The Cherry Orchard

by Anton Chekhov

  TROFIMOVWhat’s that to you?

  LOPAKHINHe’s coming up to his pension and he’s still a student.

  TROFIMOVWe can do without your inane jokes.

  LOPAKHINWhat’s the matter, you funny chap—are you getting cross?

  TROFIMOVJust stop going on at me.

  LOPAKHIN (laughs)Well, answer me one thing. What do you think about me?

  TROFIMOVI think you’re necessary. You’re a rich man and getting richer. The cycle of nature requires carnivores to eat whatever comes their way. It’s called the conversion of matter.

  Everyone laughs.

  VARYAPetya, tell us about the planets, they’re safer ground.

  LIUBOVNo, let’s go on where we left off yesterday.

  TROFIMOVWhat was that?

  GAEVHuman pride.

  TROFIMOVOh, yes. We talked for ages yesterday about how we pride ourselves on being human, but we didn’t get anywhere. In your mind there’s something mystical in our idea of ourselves, and maybe it’s true for you, but if we take the simplest view of things, what have we got to be so proud of when man as a physiological machine is so inefficient? I mean, what sense does it make when the vast majority of us are brutish, ignorant, and profoundly unhappy? We have to stop admiring ourselves. Only work can save us.

  GAEVYou’re just as dead in the end.

  TROFIMOVWho knows? What does it mean—to be dead? Maybe we have a hundred senses and it’s only the five we know that die, and the other ninety-five continue on.

  LIUBOVYou’re so clever, Petya!

  LOPAKHIN (ironically)Brilliant!

  TROFIMOVMankind is advancing, developing its powers. Everything which is as yet out of reach is coming closer to our grasp and our understanding, but we have to work, work with all our might, to support those who are seeking the truth of things. In Russia so far, very few of us are working. With few exceptions, the intelligentsia, from what I’ve seen of them, seek nothing, do nothing, they don’t want to work and wouldn’t know how. They call themselves the intelligentsia but they treat their servants like children, and peasants like animals, they don’t know how to study, don’t read anything serious, they may as well not bother—science is only there to chatter about, and needless to say they don’t know much about art. They’re all so earnest, with such serious faces, talking and philosophising away about deep important things, and all the while in front of their eyes, the masses are fed on filth, no pillows to their beds, thirty or forty to a room, and everywhere bedbugs, stench, damp, and moral degradation. It’s obvious that all the fine talk is just to distract attention, theirs and ours. Perhaps you can tell me, where are all those nursery schools everyone talks about? Where are those reading rooms? You only see them in novels, they don’t actually exist. There’s nothing out there but dirt, banality, and backwardness. I’m afraid of those serious faces and their serious conversations. It’s better to say nothing at all.

  LOPAKHINWell, let me tell you—I’m up every day before five o’clock. I work from morning till night, and yes, I’m constantly handling money, mine and other people’s, and I get a good look at what people around me are like. You only have to try to get something done and you soon find out how few decent, reliable people there are. Sometimes when I can’t sleep, I think, “Dear Lord, you have given us these vast forests and boundless plains to the wide horizon—living here we should really be giants!”

  LIUBOVHow would it help being giants? Giants are all very well in fairy tales but anywhere else they’d just frighten everybody.

  Behind them, Yepikhodov crosses and quietly, mournfully playing his guitar.

  LIUBOV (cont.) (pensively)There goes Yepikhodov . . .

  ANYA (echoing)There goes Yepikhodov . . .

  GAEVWell, ladies and gentlemen, the sun’s gone down.

  TROFIMOVYes.

  GAEV (softly, as if reciting)Oh, wondrous nature, glowing with an eternal fire, so beautiful and so indifferent, you whom we call mother, life and death are united in you, you give life and you destroy it.

  VARYA (imploringly)Uncle!

  ANYAYou’re doing it, uncle!

  TROFIMOVYou’d better stick to potting red off the cushion.

  GAEVI am silent. Silent.

  They all sit lost in thought. Silence. All that can be heard is Firs muttering quietly. Suddenly a distant sound breaks the silence, as though from the sky: the sound of a breaking string, dying away, a sense of melancholy.

  LIUBOVWhat was that?

  LOPAKHINI don’t know. A cable broke somewhere way off, in the mines but far, far away.

  GAEVIt could have been some kind of bird . . . something like a heron.

  TROFIMOVOr an owl.

  LIUBOV (shudders)There was something sinister about it, I don’t know why . . .

  FIRSIt was just the same before the disaster. The owl shrieked and the samovar wouldn’t stop moaning.

