Plays 6

by Tom Murphy

  Lyubov But, cottages, ‘bungalows’. (The vulgarity of the idea.)

  Gayev (emphatic agreement with her) Mm!

  Lopakhin I am going to scream. You’ve worn me out.( Turns as though to go; turns back.) And you’re an old woman!

  Gayev Wha-oo?

  Lopakhin You! (Turns again, as if to leave.)

  Lyubov No, stay with us, our dear friend, please. Maybe we can think of something.

  Lopakhin rolls his eyes/whatever.

  Lyubov Don’t go, Yermolay. It is happier when you’re around . . . (To herself; worried.) I do have a feeling something is happening. Something. As though the roof were to come in on top of us.

  Gayev (to himself; a billiard shot) Croisée: Middle pocket.

  Lyubov We have sinned so much.

  Lopakhin You’re a great sinner. What’re your sins?

  Lyubov Squandering my inheritance.

  Gayev I ate up mine in sweets. (Popping a sweet in his mouth.)

  Lyubov (sighs) Oh, my sins . . . Running away, throwing money away, marrying foolishly against advice. A man who could throw it away even faster. He drank like a fish, he died of champagne . . . What then? . . . Another profligate. I fall for a gallant, began an affair. And then came the first chastisement, the blow straight to the head. My little boy drowned in that river . . . I closed my eyes, went abroad, never to return, see that river, never to return . . . Ran . . . But I was pursued. Ruthless, brutal pursuit . . . My gallant pursued me. I became his unofficial wife. I bought that villa in Monaco when he became ill there. Nursed him. For three years. I had to do ‘everything’ for him. And I did it . . . Everything . . . Then that house had to be sold. Debts. To Paris, where he robbed me, before leaving me, that is, for another woman. And, I tried to poison myself . . . So stupid. So shameful . . . And . . . suddenly, I needed my homeland, my own people. My beautiful little girl . . . (She wipes away a tear.) Lord have mercy, Christ have mercy, forgive me my sins. Don’t punish me more . . . (She has a telegram in her hands.) This one too today from Paris. He asks my forgiveness, begs me to go back. (She tears it up. Listens.) . . . Is that music?

  Gayev That’s our famous Jewish band, d’you not remember? Four fiddles, flute and double bass.

  Lyubov It still exists? Wouldn’t it be nice to have them over one evening? We-ought-to-have-a-party.

  Lopakhin I don’t hear anything. (He dances. He sings/ recites quietly.) ‘And to make their mark, the Germans turn the Russians into francs’. (Laughs.) I saw a great [‘funny’] play the other day.

  Lyubov I’m sure! Watching plays when you’d be better off taking a look at yourselves more often, and the endless nonsense you all talk.

  Lopakhin Well, I suppose. It’s a fool’s way of life somehow. I think of my father and I think I’m not much different, and he was an idiot. I haven’t trained in anything – You’ve seen my handwriting? Like something the pig walked over.

  Lyubov You should get married, Yermolay.

  Lopakhin I suppose.

  Lyubov Varya’s a good girl.

  Lopakhin No question about it.

  Lyubov And she’s from simple people too. And like yourself, also, a worker. And what is more, she loves you, which is the main thing.

  Lopakhin I’ve nothing against it.

  Gayev Six thousand a year: I’ve been offered a job in the bank. Did I tell you?

  Lyubov You did. I’d stay as you are.

  Firs comes in with an overcoat.

  Firs Here it is, now put it on.

  Gayev I didn’t ask for my –

  Firs The air is damp. (Helps Gayev into the coat.)

  Gayev I’m fed up with you!

  Firs And you went off to town without telling me.

  Lyubov How very old you’ve grown, Firs.

  Firs What can I get you, madam?

  Lopakhin ‘How very old you’ve grown, Firs’!

  Firs I’ve been alive a long time. They were arranging to marry me off once, you know. Yes. That was before your father had even come into the world. (He turns away, laughing.) Oh yes. (Turns back.) And I was already head valet when the freedom happened, the Emancipation. I wasn’t having any of that: I stayed with the master. And I remember the rejoicing, the rejoicing, and what they were so pleased about they didn’t know themselves. (He laughs.)

  Lopakhin And in the good old days, people were flogged soundly and properly?

  Firs I’ll say they were! The peasants had their masters and masters had their peasants. Now you don’t know where to lay your hand on a blessed thing.

