Plays by Anton Chekhov, Second Series by Anton Chekhov

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GAEV. [Thinking deeply] Double in the corner ... across the middle. ...

LUBOV. We have been too sinful. ...

LOPAKHIN. What sins have you committed?

GAEV. [Puts candy into his mouth] They say that I've eaten all my
substance in sugar-candies. [Laughs.]

LUBOV. Oh, my sins. ... I've always scattered money about without
holding myself in, like a madwoman, and I married a man who made
nothing but debts. My husband died of champagne--he drank terribly--
and to my misfortune, I fell in love with another man and went off
with him, and just at that time--it was my first punishment, a blow
that hit me right on the head--here, in the river ... my boy was
drowned, and I went away, quite away, never to return, never to see
this river again ...I shut my eyes and ran without thinking, but
_he_ ran after me ... without pity, without respect. I bought a
villa near Mentone because _he_ fell ill there, and for three years
I knew no rest either by day or night; the sick man wore me out,
and my soul dried up. And last year, when they had sold the villa
to pay my debts, I went away to Paris, and there he robbed me of
all I had and threw me over and went off with another woman. I
tried to poison myself. ... It was so silly, so shameful. ... And
suddenly I longed to be back in Russia, my own land, with my little
girl. ... [Wipes her tears] Lord, Lord be merciful to me, forgive
me my sins! Punish me no more! [Takes a telegram out of her pocket]
I had this to-day from Paris. ... He begs my forgiveness, he
implores me to return. ... [Tears it up] Don't I hear music?
[Listens.]

GAEV. That is our celebrated Jewish band. You remember--four
violins, a flute, and a double-bass.

LUBOV So it still exists? It would be nice if they came along some
evening.

LOPAKHIN. [Listens] I can't hear. ... [Sings quietly] "For money
will the Germans make a Frenchman of a Russian." [Laughs] I saw
such an awfully funny thing at the theatre last night.

LUBOV. I'm quite sure there wasn't anything at all funny. You
oughtn't to go and see plays, you ought to go and look at yourself.
What a grey life you lead, what a lot you talk unnecessarily.

LOPAKHIN. It's true. To speak the straight truth, we live a silly
life. [Pause] My father was a peasant, an idiot, he understood
nothing, he didn't teach me, he was always drunk, and always used a
stick on me. In point of fact, I'm a fool and an idiot too. I've
never learned anything, my handwriting is bad, I write so that I'm
quite ashamed before people, like a pig!

LUBOV. You ought to get married, my friend.

LOPAKHIN. Yes ... that's true.

LUBOV. Why not to our Varya? She's a nice girl.

LOPAKHIN. Yes.

LUBOV. She's quite homely in her ways, works all day, and, what
matters most, she's in love with you. And you've liked her for a
long time.

LOPAKHIN. Well? I don't mind ... she's a nice girl. [Pause.]

GAEV. I'm offered a place in a bank. Six thousand roubles a year. ...
Did you hear?

LUBOV. What's the matter with you! Stay where you are. ...

[Enter FIERS with an overcoat.]

FIERS. [To GAEV] Please, sir, put this on, it's damp.

GAEV. [Putting it on] You're a nuisance, old man.

FIERS It's all very well. ... You went away this morning without
telling me. [Examining GAEV.]

LUBOV. How old you've grown, Fiers!

FIERS. I beg your pardon?

LOPAKHIN. She says you've grown very old!

FIERS. I've been alive a long time. They were already getting ready
to marry me before your father was born. ... [Laughs] And when the
Emancipation came I was already first valet. Only I didn't agree
with the Emancipation and remained with my people. ... [Pause] I
remember everybody was happy, but they didn't know why.

LOPAKHIN. It was very good for them in the old days. At any rate,
they used to beat them.

FIERS. [Not hearing] Rather. The peasants kept their distance from
the masters and the masters kept their distance from the peasants,
but now everything's all anyhow and you can't understand anything.

GAEV. Be quiet, Fiers. I've got to go to town tomorrow. I've been
promised an introduction to a General who may lend me money on a
bill.

LOPAKHIN. Nothing will come of it. And you won't pay your interest,
don't you worry.

LUBOV. He's talking rubbish. There's no General at all.

[Enter TROFIMOV, ANYA, and VARYA.]

