by Tom Murphy
Actually gave me money! . . . If it don’t happen today it’ll happen tomorrow, what! . . . Dashenka’ll win two hundred thousand. She has a ticket, you know!
Lyubov . . . Well, that’s the coffee done, now we can retire.
Firs (brushing Gayev’s trouser-legs) The wrong trousers on again! What am I to do with you?
Varya Anya’s sleeping at last. (She quietly opens a window.) The sun’s up, it’s not cold now. (She smiles. Whispers.) Look at the trees. My God! . . . Mamochka, look . . . The air. The starlings are singing.
Gayev (opens the other window) You haven’t forgotten the whiteness. Lyubov? The orchard is all white. The avenue: look how far that ribbon stretches . . . And it sparkles on moonlit nights . . . Do you remember? You haven’t forgotten.
Lyubov (now looking out at the orchard) Oh my childhood, when I was pure and good . . . I woke each morning and looked out on this. Happiness woke me . . . (A dawning.) It’s still the same. (And laughs for joy.) Nothing has changed. It has forgotten the shrivelling of autumn – Oh, my white orchard! – the cold of winter . . . Young again, white, and full of happiness. The heavenly angels have not deserted you . . . If only I too could forget.
Gayev Yes, and that’s to be sold to pay – debts. Seems odd ‘business’ to me.
Lyubov Look! (She points.)
Gayev Wha-oo?
Lyubov Mama. Mama, walking, in her white dress.
Gayev (a whisper) Where?
Lyubov Look! It is her. (Laughs for joy.)
Varya (frightened, superstitious) Bless us, mamochka, don’t.
Lyubov No. Nobody. See: at the turn that leads to the summerhouse, the outline of that tree, like a woman.
Petya Trofimov has come in, unnoticed. (Shabby student-type uniform; spectacles.)
Lyubov White banks of flowers, blue sky . . . (Turns back to the room.) Divine.
Petya Lyubov Andreyevna! To pay my respects and I’ll go immediately. (He bows.) I was asked to wait until tomorrow but I was impatient.
Lyubov smiles, puzzled; she doesn’t recognise him.
Varya Peter Trofimov, mamochka.
Petya Petya, your Grisha’s former tutor. Have I changed so much?
Lyubov starts to weep.
Gayev Luba, Luba, now-now, you mustn’t.
She embraces Petya, weeping.
Varya (tearful) I told him to wait until tomorrow.
Lyubov My son, my little boy in that river.
Varya God’s will, mamochkamine: there’s nothing we can do.
Petya There, there. (He’s awkward, stiff in dealing with an embrace.)
Lyubov My little boy, drowned. Why do these things happen? What for, my friend? (Drying her tears.) Anya’s sleeping in there and I’m shouting and making a scene . . . So, well, Petya! But your hair’s thinning, you’re wearing spectacles, why have you become so plain, why-have-you-grown-so-old?
Petya Mildewed, I heard an old lady say of me on the train.
Lyubov And you yourself were just a boy then, a little thing of a student. Surely you’re not still a student?
Petya I probably always will be.
Lyubov Well, get some rest now. (She kisses her brother, then Varya.) You’ve got old too, Leonid.
Pishchik Off to bed, are we? (Rising.) Aaarrrgh, gout! I’m staying the night, my dear, and in the morning, respected lady, I’d dearly like two hundred and forty roubles.
Gayev He keeps on.
Pishchik A trifling sum.
Lyubov My dear Boris – (Gesturing she doesn’t have it.)
Pishchik But the bank must have it! You will, you will! – and I’ll pay you back, my dear, no fear.
Lyubov Oh I give in! (Laughs.) Give it to him, Leonid.
Gayev Will you take it now or wait till you get it?!
Lyubov (going out, laughing) What else can I do? He needs it . . .
Petya, Pishchik, Firs and Dunyasha follow. Gayev, Varya and Yasha remain. (Yasha, exceeding his station, seems to find Gayev funny.)
Gayev (clucking over his sister’s extravagance) Tck-tck, not the way, not the way. (To Yasha, annoyed.) Move aside, my man, out of my way. Why is he in – [‘here’]? [‘You’] Smell of – hens.
Yasha (smirking) And you, Leonid, are still the same.
Gayev (to Varya) Wha-oo did he say?
Varya Your mother has come from the village, she’s been sitting in the servants’ hall since yesterday!
Yasha Can I help that?
Varya How dare you! – You should be ashamed of yourself! She came to see you!