  Gayev Shush, Firs. Here come the children. Town again tomorrow for me: business. I’m to meet a general.

  Lopakhin A waste of time.

  Lyubov Yes, be serious, Leonid – (Calls.) Yoo-oo! Children! Over here!

  Anya (off) Mama!

  Anya, Petya and Varya are arriving.

  Lyubov Come over here!

  Gayev Here come ours!

  Lopakhin And our eternal student.

  Lyubov My darling girls!

  Lopakhin And always with the ladies.

  Lyubov Sit beside me. That’s right.

  Lopakhin How old are you now, Peter?

  Petya Mind your own business?

  Lopakhin Fifty?

  Petya You’re very funny.

  Lopakhin Oh? Surely, never pique from our intellect-u-al.

  Petya I’ve nothing to say to you, Mr Lopakhin.

  Lopakhin Y’have. What d’you think of me?

  Petya You’re a rich man, soon you’ll be richer.

  Lopakhin Y’can do better.

  Petya I can. Metabolistically, just as in the food chain, the predator is necessary to devour everything in its path, you too are necessary.

  All laugh, together with:

  Varya Oh don’t say that. Tell us about the planets, Peter.

  Lyubov No, what were we talking about yesterday?

  Petya What was I saying yesterday?

  Gayev Man’s pride.

  Petya Ah yes! Now as I understand you, as you see it, there is some mystical reason why man, the human being, should be proud, but if we really reason it, I mean simply, dispassionately – leaving out your mystical – what has he to be proud of? Physiologically, is the human being well-equipped? The vast majority of human beings are coarse, unintelligent and unhappy: we should be proud of that? We must stop admiring ourselves, we must just work.

  Gayev It’s all the same –

  Petya We must work!

  Gayev But you’ll die anyway.

  Petya Will I? Will I? ‘To die’: what does that mean? What if the human being has a hundred senses and only the five that we know die with him?

  Lyubov (fervently) Yes.

  Petya And the other ninety-five remain alive.

  Lopakhin Hmm?

  Lyubov He is clever.

  Lopakhin But? (But) Who is the one being ‘mystical’ now?’

  Petya Everything that is unintelligible to you, and unattainable, will one day be understandable and within reach. Humanity is moving forward, perfecting its powers. That’s why we have to work, apply our energy to helping those who are seeking the truth. Trouble is with Russia at the moment, very few of us are working. The intelligentsia – or the majority of them – and I know them – are doing nothing, they merely talk, talk-talk. And with long faces. They call themselves the intelligentsia and they address their servants as ‘you’, they look on the workers as if they were still their slaves. Are they possessed of culture, knowledge of the sciences, political initiative? The long, serious, philosophising faces are what’s important. And while they sit around talking, people are starving, sleeping in the streets, sleeping thirty-forty to a room, with fleas, in filth and damp, and all leading to foul language, greater ignorance, obscenities, eruptions of mindless, barbaric violence, immorality. Where are the crèches, health care, reading rooms, amenities? They don’t exist, you only hear about them or read about them. All this fine talk serves merely to avert our eyes from reality. Work! I have a f
ear of serious faces, I do not like them, I am wary of speechifiers. Better let’s say nothing.

  Lopakhin You know, I get up before five every morning, I’m handling money, my own and other people’s, and I see what the human being about me is like. And, you know, you only have to start doing something to realise how few honourable people there are. And, you know, sometimes, when I can’t sleep, I think, Sweet Jesus, you gave us all this: forests, fields, vast horizons. We ought to be giants.

  Lyubov In fairytales, Yermolay, but outside of that – Brrr! [‘frightening’] Cumbersome creatures, giants.

  Yepikhodov strolls across (upstage) playing his guitar.

  Anya (in a world of her own) There goes Yepikhodov.

  Lyubov (absently) There goes Yepikhodov.

  Gayev There: the sun has set.

  The setting sun stills them.

  Gayev (to himself) Good people one and all . . . (And declaiming quietly.) Oh wondrous Nature sempiternal, radiant at rise and fall, beautiful and indifferent Mother, thou givest and takest, embracing life and death.

  Varya Uncle, at it again.

  Anya Dearest uncle. (She laughs softly to herself.)

  Gayev I’m silent.

  Silence. Only Firs, mumbling, is heard. They are deep in themselves. Suddenly, a distant sound, a string snapping, vibrating, dying away. (A metallic twang.)