  GAEVBefore what disaster?

  FIRSThe Freedom.

  Pause.

  LIUBOVWell, I say we should go in, the evening’s upon us. (to Anya) You’ve got tears in your eyes . . . what is it, my darling?

  She embraces Anya.

  ANYAIt’s nothing, Mama, I’m all right.

  TROFIMOVSomeone’s coming.

  A PASSER-BY enters. He wears an overcoat and a tattered peaked cap. He is tipsy.

  PASSER-BYExcuse me, can I get to the station through here?

  GAEVYou can. Follow the track.

  PASSER-BYMuch obliged. (with a cough) What wonderful weather . . . (recites) “To the Volga! The sounds that call us to Russia’s great river belong to the groans and cries of the haulers! Pity the land that calls it a song!” (to Varya) Mademoiselle, spare thirty kopecks for a hungry fellow-countryman.

  Varya takes fright, and shrieks.

  LOPAKHIN (angrily)Hey, you!—watch your step!

  LIUBOV (panicky)Here take this. . . . (searching in her purse) I have no silver—never mind, here’s ten roubles.

  PASSER-BYDeeply grateful to you!

  The Passer-by goes on his way and the others laugh.

  VARYA (frightened)I’m going in. Honestly, Mama, we can’t feed the servants and you gave him a gold piece.

  LIUBOVI know, I’m such a fool. What’s to be done with me? I’ll give you all I’ve got left when we get home. Yermolai Alekseevich, you’ll lend me some more won’t you?

  LOPAKHINYour humble servant.

  LIUBOVCome along, everyone. Oh, and by the way, Varya, we got you engaged to be married, congratulations.

  VARYA (on the brink of tears)It’s nothing to make jokes about.

  LOPAKHINGet thee to a scullery.

  GAEVMy hands are shaking. It’s a long time since I had a game of billiards.

  LOPAKHINNymph, in thy orisons, be all your sinks remembered.

  LIUBOVOff we go. It’s nearly time for supper.

  VARYAThat man frightened me. My heart’s still thumping.

  LOPAKHINA final reminder, ladies and gentlemen: on August 22nd the cherry orchard will be sold. So think on that! Keep thinking!

  They all go out, except Trofimov and Anya.

  ANYA (laughing)We should thank that man for scaring Varya. Now there’s no one but us.

  TROFIMOVVarya’s afraid we’ll fall in love, that’s why she follows us about day after day. Her narrow mind can’t grasp that we’re above and beyond what she calls love. The goal and meaning of our life is to reject all the banal illusions that keep us from being happy and free. Onward! On to that bright star burning ahead of us in the far distance! Nothing can stop us! Don’t fall behind, my comrades!

  ANYA (clasping her hands with emotion)How beautifully you say things! (pause) It’s been a wonderful day.

  TROFIMOVYes—what weather.

  ANYAWhat have you done to me, Petya? Why have I stopped feeling the way I used to about the cherry orchard? I loved it so dearly, I thought there was no lovelier place on God’s earth.

  TROFIMOVThe whole of Russia is our orchard. The world is vast and there are man
y lovely places in it. (pause) Just think, Anya—your grandfather, and his father, and all your family going back, they owned living souls. The dead are looking at you and whispering to you from every tree in the cherry orchard, from every leaf and every branch. The ownership of human beings! You’re all of you corrupted by it, Anya, don’t you see?—the present generation no less, so corrupted neither you, your mother, your uncle, notice any more that you owe your life to people you wouldn’t even let in your front door. This country is two hundred years behind and falling back, because we haven’t come to terms with our history, we just philosophise on, or complain we’re bored, or get drunk. But it’s so clear that to live in the present we have to redeem our past, finish with it, and it’s going to hurt, there’s no easy way—we have to work till we drop. You must see that, Anya.

  ANYAOur house isn’t ours, it hasn’t been ours for a long time. I’ll leave it behind me—I promise you, Petya.

  TROFIMOVThrow the keys down the well and go. Free as the wind.

  ANYA (in delight)Free as the wind! That’s beautiful!

  TROFIMOVBelieve in me, Anya—believe in me! I’m not yet thirty, I’m young, I’m still a student, but I know about suffering. In winter time I’ve been hungry, ill, anxious, poor as a beggar—every corner fate can drive a man to, I’ve been there. And still, the whole time, every second of the day and night, my soul has been filled with a sense of things to come, an inexpressible, indescribable feeling of happiness to come—I can see it now, Anya.

