NOTES
1 A. R. Kugel, Russkie dramaturgi (Moscow: Mir, 1934), p. 120.
2 Jean-Louis Barrault, “Pourquoi La Cerisaie?,” Cahiers de la Compagnie Barrault-Renaud 6 (July 1954): 87–97.
3 Henri Bergson, Laughter: An Essay on the Meaning of the Comic, trans. Cloudesley Brereton and Fred Rothwell (New York: Macmillan, 1911), pp. 88–89.
4 M. Nevedomsky, “Simvolizm v posledney drame A. P. Chekhova,” Mir bozhy 8, 2 (1904): 18–19. Kugel, op. cit., p. 125.
5 Ivan Bunin, O Chekhove (New York: Chekhov Publishing House, 1955), p. 216.
6 Andrey Bely, “Vishnyovy sad,” Vesy (Balances) 5 (1904); Vsevolod Meyerhold, Perepiska (Moscow: Iskusstvo, 1976), p. 45; and “Teatr (k istorii tekhnike),” in Teatr: kniga o novom teatre (St. Petersburg: Shipovnik, 1908), pp.143–145.
THE CHERRY ORCHARD1
Bишнё‚ый ca‰
A Comedy2
CHARACTERS 3
RANEVSKAYA, LYUBOV ANDREEVNA, a landowner
ANYA, her daughter, 17
VARYA, her foster daughter, 24
GAEV, LEONID ANDREEVICH, Ranevskaya’s brother
LOPAKHIN, YERMOLAY ALEKSEICH, a businessman
TROFIMOV, PYOTR SERGEEVICH, a university student
SIMEONOV-PISHCHIK, BORIS BORISOVICH, a landowner
CHARLOTTA IVANOVA, a governess
YEPIKHODOV, SEMYON PANTELEEVICH, a bookkeeper
DUNYASHA, a parlor maid
FIRS4
NIKOLAEVICH, a valet, an old-timer of 87
YASHA, a young valet
A VAGRANT
THE STATION MASTER
A POSTAL CLERK
GUESTS, SERVANTS
The action takes place on Ranevskaya’s country estate.5
ACT ONE
A room, which is still known as the nursery. One of the doors opens into Anya’s bedroom. Dawn, soon the sun will be up. It is already May, the cherry trees are in bloom, but it is chilly in the orchard, there is an early morning frost. The windows in the room are shut. Enter DUNYASHA carrying a candle and LOPAKHIN holding a book.
LOPAKHIN. Train’s pulled in, thank God. What time is it?
DUNYASHA. Almost two. (Blows out the candle.) Light already.
LOPAKHIN. But just how late was the train? A couple of hours at least. (Yawns and stretches.) That’s me all over, had to do something stupid! Drove over here on purpose, to meet them at the station, and spent the time fast asleep . . . Sat down and dropped off. Annoying . . . Though you should have woke me up.
DUNYASHA. I thought you’d gone. (Listening.) There, sounds like they’re driving up.
LOPAKHIN (listening). No . . . the luggage has to be loaded, one thing and another . . . (Pause.) Lyubov Andreevna’s been living abroad five years now, I don’t know what she’s like these days . . . A good sort of person, that’s her. A kind-hearted, unpretentious person. I remember, when I was just a kid about fifteen,6 my late father — he kept a shop in this village back then — punched me in the face with his fist, blood was gushing from my nose . . . We’d come into the yard back then for some reason, and he’d been drinking. Lyubov Andreevna, I remember as though it was yesterday, still a youngish lady, so slender, brought me to the washstand, here in this very room, the nursery. “Don’t cry,” she says, “my little peasant, it’ll heal in time for your wedding . . .”
Pause.
My little peasant . . . My father, true, was a peasant, and here I am in a white waistcoat, yellow high-button shoes. Like a pig’s snout on a tray of pastry . . .7 Only difference is I’m rich, plenty of money, but if you think it over and work it out, once a peasant, always a peasant . . .8 (Leafs through the book.) I was reading this here book and couldn’t make head or tail of it. Reading and nodding off.
Pause.
DUNYASHA. The dogs didn’t sleep all night, they can sense the mistress is coming home.
LOPAKHIN. What’s got into you, Dunyasha, you’re so . . .
DUNYASHA. My hands are trembling. I’m going to swoon.
LOPAKHIN. Much too delicate, that’s what you are, Dunyasha. Dressing up like a young lady, fixing your hair like one too. Mustn’t do that. Got to remember who you are.
YEPIKHODOV 9 enters with a bouquet; he is wearing a jacket and brightly polished boots, which squeak noisily. On entering, he drops the bouquet.
YEPIKHODOV (picks up the bouquet). Here, the gardener sent them, he says stick ‘em in the dining room. (He hands Dunyasha the bouquet)
LOPAKHIN. And bring me some kvas.10
DUNYASHA. Yes, sir. (Exits.)
YEPIKHODOV. There’s a morning frost now, three degrees below, but the cherries are all in bloom. I can’t condone our climate. (Sighs.) I can’t. Our climate cannot be conducive in the right way. Look, Yermolay Alekseich, if I might append, day before yesterday I bought myself some boots and they, I venture to assure you, squeak so loud, it’s quite out of the question. What’s the best kind of grease?
LOPAKHIN. Leave me alone. You wear me out.
YEPIKHODOV. Every day I experience some kind of hard luck. But I don’t complain, I’m used to it. I even smile.
DUNYASHA enters and gives Lopakhin a glass of kvas.11
YEPIKHODOV. I’m on my way. (Bumps into a chair, which falls over.) Look . . . (As if in triumph.) There, you see, pardon the expression, what a circumstance, one of many . . . It’s simply incredible! (He exits.)
DUNYASHA. I have to confess, Yermolay Alekseich, Yepikhodov proposed to me.
LOPAKHIN. Ah!
DUNYASHA. I don’t know how to handle it . . . He’s a quiet sort, but sometimes he just starts talking, and you can’t understand a word. It’s nice and it’s sensitive, only you can’t understand a word. I kind of like him. He’s madly in love with me. As a person he’s always in trouble, something goes wrong every day. So around here we’ve taken to calling him Tons of Trouble . . .12
LOPAKHIN (hearkening). Listen, I think they’re coming . . .
DUNYASHA. They’re coming! What’s the matter with me . . . I’ve got cold chills.
LOPAKHIN. They’re coming. Let’s go meet them. Will she recognize me? It’s five years since last we met.