DUNYASHA (on the brink of tears)I’ve broken a saucer . . .
VARYAIt’s good luck.
ANYA (coming out of her room)We should warn Mama about Petya being here . . .
VARYAIt’s all right—I told them not to wake him.
ANYA (reflectively)Six years since Papa died, and my little brother drowned in the river barely a month after, little Grisha, only seven and so pretty. It was too much for Mama. She left and didn’t look back, she just ran and ran. (shudders) I understand her so well. If only she knew. (pause) It might bring it all back, seeing Grisha’s tutor again.
Enter Firs; he’s in a jacket and white waistcoat. He goes to the coffee pot, preoccupied.
FIRSThe mistress will be taking her coffee in here . . . (putting on white gloves) Is it ready? (to Dunyasha, sternly) Where’s the cream?—wake up, girl!
DUNYASHAOh!—oh, my goodness . . .
Dunyasha rushes out.
FIRS (dealing with the coffee pot)You noodle . . . (mutters to himself) They’ve come all the way from Paris. The master went to Paris in his coach once. (laughs)
VARYAFirs, what are you muttering about?
FIRSWhat is it? (joyfully) The mistress is home! The long wait is over! I don’t mind if I die now . . . (weeps with joy) Now it’s all right to die.
Enter Liubov Andreevna, Lopakhin, Gaev, and Simeonov-Pishchik, who is wearing a long, tight-fitting coat of fine cloth and loose Turkish trousers. Gaev, as he comes in, plays air billiards.
LIUBOVHow does it go?—Let’s see—I pot the yellow into the corner pocket—and go off the cushion into the middle.
GAEVScrew-shot into the top corner! We used to sleep in this room once upon a time, my little sister and I, and now I’m fifty-one years old, hard to believe.
LOPAKHINYes, time passes.
GAEVWhat?
LOPAKHINTime. I said it passes.
GAEVIt smells of cheap scent in here.
ANYAI’m going to bed. (kissing her mother) Goodnight Mama.
LIUBOVMy little baby. (kisses her hands) Are you glad to be home? I can’t quite believe it.
ANYAGoodnight, uncle.
GAEV (kisses her face and hands)God bless you. You’re so like your mother! (to his sister) Liuba, you were so like her at her age.
Anya gives her hand to Lopakhin and Pishchik, goes out and doses the door behind her.
LIUBOVShe’s tired out.
PISHCHIKWell, a long journey, of course . . .
VARYA (to Lopakhin and Pishchik)So, gentlemen, long past two and time to be going.
LIUBOV (laughs)Same old Varya. (draws her close and kisses her) I’ll have my coffee and then we’ll all go. (Firs puts a cushion under her feet) Thank you, you’re a dear. I’ve got used to having my coffee, I drink it day and night. Thank you, my dear old friend. (kisses Firs)
VARYAI’ll go and see that they’ve brought everything in.
Varya goes out.
LIUBOVAm I really here? Is this me? (laughs) I feel like dancing about and swinging my arms around. (covers her face with her hands) Perhaps it’s all a dream. God knows I love my country, I love it so dearly. I couldn’t see out of the train window, I was crying so much. (on the brink of tears) Well, I must drink my coffee. Thank you, Firs, thank you, you dear old man, I’m so glad you didn’t die.
FIRSThe day before yesterday.
GAEVHis hearing’s gone.
LOPAKHINI’ve got to leave for Kharkov soon, by the early train—it’s a nuisance. I was looking forward to seeing you and having a talk—you still look as wonderful as ever.
PISHCHIK (breathing heavily)More than ever . . . dressed in the latest Paris fashions. You could tip my cart wheels-up!
LOPAKHINYour brother here thinks I’m vulgar, a jumped–up kulak, but I don’t care, he can think what he likes, all I care is that you trust me as you used to—and when you look at me with those heartbreaking eyes you see me as you always did. Merciful God—my father was a serf in your father’s time, and before that he belonged to your grandfather, but you—you alone—you were always so good to me that I no longer think about that, and I love you like my own flesh and blood . . . more than my flesh and blood.
LIUBOVI can’t sit still—my body won’t let me.
Liubov leaps up and walks up and down, in a great agitation.
LIUBOV (cont.)I could die with happiness, I’m silly with it and you can laugh at me. Here’s my little book cupboard!—(kissing the book cupboard) and my little table . . .
GAEVNanny died while you were away.
