use another translation and Moura’s expression became sourer and sourer.

However, I had one good card still to play; would she consider being the Russian adviser to the production, attending rehearsals and tutoring us in all aspects of Russian life? Her eyes flickered with interest, and with relief I realised I was dealing with a realist; the job would get her out of the house and involve her again in the work of artists. She already had a friend on the production, our costume designer Bumble Dawson, and Moura sought out her advice. She accepted the job, in which she proved very helpful and was an interesting presence in the rehearsal room.

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