The Cherry Orchard

by Anton Chekhov

  LIUBOVAnd I suppose I’m far beneath it. (greatly agitated) Why isn’t my brother here? If only I knew whether the estate has been sold or not. I just can’t believe that such a terrible thing could happen to us, but I can’t control myself much longer—I’m ready to scream out loud, do something mad. Help me, Petya, say something.

  TROFIMOVWhat difference does it make whether the estate is sold or not sold? It was all over long ago and you can’t go back, the bridges are burned. Calm down, and stop fooling yourself—for once in your life you have to face up to the truth.

  LIUBOVWhose truth? You can tell what’s true and not true, but I seem to have lost my sight, I can’t see anything. You’re so sure you’ve got all the answers. But, my love, isn’t that because you’re too young to have lived out a single one of your questions? You can look at the future without blinking, and isn’t that because you’re not expecting to see the terrible things life has still got hidden from your innocent eyes? We’re not so brave as you, not so honest, or so intellectual, but spare a thought, show a fingertip of generosity, just enough to take pity on me. After all, I was born here, my parents and grandparents lived and died here, I love this house, I can’t make sense of my life without the cherry orchard, and if it has to be sold, sell me with it. (embracing Trofimov, kissing him on the forehead) My son drowned here, you know that . . . (weeping) You’re good and kind, so show some pity.

  TROFIMOVYou know you have my sincere sympathy.

  LIUBOVThat’s not the same thing. (as she takes out a handkerchief, a telegram drops to the floor) I feel so desperate today, you can’t imagine. Everything’s so noisy here, I can’t bear it, my heart jumps at every sound, I’m shaking, and I can’t go and find somewhere quiet because when I’m by myself I’m frightened by the silence. Don’t judge me, Petya—I’m as fond of you as though you were my own child. I’d happily let you marry Anya, truly I would, only, my dearest boy, you must study and get your degree. You don’t do anything, you let fate blow you this way and that, it’s not normal. That’s true, isn’t it? And you really must do something about that beard, you must encourage it. (laughs) You are a funny-looking boy.

  TROFIMOV (picks up the telegram)I’m not interested in how I look.

  LIUBOVIt’s a telegram from Paris. I get one every day. One yesterday, another today. That wild man is in a bad way again, he’s ill. He asks to be forgiven, begs me to come back, and I really should go to Paris to be near him for a while. Don’t look like that, Petya, what else can I do?—he’s sick and all on his own, and unhappy—who’s going to look after him there, who’s going to stop him getting into a pickle again, and make sure he takes his medicine? Why bother to deny it, I love him, that much I know. I love him. Love!—it’s the millstone round my neck and I’ll go to the bottom with it, but I love love and I won’t live without it. (squeezes Trofimov’s hand) Don’t think badly of me, Petya . . . don’t say anything.

  TROFIMOV (on the brink of tears)Please . . . please God forgive my bluntness but that man stole everything you had, he robbed you!

  LIUBOV (covering her ears)No, no, you mustn’t say that.

  TROFIMOVBut he’s such a swine and everyone knows it except you—he’s an insignificant crook, a nobody.

  LIUBOV (irritated, but restrained)You are twenty-six or seven, and you talk like a schoolboy in short trousers.

  TROFIMOVWell, what if I do!

  LIUBOVIt’s about time you were a man, at your age you should understand about love. You still need to find out, you need to fall in love yourself! (angrily) Yes, that’s what it is!—you’re not pure, you’re just late! You’re nothing but a prude and a prig, a freak—fancy, the age you are and no lover!

  TROFIMOV (in horror)What are you saying!

  LIUBOV“Above love"! You’re not above love—as Firs would say, you’re a noodle. Twenty-six and never been kissed!

  TROFIMOV (in horror)This is horrible! What is she talking about?

  Trofimov goes quickly into the ballroom, clutching his head.

  TROFIMOV (cont.)It’s awful—I can’t—I’m leaving—

  He goes out, but immediately comes back.

  TROFIMOV (cont.)It’s over between us!

  He goes out into the entrance hall.

  LIUBOV (shouting after him)Petya, wait! Don’t be silly, Petya! I was only joking!

  Someone can be heard quickly going up the stairs in the entrance hall and then suddenly falling downstairs with a crash. Anya and Varya shriek, but then straight away laughter can be heard.

  LIUBOV (cont.)What’s going on?

  Anya runs in.