Liubov sits down and sips her coffee.
LIUBOVI know, God rest her. They wrote to me.
GAEVAnd Anastasii died . . . Pyotr the squint has left—he’s in town in the police office now.
He takes a box of lemon drops out of his pocket and sucks one.
PISHCHIKMy daughter Dashenka asks to be remembered.
LOPAKHINLook, there’s something I came to tell you, something nice, to cheer you up. (looking at his watch) I haven’t got much time to go into it, I have to leave soon, but, well, all right, I’ll make it quick. As you know only too well, the cherry orchard is to be sold off against your debts, the auction is fixed for the 22nd of August—but you needn’t distress yourself, my dear, you can sleep easy, because there is a way out. Here’s what I’ve thought of, listen carefully. Your estate is only a dozen miles from town, the new railway branch runs alongside it, and if the cherry orchard and the land along the river were divided up into lots for leasing out for summer cottages, you’d end up with an income of at least twenty-five thousand roubles a year.
GAEVExcuse me, but what is this nonsense!
LIUBOVI don’t understand what you mean.
LOPAKHINPeople will pay at least twenty-five roubles a year for the building plots, and if you advertise now I’ll bet you anything you like that by August there won’t be a plot left, they’ll be snapped up. In a word—congratulations. You’re saved. It’s a beautiful situation, the river is deep enough for swimming—
A miss-step; he recovers almost instantly.
LOPAKHIN (cont.)All you have to do is clear the ground, tidy it up, get rid of the old buildings, like this house, which won’t have any use now, and cut down the cherry orchard!
LIUBOVCut it down? My dear, I’m sorry but you don’t understand. If there’s one thing of any interest—one remarkable feature—in this whole district, it’s our cherry orchard.
LOPAKHINThe only remarkable thing about your cherry orchard is it’s big. But it only gives a crop every other year, and then you don’t know what to do with all the cherries, no one wants to buy them.
GAEVOur cherry orchard is mentioned in the encyclopaedia.
LOPAKHIN (glancing at his watch)If we don’t come up with something and make a decision, on the 22nd of August it won’t just be the cherry orchard on the block, it’ll be the whole estate. You have to face up to it. Believe me, there’s no other way out, there absolutely isn’t.
FIRSIn the old days, forty, fifty years ago, they dried the cherries, then soaked them, pickled them, made jam out of them, and sometimes they—
GAEVYes, all right, Firs.
FIRSBack then, the dried cherries were sent off in cartloads to Moscow and Kharkov. There was money in them back then! And your dried cherry isn’t what it used to be—they were soft and juicy, sweet, with a fragrance to them, they knew how to do it, they had the secret.
LIUBOVAnd where is the secret now?
FIRSForgotten. No one remembers it.
PISHCHIK (to Liubov)What was it like in Paris? Eh? Did you eat frogs?
LIUBOVI ate crocodiles.
PISHCHIKFancy that!
LOPAKHINThe days when the countryside was only for landowners and peasants are over. Now it’s the time of the summer folk and the weekend visitor. There are dachas around every town, even the smallest, and over the next twenty years or so the summer population is going to explode. So far all they do is sit on their porches and drink tea, but, who knows, they may start using
their little acres to grow things and then your cherry orchard will come into its second flowering and be gay and fruitful again . . .
GAEV (indignantly)What is this rubbish?
Varya and Yasha enter.
VARYAThere were two telegrams for you, Mama.
She selects a key and unlocks the book cupboard.
VARYA (cont.)Here.
LIUBOVThey’re from Paris.
She tears up the telegrams without reading them.
LIUBOV (cont.)I’m done with Paris.
GAEVLiuba, do you know how old this book cupboard is? I pulled out the bottom drawer last week and saw there was a date burned into it. This book cupboard was made exactly a hundred years ago. What do you think of that, eh? We might celebrate its centenary. It’s an inanimate object but look at it another way, it’s, well, it’s a book cupboard.
PISHCHIK (amazed)A hundred years! Fancy that!
GAEVYes . . . Quite something! . . . (feeling the book cupboard all over) Dear old book cupboard! Dear, deeply respected book cupboard, I salute you! For a whole century you have devoted your existence to the highest ideals of truth and goodness—your mute appeal to the creative spirit has never faltered during all your hundred years, (on the brink of tears) sustaining our courage and faith in a better future through generations of our blood, and inspiring us to a social conscience for the common good.