  Lyubov . . . What was that?

  Lopakhin (shakes his head; listens for more) . . . Somewhere far off . . . A cable snapping in one of the mines?

  Gayev Bird, perhaps . . . A heron?

  Petya . . . An eagle owl?

  Lyubov Not nice somehow.

  Firs It was the same, you know, before all that bother: the owl went on screeching, the samovar humming.

  Gayev What bother?

  Firs Freedom, the Emancipation.

  Lyubov All right, mes enfants, let us go, shall we, it’s getting dark. (To Anya.) Why, what is it? You have tears in your eyes.

  Anya (sincerely) No, nothing.

  Lyubov Little one?

  Anya Absolutely, mama.

  Petya There’s someone coming.

  A Vagrant is approaching. (Old clothes, a battered peaked cap.) He’s drunk.

  Vagrant (off and entering, singing-reciting) ‘They chained her body to the cruel stone;/The beast begot of sea and slime had marked her for his own;/The callous world beheld the wrong and left her all alone’. (He grins drunkenly.) Can I come through here? To the station!

  Gayev You may. Keep along that path.

  Vagrant Thankin’ you – Excuse me! – much obliged! (In praise of the weather.) The weather! ‘Brother of mine, oh suffering brother, come to the Volga whose gr-o-o-o-o-ans . . .’ (He goes into a bout of coughing-laughter.) ‘Like falling rock, on fierce Siroc – No savage or marauder –’

  Lopakhin There’s your path –

  Vagrant (talking over Lopakhin) ‘Son of a slave! – First of the brave! – Hurrah for Abdel Kadar!’ Thankin’ you! (He sees Varya.) Ah! Mademoiselle! What kind of wine d’you have for me?

  Varya recoils, frightened.

  Lopakhin That’ll do now – even where you come from!

  Vagrant Charity or a copper, then, for a broken soldier?

  Lopakhin That’s your path!

  Lyubov (flustered, looking in her handbag) No, here’s something, take this – Oh, I’ve no small – Doesn’t matter, take it.

  Vagrant Thankin’ you! Long life to your ladyship!

  (Leaving.) ‘That glorious noon! – God send it soon – Hurrah for human freedom . . .’

  They start to laugh. Varya, too, out of the fright she has had. Then:

  Varya No! I’m going to leave here, I must. Why did you give him all that money?

  Lyubov Because I’m young and because I’m silly! When we get home I’ll give you every last thing I have and Yermolay Alekseich will give me another loan.

  Lopakhin bows.

  Varya He frightened me. (Referring to the Vagrant.)

  Lyubov And – Varya, dear – congratulations: we have promised you in marriage to ‘someone’.

  Varya That’s not a joking matter, Mamochka. (She’s tearful again.)

  Lopakhin Euphoria, get thee to a nunnery!

  Gayev Billiards. (Meaning: ‘Time to go’. He checks the steadiness of his hands.)

  Lopakhin Euphoria, in thy orisons – in thy prayers let all my sins be remembered.

  Lyubov (chiding Lopakhin) Come-come! (And laughs. Going.) Come, ladies and gentlemen, it’s almost suppertime, come! Everybody!

  Varya (following) I’m still shaking.

  Lopakhin (following) And – Everybody! – let me remind you that on the twenty-second day of August in this year of Our Lord, Cherryorchard will be sold! Think about that! . . . Think! . . .

  Anya and Petya remain.

  Anya (laughs) Varya!

  Petya She keeps following us.

  Anya Thank you, Mr Vagabond, for frightening her off and making her forget us.

  Petya She’s afraid we’ll fall in love. That narrow head cannot understand that we are above such petty illusions. Forward! – Unstoppably! – That’s where we’re headed – No lagging behind, friends! – Truth is out there!

  Anya (claps her hands, silently, joyful at his words) . . . It was like heaven here today.

  Petya (mimics the Vagrant) ‘The weather!’

  Anya . . . Why, though, don’t I love the cherry orchard as I used to? I used to think there was nowhere on earth better.

  Petya All of Russia is our orchard. The world is great and beautiful . . . Just think, Anya, your grandfather, your great-grandfather owned living souls. Those souls are looking down from every tree in that orchard. From every leaf . . . Owning living souls: that has changed you all. Not just your ancestors: your mother, you, your uncle. The debt you’re living is off the living souls you won’t let in your front door . . . We haven’t come very far. We have no conscious attitude towards the past. Theories, melancholy and vodka. And to live in the present the past has to be consciously acknowledged, and atoned for by suffering and work.