GAEV. Here they are.

ANYA. Mother's sitting down here.

LUBOV. [Tenderly] Come, come, my dears. ... [Embracing ANYA and
VARYA] If you two only knew how much I love you. Sit down next to
me, like that. [All sit down.]

LOPAKHIN. Our eternal student is always with the ladies.

TROFIMOV. That's not your business.

LOPAKHIN. He'll soon be fifty, and he's still a student.

TROFIMOV. Leave off your silly jokes!

LOPAKHIN. Getting angry, eh, silly?

TROFIMOV. Shut up, can't you.

LOPAKHIN. [Laughs] I wonder what you think of me?

TROFIMOV. I think, Ermolai Alexeyevitch, that you're a rich man,
and you'll soon be a millionaire. Just as the wild beast which eats
everything it finds is needed for changes to take place in matter,
so you are needed too.

[All laugh.]

VARYA. Better tell us something about the planets, Peter.

LUBOV ANDREYEVNA. No, let's go on with yesterday's talk!

TROFIMOV. About what?

GAEV. About the proud man.

TROFIMOV. Yesterday we talked for a long time but we didn't come to
anything in the end. There's something mystical about the proud
man, in your sense. Perhaps you are right from your point of view,
but if you take the matter simply, without complicating it, then
what pride can there be, what sense can there be in it, if a man is
imperfectly made, physiologically speaking, if in the vast majority
of cases he is coarse and stupid and deeply unhappy? We must stop
admiring one another. We must work, nothing more.

GAEV. You'll die, all the same.

TROFIMOV. Who knows? And what does it mean--you'll die? Perhaps a
man has a hundred senses, and when he dies only the five known to
us are destroyed and the remaining ninety-five are left alive.

LUBOV. How clever of you, Peter!

LOPAKHIN. [Ironically] Oh, awfully!

TROFIMOV. The human race progresses, perfecting its powers.
Everything that is unattainable now will some day be near at hand
and comprehensible, but we must work, we must help with all our
strength those who seek to know what fate will bring. Meanwhile in
Russia only a very few of us work. The vast majority of those
intellectuals whom I know seek for nothing, do nothing, and are at
present incapable of hard work. They call themselves intellectuals,
but they use "thou" and "thee" to their servants, they treat the
peasants like animals, they learn badly, they read nothing
seriously, they do absolutely nothing, about science they only
talk, about art they understand little. They are all serious, they
all have severe faces, they all talk about important things. They
philosophize, and at the same time, the vast majority of us,
ninety-nine out of a hundred, live like savages, fighting and
cursing at the slightest opportunity, eating filthily, sleeping in
the dirt, in stuffiness, with fleas, stinks, smells, moral filth,
and so on. . . And it's obvious that all our nice talk is only
carried on to distract ourselves and others. Tell me, where are
those creches we hear so much of? and where are those reading-rooms?
People only write novels about them; they don't really exist. Only
dirt, vulgarity, and Asiatic plagues really exist. ... I'm afraid,
and I don't at all like serious faces; I don't like serious
conversations. Let's be quiet sooner.

LOPAKHIN. You know, I get up at five every morning, I work from
morning till evening, I am always dealing with money--my own and
other people's--and I see what people are like. You've only got to
begin to do anything to find out how few honest, honourable people
there are. Sometimes, when I can't sleep, I think: "Oh Lord, you've
given us huge forests, infinite fields, and endless horizons, and
we, living here, ought really to be giants."

LUBOV. You want giants, do you? ... They're only good in stories,
and even there they frighten one. [EPIKHODOV enters at the back of
the stage playing his guitar. Thoughtfully:] Epikhodov's there.

ANYA. [Thoughtfully] Epikhodov's there.

GAEV. The sun's set, ladies and gentlemen.

TROFIMOV. Yes.

GAEV [Not loudly, as if declaiming] O Nature, thou art wonderful,
thou shinest with eternal radiance! Oh, beautiful and indifferent
one, thou whom we call mother, thou containest in thyself existence
and death, thou livest and destroyest. ...

VARYA. [Entreatingly] Uncle, dear!

ANYA. Uncle, you're doing it again!

TROFIMOV. You'd better double the red into the middle.

GAEV. I'll be quiet, I'll be quiet.

