Praise for The Coast of Utopia:

“Political utopianism, with all its blood-soaked passion, is back. . . . [in] the biggest theatrical event of the year. . . . Brilliant, sprawling. . . . A rich pageant. . . . [Stoppard’s characters] are besotted with idealism, they seethe at oppression, they are frustrated with life and with love. [His] trilogy is a constant reminder that the seduction of revolutionary thought is only partly in the theories; in its birthing hours it is full of drama, excitement and, yes, fun. Throughout it all Mr. Stoppard’s trademark wit is so much in evidence. . . . Stoppard’s exploration of the life of the mind in mid-19^th-century Russia is a timely reminder of why . . . America’s way has always been better than the utopian alternatives.” —The New York Times

“Both a mesmerizing history lesson and a theatergoing discovery, leaving you dazzled, dazed and off to the theater bookstore to delve into this period of history that Stoppard has rendered so moving as well as enlightening. . . . A writer of brilliance and imagination who dares to navigate the deep waters of history, philosophy and ideas, Stoppard is distinguished now more than ever as he travels along the Coast of Utopia with such a beautiful retinue.” —Carol Rocamora, The Nation

“Alexander Herzen, Marx’s rival and Tolstoy’s nonfiction counterpart, enjoys a well-deserved return to center stage in Tom Stoppard’s The Coast of Utopia . . . the shroud that has fallen over Herzen was not so much lifted as shaken out by Sir Tom Stoppard.” —Christopher Hitchens, Atlantic Monthly

“Stoppard’s brilliant, complex and utterly admirable trilogy . . . is a witty, highly intelligent and humorous masterpiece into which the spectator dives as if it were a deep adventurous sea, churning up the stormy waters of 19th century history and its philosophical thinkers, political dreamers, revolutionaries and utopians.” —Verena Winter, Theater Record (UK)

“[A] dazzling, gargantuan epic—not unilike some great, sprawling Russian novel for the stage. . . . Stoppard’s language sparkles with wit—and frequently moving poetry.” —Oliver Jones, What’s On (UK)

“Refreshingly ambitious in its sweep. . . . It’s packed with reflections on idealism and political change that still have clout today.” —Benedict Nightingale, The Times (UK)

“Intelligent, lucid, eloquent and enlivened by the author’s wit and eye for the absurd. . . . The Coast of Utopia gives voice to a philosophy of moderation dear to Stoppard’s heart: respect for the individual over the collective and hatred for theories of history that sanctify the bloody sacrifice of the present as a necessary step towards some blissful illusory destination.” —Paul Taylor, Independent (UK)

“A delight in caprice, chance and the unrepeatable moment also makes this the work of a poet.” —Susannah Clapp, Observer (UK)

“A huge epic, bristling with ideas about art, love, politics, reality, and, as the overall title suggests, utopias. . . . At his best Stoppard brings long-dead people back to witty life, as well as making their philosophies both comprehensible and entertaining as he pleads against the violent, dogmatic imposition of change.” —Jane Edwards, Time Out (UK)

“Rarely, if ever, has a work so complex achieved such clarity.” —John Nathan, Jewish Chronicle (UK)

“Contains some of Stoppard’s best writing. Nobody in the theatre today can match him for a combination of sinuous argument, intellectual élan, and sheer coruscating wit. The dialogue has a leaping, athletic energy: excitement of the mind and the heart.” —John Peter, Sunday Times (UK)

“Beautiful. . . . I was happy just luxuriating in the sheer texture of the scenes Stoppard sets before us. Stoppard adores those moments of conjunction when history is like a VIP lounge. . . . The meanings of the play cohere as you watch, not as narrative but as poetry, and keep growing in recollection. . . . His sense of history has [never] been finer—fuller—than here.” —Alastair Macaulay, Financial Times (UK)

ALEXANDER
Speaking of which—Liubov, say something in English for the Baron.

LIUBOV
What do you want me to say, Papa?