Yasha She could’ve come tomorrow! (Going out.)
Gayev . . . No, tck-tck, my sister hasn’t changed her ways.
Varya She’d give everything away if we let her. (And she gestures hopelessly at their situation.)
Gayev . . . If. If lots of remedies – not one, but lots – are available for a disease, it means, basically, the disease is incurable. I rack my brains for a remedy and I come up with lots of them: which means, I haven’t got one . . . If – it’d be good if someone died, left us a legacy. Marry our Anya to a rich man. One of us to go to Yaroslavl, try our hand there with the old aunt. She’s very rich, mmmm.
Varya If only God would help us. (Crying.) I pray to –
Gayev Stop – don’t start-tck-blubbering! But our old Yaroslavl auntie, ‘the countess’, doesn’t like us, doesn’t approve. For a start, my sister married beneath her, a lawyer, not ‘a lord’, my dear. Mmmm.
Anya, in nightdress, appears in the doorway.
And it has to be admitted – I love my sister dearly, but it has to be admitted, no matter what the stretching of it, my sister has been a bit easy on virtue. What? And still is: mm, loose. Somehow – hmm? – it’s in her every movement!
Varya (whispers) Anya’s at the door.
Gayev Wha-oo-something in my eye! I can’t see. It happened too the other day when . . .
Anya comes to them.
Varya Why aren’t you asleep? Can you not sleep?
Anya I can’t sleep.
Gayev My little one, my child. (Kisses her forehead, her hands, emotionally.) You are not my niece, you’re my angel, you mean everything to me, believe me, do you believe me?
Anya I do, I do, and everyone loves you, uncle, and respects you, but you must stop talking, you –
Gayev Yes, I –
Anya Must keep quiet more –
Gayev I must, yes!
Anya You were talking about mama just now –
Gayev Tck! – I was –
Anya Your sister. Why did you say that?
Gayev Because – dreadful, stupid – I’m a fool! God rescue me, I talk and talk! I talked to the bookcase earlier!
Varya Just keep quiet, that’s all there’s to it.
Anya You’ll feel the better for it.
Gayev Done! I am silent. (And he takes their hands in earnest of his purpose.) There’s just one thing – No, this is business! I was in the district court in town on Thursday, usual gathering, chit-chat, and then it came up: it seems there’s some funny way of borrowing money against promissory notes. Now that could be a way of paying the interest on the mortgage to the bank, couldn’t it?
Varya (becoming tearful again) I keep praying to the saints –
Gayev Couldn’t it? A start? On Tuesday I’ll go back to town and – (To Varya.) Don’t start whingeing! – and talk to them some more.(To Anya.) Two: Your mama will talk to Lopakhin. Is Lopakhin going to refuse her? And, as soon as you are rested – Three – you will go to Yaroslavl to see your grand-aunt. Three-pronged attack, cat’s in the bag! (Warming to himself.) I swear by my honour, by anything you like, this estate will not be sold. Call me worthless, call me worthless if I let it come to auction. Upon my life! (He has popped a sweet into his mouth.)
Anya Clever uncle! (Embracing him.)
Firs (coming in) Leonid Andreich, have you no fear of God, are you ever going to bed?!
Gayev I’m coming now – You go on, Firs, I’ll undress myself. Well, my children,
it’s bye-bye beddy byes. More tomorrow. You go and get your sleep now. (Kisses them.) You know, the eighties is a most erroneously maligned decade. Now, I am a man of the eighties, I have beliefs, and I can tell you I have endured much for my convictions. It is no small wonder that the peasant loves me. You have to know the peasant if you –
Anya Uncle?!
Varya At it again.
Firs (crossly) Leonid Andreich!
Gayev Coming, coming. (To them.) Off to bed with you, now. Red: two cushions, into the middle. Pot the cueball: defensive shot . . . (He’s gone.)
Anya I’m calm now, thanks to Uncle Leo . . . Go to Yaroslavl: I don’t like my great-aunt . . . But I’m calm now. (She sits.)
Varya We must go to bed. (She sits. To herself, silently.) Oh. While you were away, I had a little bit of bother. As you know, only the old servants live in the old quarters. Yefimyushka, Polya, Yevstigney – of course! – and Karp. Well, they began letting various – oh, rogue-types – in to stay the night. I didn’t say a thing. At first, that is. Then, what do I hear? The rumour is about that I’ve given instructions they’re to be fed nothing but dried peas. My stinginess, you see, my meanness. You know? All Yevstigney’s doing, of course. ‘All right,’ I thought, ‘if that’s how it is,’ I thought, ‘wait on’. I call Yevstigney. He arrives. ‘What is this I hear,’ I said, ‘you very, very old and extremely stupid person?’ . . . Anechka? (Anya is asleep.) Yes, beddy-byes. Come on, up, little pet. Come on. Come on.