Pause.
LOPAKHINQuite.
LIUBOVAnd you haven’t changed either, dear old Lyonya.
GAEV (somewhat embarrassed)In-off into the bottom-right corner and screw back for the middle pocket!
LOPAKHIN (glancing at his watch)I have to get going.
YASHA (handing Liubov a pill bottle)Perhaps you’d like to take your pills now . . .?
PISHCHIKYou don’t need pills, dear lady, they don’t do any good, or harm either—give them here, madam . . .
Pishchik takes the pills, pours them into his palm, blows on them, puts them in his mouth and drinks them down with kvass.
PISHCHIK (cont.)There!
LIUBOV (alarmed)You’re mad!
PISHCHIKAll gone, swallowed the lot.
LOPAKHINGreedy pig!
Everyone laughs.
FIRSWhen the gentleman was here in Holy Week he got through half a tub of pickled cucumbers . . . (mutters)
LIUBOVWhat is he going on about?
VARYAHe’s been muttering away like that for years, we’ve got used to it.
YASHAAh, the wisdom of old age.
Charlotta Ivanovna in a white dress, very thin, tightly laced, with a lorgnette hanging on her belt, crosses the stage.
LOPAKHINForgive me, Charlotta, I haven’t had a chance to say hello to you.
Lopakhin tries to kiss her hand.
CHARLOTTA (pulling it back)If I let you kiss my hand, it’ll be my elbow next and then my shoulder.
LOPAKHINI’m out of luck today.
Everyone laughs.
LOPAKHIN (cont.)Show us a magic trick.
CHARLOTTANot now. I need my sleep.
She goes out.
LOPAKHINWell, I’ll see you all again in three weeks. (kissing Liubov’s hand) Goodbye for now—time to go. (to Gaev) Goodbye. (exchanging kisses with Pishchik) Goodbye. (giving his hand to Varya, then Firs, and Yasha) I wish I didn’t have to leave. (to Liubov) Think it over about the dachas and decide. Let me know, I can get you fifty thousand up front—seriously, think about it.
VARYA (angrily)Oh, go if you’re going!
LOPAKHINI’m off—I’m off—
Lopakhin leaves.
GAEVVulgarian. Oh—sorry!—he’s Varya’s intended, he’s her nice young man.
VARYADon’t say that, uncle.
LIUBOVOh, come along, Varya—nothing would make me happier. He’s a good man.
PISHCHIKA decent fellow, truth be told, one of the most . . . as my Dashenka is the first to say . . . well, she says a lot of things. (gives a snore, then immediately wakes up again) Be that as it may, dear lady, if you could lend me two hundred and forty roubles . . . I’ve got to pay the interest on my mortgage tomorrow . . .
VARYA (alarmed)We haven’t got it! We haven’t!
LIUBOVHonestly, I have nothing.
PISHCHIKWell, it’ll turn up from somewhere. (laughs) I never lose hope. Just when I’m thinking here we go, all is lost, lo and behold, they build a railway over my land and the money comes in. It will come right again, you’ll see—something will turn up, if not today, tomorrow. Dashenka will win the lottery, that ticket’s worth two hundred thousand.
LIUBOVWell, I’ve had my coffee—so it’s time for bed.
FIRS (scolding Gaev)You’ve put on your wrong trousers again. What’s to be done with you?
VARYAAnya’s asleep.
She quietly opens the window. Gaev opens the other window. There is a blaze of white blossom.
VARYA (cont.)The sun’s up, it’s not cold at all now. Come and see, Mama, look at the orchard, isn’t it beautiful? Oh God, breathe the air! And the starlings are singing.
GAEVThe orchard is all in white. Do you remember it, Liuba?—the long avenue as far as you can see, straight as a ribbon, do you remember how it shines on moonlit nights? You haven’t forgotten?
LIUBOV (looking out of the window at the orchard)Oh, it’s my childhood come back!—innocent days!—when I slept in the nursery and woke with happiness every morning and looked out at the garden. It was just the same, nothing has changed. (laughs with joy) White everywhere . . . my orchard!—young again after the gloomy darkness of autumn and the winter cold, and happy again, the angels in heaven haven’t forsaken you! Oh, if only I could lose the weight of this stone I carry in my breast. If only I could forget everything up to now!
GAEVAnd now the orchard is going to be sold to pay our debts, hard to believe.