ALEXANDERAll my daughters have been educated in five languages—call me a liberal if you like, I read Rousseau as a young man, I was there at the storming of the Bastille, not storming it personally but I remember my feelings were decidedly mixed, that’s how liberal I was when I was nineteen. But education for women, yes indeed!—not just piano lessons and Russian grammar pour les filles Bakunin, though mind you, they write better Russian than I do—what a shame there’s nothing worth reading (over his daughters’ protests), apart from . . .

DAUGHTERS
Pushkin!

ALEXANDER
. . . Pushkin. But I tell you, Baron, in choosing my eldest daughter you have chosen the cleverest—

VARVARA
I prefer Kozlov.

ALEXANDER
—brains before beauty, I wish I’d done the same—

DAUGHTERS
Oh shame!—Shame on you, Papa—I hereby protest on behalf of my beautiful sister—Don’t you listen, Liubov—

VARVARA
Quiet when your father is speaking—

MISS CHAMBERLAIN
What did your father say?

LIUBOV
I take it as a compliment, Papa.

VARVARA
So do I.

TATIANA
The Baron doesn’t think so, do you?

RENNE
No! No . . . Liubov is as beautiful as your wife is intelligent.

ALEXANDER
That’s what I said. What a diplomat! Come on, Liubov, my darling, we’re waiting.

LIUBOV
I’m sure the Baron doesn’t want . . .

ALEXANDRA
I can, Papa! (She pops up, standing rigid. In “English”) “How do you do, Baron Renne! I say! charming weather, you do not think!”

She sits just as suddenly, and Tatiana follows suit.

TATIANA (in “English”)
“The quality of mercy is not strained, it dropping like the gentle dew from heaven!”

Tatiana sits. Alexander continues imperturbably.

ALEXANDER
I myself was educated in Italy. My doctorate in philosophy is from the University of Padua.

MISS CHAMBERLAIN
Jolly good effort, Tatiana.

RENNE
Really? Philosophy?

VARVARA
What did she say?

ALEXANDER
My dissertation was on worms.

TATIANA
Shakespeare, Maman.

RENNE
Worms the philosopher?

ALEXANDER
No, just worms.

VARVARA
I mean Miss Chamberlain, qu’est-ce qu’ele a dit? [What did she say?]

RENNE
Ah, the philosophy of worms.

VARENKA
EllElle l’a félicitée, Maman, c’est tout. [Good effort, Maman, that’s all.]

ALEXANDER
Not at all. Worms have no philosophy, as far as is known.

VARVARA
How can you teach them anything if you can’t talk to them?

ALEXANDER
Exactly.

MISS CHAMBERLAIN
I’m so sorry, what did your mother say?

ALEXANDRA (in “English”)
“No lessons tomorrow, she said, holiday.”

MISS CHAMBERLAIN
I think not, see me afterwards.

ALEXANDER
That’s enough English for now. Anyway, a wife who knows English is not the first consideration for an officer in the Cavalry, otherwise you’d be better off with the governess—No, I only have one serious objection to this marriage, my dear Baron—

DAUGHTERS
Oh, no!—What’s he going to say next?!—Don’t you listen, Liubov!—Father, don’t—!

VARVARA (raps the table)
Enough!

ALEXANDER
Thank you. What was I saying? Oh, well, it’s gone.

RENEE
Actually, I have to be going myself while there’s still light in the sky, if you forgive me, it’s a good ride back to camp—

VARVARA
Yes, you must, it wouldn’t do to break your neck before the happy day, or after, of course.

Noises of arrival and greeting are heard.

ALEXANDER
What’s going on?

RENNE
A thousand thanks—(for Liubov, gallantly)—a thousand and one—

VARENKA
Someone’s come.

SEMYON (entering)
It’s Michael, sir, large as life! He’s come home!

Michael Bakunin is nineteen, in uniform. His entry causes an excited and emotional reunion, as “the table” breaks up.

FAMILY
Michael!—Oh my, look at you!—Why didn’t you let us know?—So grown up! Look at his uniform!—Let me kiss you!—You’re not in trouble, are you? I prayed and prayed for you—How long are you staying?—

MICHAEL
No, I’m on leave—I came straight from summer exercises!—

ALEXANDER
It’s my boy, he’s an ensign in the Artillery.