[They all sit thoughtfully. It is quiet. Only the mumbling of FIERS
is heard. Suddenly a distant sound is heard as if from the sky, the
sound of a breaking string, which dies away sadly.]

LUBOV. What's that?

LOPAKHIN. I don't know. It may be a bucket fallen down a well
somewhere. But it's some way off.

GAEV. Or perhaps it's some bird ... like a heron.

TROFIMOV. Or an owl.

LUBOV. [Shudders] It's unpleasant, somehow. [A pause.]

FIERS. Before the misfortune the same thing happened. An owl
screamed and the samovar hummed without stopping.

GAEV. Before what misfortune?

FIERS. Before the Emancipation. [A pause.]

LUBOV. You know, my friends, let's go in; it's evening now. [To
ANYA] You've tears in your eyes. ... What is it, little girl?
[Embraces her.]

ANYA. It's nothing, mother.

TROFIMOV. Some one's coming.

[Enter a TRAMP in an old white peaked cap and overcoat. He is a
little drunk.]

TRAMP. Excuse me, may I go this way straight through to the
station?

GAEV. You may. Go along this path.

TRAMP. I thank you from the bottom of my heart. [Hiccups] Lovely
weather. ... [Declaims] My brother, my suffering brother. ... Come
out on the Volga, you whose groans ... [To VARYA] Mademoiselle,
please give a hungry Russian thirty copecks. ...

[VARYA screams, frightened.]

LOPAKHIN. [Angrily] There's manners everybody's got to keep!

LUBOV. [With a start] Take this ... here you are. ... [Feels in her
purse] There's no silver. ... It doesn't matter, here's gold.

TRAMP. I am deeply grateful to you! [Exit. Laughter.]

VARYA. [Frightened] I'm going, I'm going. ... Oh, little mother, at
home there's nothing for the servants to eat, and you gave him
gold.

LUBOV. What is to be done with such a fool as I am! At home I'll
give you everything I've got. Ermolai Alexeyevitch, lend me some
more! ...

LOPAKHIN. Very well.

LUBOV. Let's go, it's time. And Varya, we've settled your affair; I
congratulate you.

VARYA. [Crying] You shouldn't joke about this, mother.

LOPAKHIN. Oh, feel me, get thee to a nunnery.

GAEV. My hands are all trembling; I haven't played billiards for a
long time.

LOPAKHIN. Oh, feel me, nymph, remember me in thine orisons.

LUBOV. Come along; it'll soon be supper-time.

VARYA. He did frighten me. My heart is beating hard.

LOPAKHIN. Let me remind you, ladies and gentlemen, on August 22 the
cherry orchard will be sold. Think of that! ... Think of that! ...

[All go out except TROFIMOV and ANYA.]

ANYA. [Laughs] Thanks to the tramp who frightened Barbara, we're
alone now.

TROFIMOV. Varya's afraid we may fall in love with each other and
won't get away from us for days on end. Her narrow mind won't allow
her to understand that we are above love. To escape all the petty
and deceptive things which prevent our being happy and free, that
is the aim and meaning of our lives. Forward! We go irresistibly on
to that bright star which burns there, in the distance! Don't lag
behind, friends!

ANYA. [Clapping her hands] How beautifully you talk! [Pause] It is
glorious here to-day!

TROFIMOV. Yes, the weather is wonderful.

ANYA. What have you done to me, Peter? I don't love the cherry
orchard as I used to. I loved it so tenderly, I thought there was
no better place in the world than our orchard.

TROFIMOV. All Russia is our orchard. The land is great and
beautiful, there are many marvellous places in it. [Pause] Think,
Anya, your grandfather, your great-grandfather, and all your
ancestors were serf-owners, they owned living souls; and now,
doesn't something human look at you from every cherry in the
orchard, every leaf and every stalk? Don't you hear voices ...? Oh,
it's awful, your orchard is terrible; and when in the evening or at
night you walk through the orchard, then the old bark on the trees
sheds a dim light and the old cherry-trees seem to be dreaming of
all that was a hundred, two hundred years ago, and are oppressed by
their heavy visions. Still, at any rate, we've left those two
hundred years behind us. So far we've gained nothing at all--we
don't yet know what the past is to be to us--we only philosophize,
we complain that we are dull, or we drink vodka. For it's so clear
that in order to begin to live in the present we must first redeem
the past, and that can only be done by suffering, by strenuous,
uninterrupted labour. Understand that, Anya.