  ANYA (pensively)The moon is rising.

  Yepikhodov can be heard playing the same sad song on the guitar. The moon rises. Somewhere, near the poplars, Varya is looking for Anya.

  VARYA’S VOICEAnya! Where are you?

  TROFIMOVYes, the moon is rising. (pause) There it is—happiness, here it comes, nearer and nearer—I can hear its footsteps . . . and if we don’t live to see it, and never know it for ourselves, what does it matter? There’s others who will!

  VARYA’S VOICEAnya! Where are you?

  TROFIMOVIt’s Varya again! (angrily) She’s such a pain!

  ANYACome on, let’s go down to the river. It’s nice there.

  TROFIMOVYes, come on, then.

  Anya and Trofimov move off.

  VARYA’S VOICEAnya! Anya!

  CURTAIN

  ACT THREE

  The drawing room, with an arch leading to the ballroom. The chandelier is lit. The Jewish orchestra, the same one that has been mentioned in the second act, can be heard playing in the entrance hall. Evening. In the ballroom they are dancing the grand rond. The voice of Simeonov-Pishchik: ‘Promenade à une paire!’ Couples dance through the drawing room: Pishchik and Charlotta Ivanovna, Trofimov and Liubov Andreevna, Anya and the POST OFFICE CLERK, Varya and the STATION MASTER, and others. Varya is crying quietly, wiping away tears as she dances. In the final pair is Dunyasha. They circle the drawing room, and dance out.

  PISHCHIK (calls out)Grand rond, balancez! Les cavaliers à genoux et remerciez vos dames!

  Firs, in tails, brings seltzer water on a tray. Pishchik and Trofimov come into the drawing room.

  PISHCHIK (cont.)High blood pressure. I’ve already had a couple of scares. Dancing is a strain for me, but as they say, if you run with the pack—them as don’t bark, wag your tails! I’m strong as a horse really. My dear late father, may he rest in peace, used to joke the Simeonov-Pishchiks were descended from Caligula’s horse, the one he made consul. (sitting down) But my problem is I’ve got no money. A hungry dog can’t think of anything but meat . . . (snores, and then straight away wakes up) And it’s the same with me and money.

  TROFIMOVCome to think of it, there’s something horsey about your hindquarters.

  PISHCHIKWell, nothing wrong with that. A horse is all right. You can get a price for a horse.

  People can be heard playing billiards in the next room. Varya appears in the archway into the ballroom.

  TROFIMOV (teasing)It’s Madame Lopakhina!

  VARYA (snaps)Mangy young gentleman!

  TROFIMOVMangy and proud of it!

  VARYA (bitterly)So we’ve gone and hired a band, and how are we supposed to pay for it?

  Varya goes out.

  TROFIMOVWhen I think of the effort you’ve put into chasing money all your life, if you’d put that energy to better use you could have changed the world by now.

  PISHCHIKNietzsche, the philosopher, a great and famous man, a man of enormous intellect, says somewhere that it’s all right to forge banknotes.

  TROFIMOV (incredulous)You’ve read Nietzsche?

  PISHCHIKNot exactly, but my Dashenka’s told me. And at this moment my situation is so desperate, I’d forge a few banknotes myself. The day after tomorrow I have to pay three hundred and ten roubles. I’ve got together a hundred and thirty. (feels in his pockets, alarmed) It’s gone! I’ve lost my money! (almost bursting into tears) Where’s it gone? (joyfully) Oh—it’s here, in the lining. I’ve come out in a cold sweat.

  Liubov and Charlotta enter. Liubov is humming a Caucasian dance melody.

  LIUBOVWhat’s keeping Leonid? What can he be doing in town? (to Dunyasha) See if the musicians want some tea, Dunyasha.

  TROFIMOVThe auction was probably cancelled.

  LIUBOVIt wasn’t the best moment to have a band and throw a party. Well, let’s not worry about that.

  Liubov sits down and softly hums. Charlotta hands Pishchik a pack of cards.

  CHARLOTTAThink of a card, any card.

  PISHCHIKAll right, I’ve thought of one.

  CHARLOTTANow shuffle the pack. Very good. Let me have it, mon cher Monsieur Pishchik. Ein, zwei, drei! Is that your card in your side pocket?

  PISHCHIK (takes a card from out of his pocket)Eight of spades, absolutely right!(amazed) Fancy that!

  Charlotta holds the pack of cards in her palm, to Trofimov.

  CHARLOTTATop card—don’t think—what is it?

  TROFIMOVWhat card? Well, queen of spades.