  ANYA (laughing)Petya’s fallen down the stairs!

  Anya runs out.

  LIUBOV (following Anya)There’s something very odd about that boy.

  The Station Master comes and stands in the middle of the ballroom.

  STATION MASTERI would like to give you “The Scarlet Woman” by A. Tolstoy! “The Scarlet Woman.”

  There was gaiety and laughter,

  The singing shook the rafter!

  Crystal shattered in the music’s din.

  But who is she who sits alone

  And stares like one with a life to atone?

  It’s the woman who lived in sin!

  There was revelling and feasting, and the . . .

  The strains of a waltz come from the entrance hall. The recitation is broken off by A GUEST who has detected the faux pas, and hustles the protesting, puzzled Station Master away as they all dance. Trqfimov, Anya, Varya, and Liubov Andreevna come in from the entrance hall.

  LIUBOVSo there you are, Petya—pure-in-heart and above it all!—I’m sorry! Dance with me.

  Liubov and Petya dance.

  Anya and Varya dance. Firs enters, leans his stick by the side door. Yasha has also come in from the drawing room, and is watching the dancing.

  YASHASo what are you for, granddad?

  FIRSI’m not well. In the old days, we used to entertain generals, barons, admirals, and now we invite the clerk from the post office and the station master, and even they have to be dragged along. I’ve got a bit wobbly somehow. The old master, her grandfather, he used to swear by powdered sealing wax to treat all kinds of ailments. I’ve been taking sealing wax every day for twenty years or more—it’s probably why I’m still alive.

  YASHAYou’re getting on my wick, granddad—(yawns) Why don’t you die and be done with it?

  FIRSEkh! You . . . noodle.

  He continues to mutter. Trofimov and Liubov Andreevna dance from the ballroom into the drawing room.

  LIUBOVMerci! I must sit down a minute. (sitting down) I’m exhausted.

  Anya enters.

  ANYA (agitated)There was a man in the kitchen saying the cherry orchard was sold today!

  LIUBOVSold? To whom?

  ANYAHe didn’t say. He’s gone now.

  Trofimov claims her for a dance. They dance out into the ballroom.

  YASHAIt was just some old tramp gossiping, a stranger.

  FIRSAnd Leonid Andreevich isn’t home yet. He took his light overcoat. Before you know it he’ll catch a chill. Ekh! Young in years, end in tears.

  LIUBOVI’m going to drop down dead in a minute. Yasha, go and find out who bought the orchard.

  YASHAThe old boy won’t be there now, he’s gone. (laughs)

  LIUBOV (slightly annoyed)And what’s so funny? What have you got to look so pleased about?

  YASHAIt’s that Yepikhodov, he’s a complete hoot, you know. A dolt. Catastrophe Corner!

  LIUBOVFirs, if the estate is sold, where will you go?

  FIRSI’ll go wherever you tell me to go.

  LIUBOVWhat are you making faces for? Are you ill? You should be in bed, you know.

  FIRSOh yes! (smiling) Me go to bed, and who’s going to wait on your guests? Who’s going to see to things if I’m not here? There’s only me to run the whole house.

  YASHA (to Liubov)May I ask you something, Liubov Andreevna? If you go back to Paris would you be so kind and take me with you? I could
n’t possibly remain here. (Looking around, in an undertone) I don’t have to explain. You can see for yourself—this country is so backward, and the people! It’s so boring here, and the food they give you in the kitchen is disgusting, not to mention Firs wandering about the place muttering his gibberish. Please take me with you!

  Pishchik enters.

  PISHCHIKMay I have the pleasure, you gorgeous creature . . . of the merest little waltz . . . You’re an enchantress . . . but all the same, I’ll have my hundred and eighty roubles off you, I will, you know . . . a hundred and eighty roubles . . .

  Liubov and Pishchik dance into the ballroom.

  YASHA (softly sings)“If you only knew how my heart beats for you . . .”

  In the ballroom a figure in a grey top hat and checked trousers can be seen waving its arms around and jumping about; shouts of “Bravo, Charlotta!”

  Dunyasha stops dancing to powder her face.

  DUNYASHA (to Firs)Miss Anya ordered me to dance. There aren’t enough ladies to go round, but it’s making my head spin and my heart’s beating too fast, and just now, that clerk from the post office said something that quite took my breath.

  The music becomes quieter.

  FIRSWhat did he say?

  DUNYASHAYou, he says to me, you are like a little flower.