ANYA. The house in which we live has long ceased to be our house; I
shall go away. I give you my word.

TROFIMOV. If you have the housekeeping keys, throw them down the well
and go away. Be as free as the wind.

ANYA. [Enthusiastically] How nicely you said that!

TROFIMOV. Believe me, Anya, believe me! I'm not thirty yet, I'm
young, I'm still a student, but I have undergone a great deal! I'm
as hungry as the winter, I'm ill, I'm shaken. I'm as poor as a
beggar, and where haven't I been--fate has tossed me everywhere!
But my soul is always my own; every minute of the day and the night
it is filled with unspeakable presentiments. I know that happiness
is coming, Anya, I see it already. ...

ANYA. [Thoughtful] The moon is rising.

[EPIKHODOV is heard playing the same sad song on his guitar. The
moon rises. Somewhere by the poplars VARYA is looking for ANYA and
calling, "Anya, where are you?"]

TROFIMOV. Yes, the moon has risen. [Pause] There is happiness,
there it comes; it comes nearer and nearer; I hear its steps
already. And if we do not see it we shall not know it, but what
does that matter? Others will see it!

THE VOICE OF VARYA. Anya! Where are you?

TROFIMOV. That's Varya again! [Angry] Disgraceful!

ANYA. Never mind. Let's go to the river. It's nice there.

TROFIMOV Let's go. [They go out.]

THE VOICE OF VARYA. Anya! Anya!

Curtain.

ACT THREE

[A reception-room cut off from a drawing-room by an arch.
Chandelier lighted. A Jewish band, the one mentioned in Act II, is
heard playing in another room. Evening. In the drawing-room the
grand rond is being danced. Voice of SIMEONOV PISCHIN "Promenade a
une paire!" Dancers come into the reception-room; the first pair
are PISCHIN and CHARLOTTA IVANOVNA; the second, TROFIMOV and LUBOV
ANDREYEVNA; the third, ANYA and the POST OFFICE CLERK; the fourth,
VARYA and the STATION-MASTER, and so on. VARYA is crying gently and
wipes away her tears as she dances. DUNYASHA is in the last pair.
They go off into the drawing-room, PISCHIN shouting, "Grand rond,
balancez:" and "Les cavaliers a genou et remerciez vos dames!"
FIERS, in a dress-coat, carries a tray with seltzer-water across.
Enter PISCHIN and TROFIMOV from the drawing-room.]

PISCHIN. I'm full-blooded and have already had two strokes; it's
hard for me to dance, but, as they say, if you're in Rome, you must
do as Rome does. I've got the strength of a horse. My dead father,
who liked a joke, peace to his bones, used to say, talking of our
ancestors, that the ancient stock of the Simeonov-Pischins was
descended from that identical horse that Caligula made a senator. ...
[Sits] But the trouble is, I've no money! A hungry dog only
believes in meat. [Snores and wakes up again immediately] So I ...
only believe in money. ...

TROFIMOV. Yes. There is something equine about your figure.

PISCHIN. Well ... a horse is a fine animal ... you can sell a
horse.

[Billiard playing can be heard in the next room. VARYA appears
under the arch.]

TROFIMOV. [Teasing] Madame Lopakhin! Madame Lopakhin!

VARYA. [Angry] Decayed gentleman!

TROFIMOV. Yes, I am a decayed gentleman, and I'm proud of it!

VARYA. [Bitterly] We've hired the musicians, but how are they to be
paid? [Exit.]

TROFIMOV. [To PISCHIN] If the energy which you, in the course of
your life, have spent in looking for money to pay interest had been
used for something else, then, I believe, after all, you'd be able
to turn everything upside down.

PISCHIN. Nietzsche ... a philosopher ... a very great, a most
celebrated man ... a man of enormous brain, says in his books that
you can forge bank-notes.

TROFIMOV. And have you read Nietzsche?

PISCHIN. Well ... Dashenka told me. Now I'm in such a position, I
wouldn't mind forging them ... I've got to pay 310 roubles the day
after to-morrow ... I've got 130 already. ... [Feels his pockets,
nervously] I've lost the money! The money's gone! [Crying] Where's
the money? [Joyfully] Here it is behind the lining ... I even began
to perspire.