RENNE
Of course—the famous Michael.

LIUBOV (to Renne)
Thank you for your visit, I’m sorry my family is . . .

RENNE
Oh no, you’re all so . . . wonderfully unrussian . . .

MICHAEL
And congratulations are in order, I believe. Do I have the honour . . . ?

LIUBOV
Baron Renne—I present my brother Michael—

RENNE
You have been at the Artillery School in Peter?

ALEXANDRA
For five years!

ALEXANDER (to Miss Chamberlain)
Run and tell Semyon to bring champagne. “Command Semyon to provision—”

MISS CHAMBERLAIN (running out)
Champagne, champagne, I understand—

TATIANA
Our English governess, do you think she’s pretty?

MICHAL
No, I think you’re pretty.

RENNE (tapping his glass)
Ladies and gentlemen! (addressing Michael) The Cavalry drinks to the Artillery. But a family reunion is a sacred affair, and I was just saying good night—regimental duties, who understands better than you? So farewell! I embrace you, and am proud to call you brother!

Applause from the family. Michael and Renne shake hands and embrace.

ALEXANDER
Good! Come along, we’ll give you a proper send-off. Semyon!—Pavel!—one of you—his horse—the Baron is leaving!—

A general exodus begins.

ALEXANDER (cont.) (remembering)
Ah, yes. That was it. I have only one serious doubt about this marriage—

LIUBOV (tearfully)
Father . . .

VARENKA (to Liubov)
It’s a joke.

ALEXANDER
. . . and that is the difference in your ages.

RENNE
But I’m only thirty-six!

ALEXANDER
A good ten years too young for her! The husband should be at least twice the age of the wife.

VARVARA
But you’re not.

ALEXANDER
Not now, of course. (to Renne) Beauty before brains.

ALEXANDRA
Are you coming, Michael?

TATIANA (hanging back)
Yes, he’s coming.

MICHAEL (to Liubov)
Do you want to see him off without everybody . . . ?

LIUBOV (hastily)
No, no, let’s all go.

ALEXANDER
Family on parade! . . . Handkerchiefs for waving and weeping— (to Renne) My wife was eighteen and I was forty-two. See my point?—just when the wife starts getting a mind to kick over the traces, she realises she only has to show a little patience . . .

Michael, Varenka and Tatiana are left alone.

MICHAEL
Well! He won’t do! Liubov doesn’t love him, that’s obvious.

VARENKA
We know that.

TATIANA
She won’t go against Papa, and the Baron is a good match, isn’t he?

Semyon enters with a tray of champagne glasses, and Miss Chamberlain with a bottle. Voices outside: “Tatiana! Michael! And where’s Varenka?”

MICHAEL
Thank you, Semyon. Leave us be.

Semyon leaves deferentially. Miss Chamberlain, unwisely, approaches gushing.

MISS CHAMBERLAIN
So you are Michael.

MICHAEL
“Go away, please.”

Miss Chamberlain gasps. The girls are shocked and admiring. Miss Chamberlain runs out. From outside “Varenka!” is called. Varenka runs out.

MICHAEL (cont.)
I’m speaking of love and you are speaking of matchmaking. Tata, Tata, don’t you know? Dawn has broken! In Germany the sun is already high in the sky! It’s only us in poor behind-the-times Russia who are the last to learn about the great discovery of the age! The life of the Spirit is the only real life: our everyday existence stands between us and our transcendence to the Universal Idea where we become one with the Absolute! Do you see?

TATIANA (desperately)
Tell it to me in German.

MICHAEL
This marriage cannot take place. We must save Liubov. To give oneself without love is a sin against the inner life. The outer world of material existence is mere illusion. I’ll explain it all to Father.

Tatiana and Michael are being called from outside. She launches herself at Michael to embrace him, and runs out.

MICHAEL (cont.)
God, I’m starving!

Michael pauses to stuff his mouth with food from the table, then follows Tatiana.