  YASHA (yawns)Yokel!

  Yasha goes out.

  DUNYASHALike a little flower! To a sensitive nature like mine, it’s a lovely thing to receive a tender compliment.

  FIRSI can see where you’re heading.

  Yepikhodov enters.

  YEPIKHODOVI don’t suppose you want to see me, Dunyasha . . . I might as well be some kind of insect. (sighs)Life! Life!

  DUNYASHAWhat do you want?

  YEPIKHODOVAnd without a doubt you have a point, possibly. (sighs) But looking at it from a certain point of view, the fact is you—how can I put it?—forgive my frankness—you have brought me totally and utterly to a state of mind. I accept my lot—there’s something every day, some misfortune or other, and I’ve been so long accustomed to it, I can even smile at it. You gave me your word, and although I . . .

  DUNYASHACan we discuss this later? I happen to be in the middle of a dream.

  Dunyasha fans herself.

  YEPIKHODOVSome misfortune every day. But, allow me to put it this way—I meet adversity with a smile, sometimes even a little laugh . . .

  Varya enters from the ballroom.

  VARYAAre you still here, Semyon? You’ve got a damn cheek. (to Dunyasha) Out with you, Dunyasha. (to Yepikhodov) First you play billiards and break a cue, then you saunter about the place as if you were a guest here.

  YEPIKHODOVPermit me to say, as clerk of the estate, that you have no right to talk to me like that.

  VARYAI’m not talking to you like anything, I’m telling you what’s what. You just wander about here, there and anywhere doing nothing—we keep a clerk but God only knows why.

  YEPIKHODOV (offended)Whether I do or not, or eat or play billiards, I only take orders from those in authority over me.

  VARYAHow dare you talk to me like that! (exploding) Who do you think you are? I don’t need your say-so about anything! Clear out of here, get out!—now!

  YEPIKHODOV (cowed)I must ask you to express yourself in a more ladylike manner.

  VARYA (beside herself with rage)Get out! Out!

  Yepikhodov goes toward the door, with Varya behind him.

  VARYA (cont.)Catastrophe Corner! I don’t want to see you or smell you.

  Yepikhodov goes out; his voice is heard the other side of the door.

  YEPIKHODOV (off)I’m going to lodge a complaint!

  VARYACome back and say that!—

  Varya grabs the stick that Firs has left near the door.

  VARYA (cont.)Come on then—come on—I’ll show you—come and show your face—!

  Varya swishes the stick just as Lopakhin enters.

  LOPAKHINDeeply obliged!

  VARYA (angrily and sarcastically)Oh, I do beg your pardon!

  LOPAKHINThink nothing of it, I beg you—humbly grateful for the warm welcome.

  VARYAOh, please don’t mention it.

  Varya moves away, then looks around.

  VARYA (cont.) (softly)I didn’t hurt you, did I?

  LOPAKHINNot at all, nothing to worry about. The bump will be enormous but don’t concern yourself.

  Voices can be heard in the ballroom. “Lopakhin’’s arrived! Yermolai Alekseevich.”

  PISHCHIKYou’re a sight for sore eyes and music to the ears!

  Pishchik exchanges kisses with Lopakhin.

  PISHCHIK (cont.)And you smell of brandy, dear chap, just slightly. We’ve been having a party here.

  Liubov enters.

  LIUBOVIs that you? Why have you been so long? Where’s Leonid?

  LOPAKHINHe’s with me, he’s just coming.

  LIUBOV (agitated)Well—what happened? Was there an auction? Say something!

  LOPAKHIN (embarrassed and afraid to show his joy)The auction ended at about four . . . We missed the train and had to wait till half past nine. (sighing heavily) Oof! My head is going round . . .

  Gaev enters; in his right hand are his purchases, with his left he wipes away his tears.

  LIUBOVLenya! What’s the matter? Lenya? (impatiently, on the brink of tears) For God’s sake, tell me quickly.

  Gaev says nothing in reply to her, only waves his hand dismissively.

  GAEV (to Firs, weeping)Here, take these, some anchovies and Black Sea herring. I haven’t eaten all day. What I’ve gone through . . .

  The door to the billiard room is open; the click of billiard balls can be heard.

  YASHA (off)Seven-eighteen!

  Gaev’s expression changes and he is no longer crying.

  GAEVI’m terribly tired. Help me to get changed, Firs.

  Gaev goes to his room across the ballroom, Firs follows him.