  Anya The house we live in hasn’t been ours for a long time.

  Petya If you have keys, fling them into the well. Let go.

  Anya Oh I shall.

  Petya Believe me.

  Anya I give my word of honour.

  Petya I’m not thirty yet, I am still a student, but I’ve seen a lot. When winter comes it’ll be my fate again to be hungry, ill, penniless as a beggar. But ill, starved, careworn, every moment I’m filled too with visions of happiness.

  Anya The moon is rising.

  Petya (watching the moon) . . . There it is. It’s getting closer . . . Slowly coming . . . (The moon in and out of a cloud.) Happiness . . . And if we don’t see it fully realised, what does it matter? Others will.

  Varya (off, calling) Anya! Anya!

  Petya (annoyed) Varya!

  Anya Again! (And laughs softly.)

  Varya (off) Anya, where are you?

  Petya Merciless!

  Anya Let’s go down to the river.

  Petya (a whisper) Forward!

  They go.

  Varya (off) Anya! . . . Anya! . . .

  Act Three

  A reception room separated from a ballroom by an arch. A lighted chandelier. The Jewish band mentioned in Act Two can be heard playing. It is evening. In the ballroom a grand-rond is being danced.

  Pishchik (off, in the ballroom) Promenade! . . . Promenade à une paire!

  The dancers come through into the reception room. The first couple: Pishchik and Charlotta; the second: Petya and Lyubov; then Anya and Post Office Clerk, Varya and Stationmaster, and so on. Dunyasha is in the last pair.

  Pishchik Promenade! . . . Grand-rond, balancez! . . . Les cavaliers à genoux et remerciez vos dames!

  They go out again.

  Firs has come in, in tails, to cross the room with seltzer water on a tray. Pishchik, puffing, out of breath, and Petya return.

  Pishchik I’m pretty r
obust, oh yes, constitution of a horse, oh yes, but – blood pressure? So! Out of puff. So! (Boasting.) I’ve had two strokes – Two! So! Can’t dance as I could one time, what! Still, if you run with the pack y’must wag yer tail, even if you can’t raise a bark, what? What! (Sits.) That’s better.

  Petya Shall I fetch us another drink?

  Pishchik (No/Yes.) My dear father, too, was a great joker, the heavens be his bed. Used to say our family was descended from the horse, the same one was sat in the Roman Senate by Caligula. Mischief is, mischief is there’s no money. Spent all my life looking for it.

  Petya And if you’d spent that energy on something else you’d have turned the world upside down.

  Pishchik What’s that?!

  Petya You are built like a horse.

  Pishchik Aren’t I? (He’s pleased. And winks:) Y’can sell a horse.

  A lull in the music during the above. Sounds of a game of billiards in the next room. Varya appears in the archway.

  Petya (teasing) Ah, Mrs Lopakhin!

  She mutters something.

  Pishchik Wonderful musicians the Jews!

  Varya And what are they to be paid with?

  Petya Cheer up, Mrs Lopakhin!

  Varya And look at you! Frayed, shabby, moss-grown, dog-eared! (Going out.) Out-at-the-elbows!

  Petya (calls after her) I’m proud to be out at my elbows!

  Pishchik Nietzsche, now there’s a man for you! Famous philosopher? Of the greatest intellect. Says it’s all right – nothing wrong with it – to forge your own banknotes.

  Petya Have you read Nietzsche?

  Pishchik No. Daughter, my dear Dashenka. But the way things are I’d give it a go, give it a shot, I would. Day after tomorrow, again, I’ve to come up with three hundred and ten. I’ve managed to get hold of . . . (He is groping in his pockets; he becomes panicked.) Where is it? My money’s gone! I managed to get hold of a hundred and thirty – It’s fallen out – I’ve lost my money – I’ve . . . (He finds it.) Phew! My word! I say! Here in the lining. Close call.

  Lyubov and Charlotta come in. Lyubov is humming a dance tune to herself. She’s restless throughout. Charlotta has a deck of cards. Others follow and come in by degrees to watch.

  Lyubov Still no Leonid, still no sign. What can be delaying him in town, why is it taking so long?

  Petya The auction most likely didn’t come off.