The Cherry Orchard
Page 7
Varya pulls an umbrella out of a bundle, as though about to brandish it at someone; Lopakhin makes a face as though taking fright.
VARYAWhat’s the matter with you? It was the last thing on my mind.
TROFIMOVAll aboard, ladies and gentlemen. It’s time now. The train will be in soon!
VARYAPetya—there are your galoshes—they were behind this bag, (on the brink of tears) and look at the state of them.
TROFIMOV (putting on his galoshes)Let’s go!
GAEV (distressed, frightened of bursting into tears)Off to the train . . . the station . . . In-off into the middle pocket, white off the cushion into the corner pocket . . .
LIUBOVCome along!
LOPAKHINAre we all here? No one missing?
He locks the side door on the left.
LOPAKHIN (cont.)There’s some stuff stored in here, need to lock it up. Let’s go!
ANYAGoodbye, house! Goodbye, old life!
TROFIMOVWelcome, new life!
Trofimov goes out with Anya.
Varya casts a glance around the room and unhurriedly goes out. Yasha, and Charlotta with her dog, go out.
LOPAKHINWell, that’s it, till spring. Come on everyone. Goodbye!
He goes out.
Liubov and Gaev remain alone together. They may have been waiting for this moment, and they collapse on each other’s necks, sobbing quietly, afraid that they might be overheard.
GAEV (in despair)Oh my sister . . . sister . . .
LIUBOVOh, my poor, sweet, lovely orchard! My life, my childhood, my happiness, goodbye! Goodbye!
ANYA’S VOICE (cheerfully, calling)Mama!
TROFIMOV’S VOICE (cheerfully, excitedly)Hallooo . . . !
LIUBOVOne last look around at the walls . . . the windows. Mama used to love this room.
GAEVOh, sister, sister.
ANYA’S VOICEMama!
TROFIMOV’S VOICEHallooo!
LIUBOVWe’re coming!
They go out.
The stage is empty. The sound of a key locking all the doors and then the carriages can be heard leaving. It grows quiet. Amid the silence the dull thud of an axe against a tree, rings out solitary and sad. Steps can be heard. From the door on the right Firs appears. He is dressed, as always, in a jacket and white waistcoat, with slippers on his feet. He is ill.
Firs goes up to the door, tries the handle.
FIRSLocked. They’ve gone . . .
He sits down on the divan.
FIRS (cont.)Forgot all about me. Never mind. I’ll have a little sit down here. And Leonid Andreevich, I’ll be bound, hasn’t put on his fur coat, gone out in his light overcoat, (sighs) I never looked to see. These youngsters.
He mumbles something which cannot be made out.
FIRS (cont.)My life’s gone by as if I never lived.
He lies down.
FIRS (cont.)I’ll just lie down for a bit. No strength left, you haven’t, you’ve nothing left, nothing. Ekh, you . . . noodle.
Firs lies motionless.
A distant sound, as though from the sky, is heard, the sound of a breaking string, dying away, sad. Silence descends, and the only thing to be heard, far away in the orchard, is the thudding of an axe against a tree.
Then the distant sound of the train approaching.
CURTAIN