  PISHCHIKWill somebody tell us—what happened at the auction?

  LIUBOVWas the cherry orchard sold?

  LOPAKHINIt was sold.

  LIUBOVWho bought it?

  LOPAKHINI did.

  Pause.

  Liubov Andreevna is crushed; she would fall if she were not standing beside an armchair and a table. Varya takes the keys from off her belt, and throws them onto the floor in the centre of the room, and goes out.

  LOPAKHINI bought it! Give me a minute, ladies and gentlemen, be so good . . . my mind’s in a muddle, I can’t speak . . . (laughs) So we got to the auction. Deriganov was already there. Leonid Andreevich only had fifteen thousand, and Deriganov went straight in with a bid of thirty thousand on top of the mortgage. I see the way things are, so I take him on. I bid forty. He bids forty-five. I bid fifty-five. He’s going up in fives, you follow, so I go up in tens . . . and that’s how it finished. I bid ninety thousand over and above the mortgage, and the estate was knocked down to me. The cherry orchard is mine! It’s mine! (gives a loud laugh) My God, ladies and gentlemen, the cherry orchard is mine! Tell me I’m drunk, I’m out of my mind, tell me it’s all a dream . . . (stamping his feet) Don’t laugh! If my father and grandfather could rise from their graves and see what happened today!—how their Yermolai, their beaten, half-literate Yermolai who ran barefoot in winter, how that same Yermolai has become the owner of the most beautiful estate on God’s earth! I’ve bought the estate where my father and grandfather were slaves, where they weren’t allowed into the kitchen. I must be asleep and dreaming—it’s the dream of some deep dark imagining.

  He picks up the keys.

  LOPAKHIN (cont.) (tenderly)She threw down the keys, she wants to show that she’s no longer in charge around here . . . (jingling the keys) So be it.

  The orchestra can be heard tuning up.

  LOPAKHIN (cont.)Ho—let’s have some music. You’re all invited to watch Yermolai Lopakhin take an axe to the cherry orchard! Watch the trees topple! Everything must go! We’ll build summer cottages and our grandchildren and great-grand children will see a new life
here . . . Music! Play the music!

  The music plays. Liubov has sunk down onto a chair and is weeping bitterly.

  LOPAKHIN (cont.) (reproachful)Why didn’t you listen to me? Why? My poor love, you can’t undo what’s done. It’s gone. (in tears) Oh, if only all this could be over, and we could start our miserable, messed-up lives again!

  PISHCHIK (takes Lopakhin aside and whispers)She’s crying . . . Come into the ballroom, she needs to be on her own . . . Come on . . .

  Pishchik takes Lopakhin under the arm and leads him into the ballroom.

  LOPAKHINSo what’s going on here? Play the music so I can hear it! Let’s have everything the way I want it. (ironically) Make way for the landlord, the new owner of the cherry orchard!

  Lopakhin accidentally bumps into a small table, and nearly knocks over the candelabra standing on it.

  LOPAKHIN (cont.)Don’t worry, I can pay for everything!

  He goes out with Pishchik.

  There is no one in the ballroom or the drawing room except Liubov, who sits completely huddled up, weeping bitterly. The music plays. Anya and Trofimov hurry in. Any a goes up to her mother and kneels down in front of her. Trofimov stays at the entrance into the ballroom, watching.

  ANYAMama! . . . Mama, are you crying? Dear, kind, beautiful Mama, bless you, I love you so. The cherry orchard is sold, it’s gone, that’s true, but don’t cry, Mama, you’ve got your life to live, and your pure, innocent soul. Come on, let’s go away, let’s go together! We’ll plant a new orchard, lovelier than this one, and then you’ll see, and understand everything. A deep calm happiness will fill your breast like the sun at evening, and you’ll smile again, Mama! Come on—let’s go, my dearest, let’s go.

  CURTAIN

  ACT FOUR

  The setting as for Act One. There are no curtains at the windows, or pictures. A few pieces of furniture remain, stacked up in one corner as though for sale. The emptiness is palpable. Near the door to outside, and at the back of the stage, suitcases and bundles, etc. are piled up. On the left the door is open, and from there the voices of Varya and Anya can be heard. Lopakhin stands and waits. Yasha is holding a tray with glasses filled with champagne. In the entrance hall Yepikhodov is roping up a box. Off stage at the back, can be heard the murmur of voices of peasants who have come to say farewell.