  CHARLOTTA (shows it)So it is! (to Pishchik) Which one now?

  PISHCHIKAce of hearts.

  CHARLOTTA (shows it)So it is!

  She claps her palms together, and the pack of cards disappears.

  CHARLOTTA (cont.)Well, lovely weather we’re having!

  A mysterious female voice answers her, as though coming from under the floor.

  VOICEOh indeed, lovely weather, my dear.

  STATION MASTERWho said that?

  CHARLOTTAYou’re a woman after my own heart.

  VOICEYou’re not so bad yourself, my dear.

  STATION MASTER (applauding)That was her as well! She’s a ventriloquist!

  PISHCHIK (amazed)Fancy that! You’re an amazing girl, Miss Charlotta—I think I’m in love.

  CHARLOTTAIn love? (shrugging her shoulders) It takes more than that. You may have the instrument but can you play the music . . .?

  Trofimov claps Pishchik on the shoulder and neighs.

  CHARLOTTA (cont.)Your attention, please. For my last trick.

  Charlotta takes a throw from a chair.

  CHARLOTTA (cont.)I have here a very nice rug for sale.

  She shakes the cloth.

  CHARLOTTA (cont.)Who would like to buy it?

  PISHCHIKFancy that . . .

  CHARLOTTAEin, zwei, drei!

  Charlotta sweeps aside the cloth. Anya is standing behind it; she makes a curtsey, runs over to her mother, embraces her, and then runs back into the ballroom amid general delight.

  LIUBOV (applauds)Bravo, bravo!

  CHARLOTTAAnd again! Ein, zwei, drei.

  Charlotta sweeps aside the cloth; behind it stands Varya, who bows.

  PISHCHIK (amazed)Fancy that!

  CHARLOTTAThe end!

  Charlotta throws the rug at Pishchik, makes a bow and runs out of the ballroom.

  PISHCHIKShe’s a witch! That’s what she is! Don’t you think? Pishchik follows her out.

  LIUBOVAnd still no Leonid. What can he be doing in town all this time? Everything must be over by now. Ei
ther the estate is sold or the auction didn’t happen, so why are we being kept in suspense?

  VARYA (consoling)Uncle bought it, I know it.

  TROFIMOV (sarcastically)Oh yes, I’m sure.

  VARYAAuntie signed him her authority to buy it for her and transfer the mortgage. She’s done it for Anya, and by God’s grace uncle will have bought it.

  LIUBOVShe sent us 15,000 roubles to bid in her name—on our own property, she doesn’t even trust us—and the money wouldn’t even cover the mortgage. (covers her face with her hands) The rest of my life is being decided today, my whole fate is under the hammer.

  TROFIMOV (teasing Varya)Madame Lopakhina!

  VARYA (angrily)The Wandering Student! Thrown out of two different universities so far!

  LIUBOVWhat are you getting so cross about, Varya? He’s only teasing. And why shouldn’t he? Go ahead and marry Lopakhin if you want to, he’s a decent, interesting man. And if you don’t want to, then don’t. Nobody’s forcing you, my darling.

  VARYAI’m serious about him, Mama, if you want to know. He’s a good man, and I do like him.

  LIUBOVThen marry him. I don’t understand what you’re waiting for.

  VARYAWell, I can’t propose to him, Mama! Everybody’s been talking about me marrying him for the last two years, but he never says anything, or he makes jokes. It’s not hard to understand. He’s busy making money, he doesn’t have time for me. If I had any money of my own, even a little, if I had even a hundred roubles, I’d give up everything and go my own way. I’d enter a convent.

  TROFIMOVOh, what a glorious thought!

  VARYA (to Trofimov)I thought students were supposed to be intelligent. (quietly, on the brink of tears) How unattractive you’ve become, Petya, you look so old. (to Liubov, no longer crying) It’s just that I can’t do with having nothing to do, Mama—I need to be doing something every minute of the day.

  Yasha enters, barely containing his laughter.

  YASHAYepikhodov has broken a billiard cue!

  Yasha goes out.

  VARYAWhat’s he doing here? Who gave him permission to play billiards? These people are beyond me.

  Varya goes out.

  LIUBOVYou shouldn’t tease her, Petya. You can see she’s unhappy enough as things are.

  TROFIMOVShe’s far too bossy, sticking her nose in everybody else’s business. All summer she wouldn’t give me and Anya any peace, terrified we might start a romance. What’s it got to do with her? Anyway, I’ve done nothing to put the idea into her head, I’m above all that. Anya and I are far above anything as banal as love.