LIUBOVLook!—there’s our darling Mama, dressed in white, walking in the orchard! (laughs with joy)
GAEVWhere?
VARYABless you, Mama.
LIUBOVShe’s gone now. It only looked like it for a minute. There, look, on the right, by the turning toward the summerhouse, that branch bending over like a woman in a white dress.
Enter TROFIMOV. He wears a worn-out student’s uniform and spectacles.
LIUBOV (cont.)Our orchard is simply the most amazing sight—that mass of white blossom against the blue of the sky . . .
TROFIMOVLiubov Andreevna!
Liubov looks round at Trofimov.
TROFIMOV (cont.)I only want to pay my respects and then I’ll go at once. (warmly kissing her hand) They told me to wait till morning but I was too impatient.
Liubov looks at him in bewilderment.
VARYA (on the brink of tears)It’s Petya Trofimov, Mama.
TROFIMOV. . . Yes, your son’s old tutor. Have I really changed so much?
Liubov embraces him and softly weeps.
GAEV (embarrassed)There, there, Liuba.
VARYA (weeps)Oh, really, Petya—I said wait till tomorrow.
LIUBOVMy Grisha . . . my little boy . . . Grisha . . . my son . . .
VARYAWhat can we do, Mama? It was God’s will.
TROFIMOV (tenderly, on the brink of tears)There now . . . there now . . .
LIUBOV (weeping quietly)My little boy died, drowned. (cries out) Why? Tell me why, Petya. (quieter again) Anya’s asleep next door and here I am, raising my voice and making a scene. Let me look at you, Petya. Why have you lost your looks? How did you get so old?
TROFIMOVAn old woman on the train yesterday called me “that mangy gentleman.”
LIUBOVYou were only a boy, a nice young student. Now you’re losing your hair and wearing glasses. Are you really still a student?
She goes to the door.
TROFIMOVI expect I’ll die a student.
Liubov kisses her brother, then Varya.
LIUBOVWell, now, it’s bed time. You’ve aged too, Leonid.
PISHCHIK (following her)Yes, time to get some sleep. Ouch, my gout. I’ll stay with you tonight. And in the morning, dearest h
eart, see your way . . . two hundred and forty roubles . . .?
GAEVHe doesn’t give up.
PISHCHIKTwo hundred and forty roubles to pay the interest . . .?
LIUBOVI have no money, my sweet.
PISHCHIKI’ll give it back, my dear. It’s a trifling sum.
LIUBOVOh, all right—ask Leonid for it—go on, Leonid—give it to him.
GAEVI give it to him?—he’ll be lucky.
LIUBOVWhat else can one do? He has to have it. He’ll pay it back.
Liubov, Trofimov, Pishchik, and Firs go out. Gaev, Varya, and Yasha remain.
GAEVMy sister’s still in the habit of throwing her money away. (to Yasha) Could you stand further away, you smell like a hen house.
YASHA (with a smirk)You haven’t changed a bit either.
GAEVWhat? What did he say?
VARYA (to Yasha)Your mother’s come from the village, she’s been sitting in the back hall since yesterday wanting to see you.
YASHAI wish her luck.
VARYAYou’re shameless.
YASHAWhat’s the rush? Tomorrow would have done.
Yasha goes out.
VARYAMama’s just the same, she hasn’t changed at all. Left to herself she’d give away everything she had.
GAEVYes. (pause) Whenever you have a lot of different remedies prescribed for some disease, it means there’s no cure. I’ve been cudgelling my brains, I can think of lots of remedies, which means, in effect, I haven’t got any. If only someone left us lots of money, if only Anya married a millionaire, or we could go to Yaroslavl and try our luck with the countess. Auntie is really enormously rich, you know.
VARYA (weeps)If only God would come to our help.
GAEVDon’t howl. Auntie’s rich but she doesn’t like us. To start with, my sister married a lawyer instead of marrying into the nobility . . .
Anya appears in the doorway.
GAEV (cont.). . . and having not married into the nobility, she’s behaved, well, you couldn’t exactly say she’s behaved with decorum. She’s good and kind, a wonderful woman, and I’m very fond of her, but after making every allowance one can think of, one has to admit she is a woman of loose morals. You only have to look at the way she moves.
VARYA (whispers)Anya’s there.
GAEVEh?—what? (pause) How odd, I’ve got something in my eye—I can’t see properly. And last Thursday, when I was at the District Court . . .