[Enter LUBOV ANDREYEVNA and CHARLOTTA IVANOVNA.]

LUBOV. [Humming a Caucasian dance] Why is Leonid away so long?
What's he doing in town? [To DUNYASHA] Dunyasha, give the musicians
some tea.

TROFIMOV. Business is off, I suppose.

LUBOV. And the musicians needn't have come, and we needn't have got
up this ball. ... Well, never mind. ... [Sits and sings softly.]

CHARLOTTA. [Gives a pack of cards to PISCHIN] Here's a pack of
cards, think of any one card you like.

PISCHIN. I've thought of one.

CHARLOTTA. Now shuffle. All right, now. Give them here, oh my dear
Mr. Pischin. _Ein, zwei, drei_! Now look and you'll find it in your
coat-tail pocket.

PISCHIN. [Takes a card out of his coat-tail pocket] Eight of
spades, quite right! [Surprised] Think of that now!

CHARLOTTA. [Holds the pack of cards on the palm of her hand. To
TROFIMOV] Now tell me quickly. What's the top card?

TROFIMOV. Well, the queen of spades.

CHARLOTTA. Right! [To PISCHIN] Well now? What card's on top?

PISCHIN. Ace of hearts.

CHARLOTTA. Right! [Claps her hands, the pack of cards vanishes] How
lovely the weather is to-day. [A mysterious woman's voice answers
her, as if from under the floor, "Oh yes, it's lovely weather,
madam."] You are so beautiful, you are my ideal. [Voice, "You,
madam, please me very much too."]

STATION-MASTER. [Applauds] Madame ventriloquist, bravo!

PISCHIN. [Surprised] Think of that, now! Delightful, Charlotte
Ivanovna ... I'm simply in love. ...

CHARLOTTA. In love? [Shrugging her shoulders] Can you love? _Guter
Mensch aber schlechter Musikant_.

TROFIMOV. [Slaps PISCHIN on the shoulder] Oh, you horse!

CHARLOTTA. Attention please, here's another trick. [Takes a shawl
from a chair] Here's a very nice plaid shawl, I'm going to sell it. ...
[Shakes it] Won't anybody buy it?

PISCHIN. [Astonished] Think of that now!

CHARLOTTA. _Ein, zwei, drei_.

[She quickly lifts up the shawl, which is hanging down. ANYA is
standing behind it; she bows and runs to her mother, hugs her and
runs back to the drawing-room amid general applause.]

LUBOV. [Applauds] Bravo, bravo!

CHARLOTTA. Once again! _Ein, zwei, drei_!

[Lifts the shawl. VARYA stands behind it and bows.]

PISCHIN. [Astonished] Think of that, now.

CHARLOTTA. The end!

[Throws the shawl at PISCHIN, curtseys and runs into the drawing-room.]

PISCHIN. [Runs after her] Little wretch. ... What? Would you? [Exit.]

LUBOV. Leonid hasn't come yet. I don't understand what he's doing
so long in town! Everything must be over by now. The estate must be
sold; or, if the sale never came off, then why does he stay so
long?

VARYA. [Tries to soothe her] Uncle has bought it. I'm certain of
it.

TROFIMOV. [Sarcastically] Oh, yes!

VARYA. Grandmother sent him her authority for him to buy it in her
name and transfer the debt to her. She's doing it for Anya. And I'm
certain that God will help us and uncle will buy it.

LUBOV. Grandmother sent fifteen thousand roubles from Yaroslav to
buy the property in her name--she won't trust us--and that wasn't
even enough to pay the interest. [Covers her face with her hands]
My fate will be settled to-day, my fate. ...

TROFIMOV. [Teasing VARYA] Madame Lopakhin!

VARYA. [Angry] Eternal student! He's already been expelled twice
from the university.

LUBOV. Why are you getting angry, Varya? He's teasing you about
Lopakhin, well what of it? You can marry Lopakhin if you want to,
he's a good, interesting man. ... You needn't if you don't want
to; nobody wants to force you against your will, my darling.

VARYA. I do look at the matter seriously, little mother, to be
quite frank. He's a good man, and I like him.