She has helped up Anya. They move. A shepherd plays his pipe in the distance. Petya comes in to cross the room. He stops on seeing them.
Varya Shh! Don’t-you-dare.
Anya (half asleep) I keep hearing little bells.
Varya She’s sleeping . . . Come on, my darling.
Anya Dear uncle.
Varya Come on, my own.
Anya Dear mama and uncle.
Varya My pet, my love, my darling little sister, my . . .
They’ve gone into Anya’s bedroom.
Petya My sunlight . . . my springtime.
Act Two
Open country. An old shrine, lopsided, long-abandoned. Some large stones which were once tombstones, and an old bench. A track that leads to the estate. To one side, a tree (‘tall dark poplars: beyond them the cherry orchard starts’.) In the distance a row of telegraph poles. The sun will soon set.
Charlotta, Yasha and Dunyasha are on the bench. Yepikhodov, somewhere, strums a guitar. Charlotta wears an old peaked cap. She has taken a rifle off her shoulder to adjust its sling.
Charlotta (as if thinking aloud) Who I am, where I am from, why I am . . . I do not know . . . I do not have real identity papers . . . I travelled from fair to fair with my mother and father when I was a child, doing shows. We were very good. It made sense. I did the salto mortale. Various tricks. They died and a German lady took me in and gave me a different education . . . I grew up. I became a governess . . . But who I am, why I am? . . . How old I am? . . . I think of myself as young . . . Or timeless? I think, maybe my parents were not married. I do not know. (She takes out a ridge cucumber and eats it.) I know nothing . . . I should so much like to talk to someone . . . But there is no one . . .
Yepikhodov (strumming and singing) ‘What do I care, oh what do I care for city, town or plain?/ What do I care for friend, foe, or kin?/ What do I care?’
Charlotta (to herself; though it is a comment on his singing) Ay-yi-yi!
Yepikhodov . . . ’Tis pleasant to play the mandolin.
Dunyasha Is that a mandolin? (She powders her nose.)
Yepikhodov To a man in love, it’s a mandolin. (Plays, sings.) ‘Ah, requite my love, hear my plea –’
Yasha ‘Melt thy cold heart, beloved, beloved –’
Yepikhodov ‘Else what is life to me –’
Yasha and Yepikhodov ‘What is life to me – beloved – beloved? Ah what is life to me?!’
Charlotta Ee-aw, ee-aw, ee-aw! (A good imitation of a donkey.) Jackasses.
Yasha yawns elegantly and takes out a cigar.
Dunyasha The luck of some people to have lived abroad, God!
Yasha Peut-être.
Yepikhodov But absolutely. Abroad, everything’s been fully constituted – for ages . . . Hasn’t it?
Yasha I should have thought that went without saying. (He lights his cigar.)
Yepikhodov Absolutely.
Yasha Quite.
Yepikhodov . . . I’m an intellectual . . . I read a remarkable amount of serious stuff . . . in endeavour to find the slant of what it is exactly that I want: whether I should live or, strictly speaking, shoot myself. (They continue unimpressed.) In fact, I always carry this, just in case, you see. (He has produced a revolver.)
Charlotta (shoulders her rifle) Yes, you are a terrifying man, your cerebrations too. Women ought to dream about you. (She stands. To herself.) Cerebellum people. . . I am alone everywhere. (She goes off, unhurriedly.) It is a mystery.
Yepikhodov (impotently; his frustration is growing) Actually, other considerations apart, inter alia, I must evince about myself that life is treating me unmercifully. If I am mistaken, why then when I awoke this morning was there a spider the size of this – (his hand holding the gun) – sitting on my chest looking up at me? Or! To take another case in point because I really must express myself: I’m thirsty, I lift my glass and there is something unwise swimming in it . . . May I, Avdotya Fyodorovna, trouble you for a word?
Dunyasha Fire away.
Yepikhodov In private. If it isn’t too costly to ask.
Dunyasha Well . . . yeh. Only, would you fetch my little cape first, my talma. It’s in the kitchen by the dresser. It’s getting a trifle damp here, Yasha, isn’t it?