LUBOV. Then marry him. I don't understand what you're waiting for.

VARYA. I can't propose to him myself, little mother. People have
been talking about him to me for two years now, but he either says
nothing, or jokes about it. I understand. He's getting rich, he's
busy, he can't bother about me. If I had some money, even a little,
even only a hundred roubles, I'd throw up everything and go away.
I'd go into a convent.

TROFIMOV. How nice!

VARYA. [To TROFIMOV] A student ought to have sense! [Gently, in
tears] How ugly you are now, Peter, how old you've grown! [To LUBOV
ANDREYEVNA, no longer crying] But I can't go on without working,
little mother. I want to be doing something every minute.

[Enter YASHA.]

YASHA. [Nearly laughing] Epikhodov's broken a billiard cue! [Exit.]

VARYA. Why is Epikhodov here? Who said he could play billiards? I
don't understand these people. [Exit.]

LUBOV. Don't tease her, Peter, you see that she's quite unhappy
without that.

TROFIMOV. She takes too much on herself, she keeps on interfering
in other people's business. The whole summer she's given no peace
to me or to Anya, she's afraid we'll have a romance all to
ourselves. What has it to do with her? As if I'd ever given her
grounds to believe I'd stoop to such vulgarity! We are above love.

LUBOV. Then I suppose I must be beneath love. [In agitation] Why
isn't Leonid here? If I only knew whether the estate is sold or
not! The disaster seems to me so improbable that I don't know what
to think, I'm all at sea ... I may scream ... or do something
silly. Save me, Peter. Say something, say something.

TROFIMOV. Isn't it all the same whether the estate is sold to-day
or isn't? It's been all up with it for a long time; there's no
turning back, the path's grown over. Be calm, dear, you shouldn't
deceive yourself, for once in your life at any rate you must look
the truth straight in the face.

LUBOV. What truth? You see where truth is, and where untruth is,
but I seem to have lost my sight and see nothing. You boldly settle
all important questions, but tell me, dear, isn't it because you're
young, because you haven't had time to suffer till you settled a
single one of your questions? You boldly look forward, isn't it
because you cannot foresee or expect anything terrible, because so
far life has been hidden from your young eyes? You are bolder, more
honest, deeper than we are, but think only, be just a little
magnanimous, and have mercy on me. I was born here, my father and
mother lived here, my grandfather too, I love this house. I
couldn't understand my life without that cherry orchard, and if it
really must be sold, sell me with it! [Embraces TROFIMOV, kisses
his forehead]. My son was drowned here. ... [Weeps] Have pity on
me, good, kind man.

TROFIMOV. You know I sympathize with all my soul.

LUBOV. Yes, but it ought to be said differently, differently. ...
[Takes another handkerchief, a telegram falls on the floor] I'm so
sick at heart to-day, you can't imagine. Here it's so noisy, my
soul shakes at every sound. I shake all over, and I can't go away
by myself, I'm afraid of the silence. Don't judge me harshly, Peter ...
I loved you, as if you belonged to my family. I'd gladly let Anya
marry you, I swear it, only dear, you ought to work, finish your
studies. You don't do anything, only fate throws you about from
place to place, it's so odd. ... Isn't it true? Yes? And you ought
to do something to your beard to make it grow better [Laughs] You
are funny!

TROFIMOV. [Picking up telegram] I don't want to be a Beau Brummel.

LUBOV. This telegram's from Paris. I get one every day. Yesterday
and to-day. That wild man is ill again, he's bad again. ... He begs
for forgiveness, and implores me to come, and I really ought to go
to Paris to be near him. You look severe, Peter, but what can I do,
my dear, what can I do; he's ill, he's alone, unhappy, and who's to
look after him, who's to keep him away from his errors, to give him
his medicine punctually? And why should I conceal it and say
nothing about it; I love him, that's plain, I love him, I love him. ...
That love is a stone round my neck; I'm going with it to the
bottom, but I love that stone and can't live without it. [Squeezes
TROFIMOV'S hand] Don't think badly of me, Peter, don't say anything
to me, don't say ...

TROFIMOV. [Weeping] For God's sake forgive my speaking candidly,
but that man has robbed you!

LUBOV. No, no, no, you oughtn't to say that! [Stops her ears.]

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