Yepikhodov (bowing) Madame, ‘mamzelle’, tout suite! Now I know what to do with this. (The gun. Takes his guitar and leaves – tripping over something.)
Dunyasha God forbid he don’t shoot himself – over me!
Yasha He’s too ignorant.
Dunyasha . . . Yasha I’ve become anxious about . . . everything. I cannot sleep. Worries, you see. Heigh-ho! It’s because, partly, I’ve worked in the big house since – (Gestures ‘I was so high’.) It’s as if common life never existed. I’ve lost the habits of simple folk. I’m afraid . . . of everything. (She holds out her hands, hopeful that he will admire them.) So white . . . And if you deceive me, Yasha, God only knows what’ll happen to my nerves.
Yasha (a peck on the cheek) You’re a cuke! (Then.) Of course, if a virgin is a virgin she should remember it.
Dunyasha Eh?
Yasha Morality. I’ve given it some thought. It’s pleasant to smoke in the open air.
Dunyasha You’re so educated, you’ve such taste.
Yasha has to agree with her.
Dunyasha I’ve fallen for you.
Yasha Yes, but –
Dunyasha Madly.
Yasha (his perfect logic again) Of course. But if a girl loses control it means that she’s – grown up. The difference between a good cigar and a bad. (He listens.) Here they come.
She hugs him, impulsively.
Go home! That way! If they see us together they’ll think we’ve been meeting. (He’s brushing the air of cigar smoke.)
Dunyasha (annoyed with him; coughing) And the top of my head is lifting from that rotten cigar! (She goes.)
Yasha disappears too – just out of sight. Lyubov, Gayev and Lopakhin arrive.
Lopakhin Decide. Time isn’t dragging its heels on your convenience. The question is simple –
Lyubov Who’s been smoking cheap cigars?
Gayev It is convenient having the railway.
Lopakhin Do you agree to lease the land for building or don’t you?
Gayev In and out of town, had lunch, home again in . . . (Checking the time it took on his watch.) Hm, impressive. (Then:) Who’s for a game?
Lyubov There’ll be time later [‘for billiards’].
Lopakhin Give me your answer.
Gayev Wha-oo? (Yawning.)
>
Lyubov (laughs at her purse) Look: yesterday, this was a fat little thing, today, skin and bone. And our poor Varya scrimping, trying to economise, and, I hear, giving our old dears in the kitchen nothing but dried peas. (Tossing her purse in the air.) And I’m throwing it away. (She fails to catch the purse coming down: coins scatter.) Bother!
Yasha (appearing out of nowhere) Allow me, madam.
Lyubov Thank you, Yasha. Why did I go to town with you for that stupid lunch? That ghastly restaurant of yours, and its ghastly music. Tablecloths smelling of soap. And why drink so much, Leo, eat so much and talk so much? – And to no purpose. You would talk the legs off whatever- that-animal-is. Making speeches about the seventies and the eighties and the Decadent Movement – and to the poor waiters!
Lopakhin Correct.
Gayev All right, all right, I’m! [‘incorrigible’] (To Yasha, annoyed.) What’s this? – Why are you always smirking around and under our feet wherever I look?
Yasha (chuckling) You’re funny.
Gayev Lyubov, it’s him or me!
Lyubov That will do, Yasha, now run along.
Yasha Madam. (He goes, chuckling.)
Lopakhin D’you know who they’re saying is interested in the estate? Deriganov. Now he is becoming rich. (To himself.) Oh-ho-ho, Deriganov. [‘Now there’s a grabber for you’] They say he says he’s coming to the auction in person.
Lyubov (dismissive) ‘They say?’ Who say? Where do you get all your information, Yermolay?
Lopakhin Oh, I hear things. (And to himself.) Oh-ho-ho, Deriganov.
Gayev Our Yaroslavl aunt is going to send us some money.
Lopakhin How much?
Gayev How much and when is not yet clear.
Lopakhin Two hundred thousand? A hundred thousand?
Lyubov Oh. [‘hardly that’] Ten or fifteen. And we shall be thankful for it.
Lopakhin Excuse me – forgive me, madam, sir – I’ve never met anything like you! You’re told in the plainest language the ground is going from under your feet and you simply won’t understand.
Lyubov Tell us what to do, Yermolay.
Lopakhin I’m going to! [‘scream’] I tell you every day, I talk about nothing else! Lease out the land for summer cottages. The auction is nearly on top of us. Make a decision now and you’re saved.
