LYUBOV ANDREEVNA. Chop it down? My dear, forgive me, but you don’t understand at all. If there’s anything of interest in the entire district, even outstanding, it’s none other than our cherry orchard.27
LOPAKHIN. The only outstanding thing about this orchard is it’s very big. The soil produces cherries every other year, and then there’s no way to get rid of them, nobody buys them.
GAEV. The Encyclopedia makes reference to this orchard . . .
LOPAKHIN (after a glance at his watch). If we don’t think up something and come to some decision, then on the twenty-second of August the cherry orchard and the whole estate will be sold at auction. Make up your mind! There’s no other way out, I promise you. Absolutely none.
FIRS. In the old days, forty-fifty years back, cherries were dried, preserved, pickled, made into jam, and sometimes . . .
GAEV. Be quiet, Firs.
FIRS. And used to be whole cartloads of dried cherries were sent to Moscow and Kharkov. Then there was money! And in those days the dried cherries were tender, juicy, sweet, tasty . . . They had a recipe then . . .
LYUBOV ANDREEVNA. And where’s that recipe today?
FIRS. It’s forgot. Nobody remembers.
PISHCHIK (to Lyubov). What’s going on in Paris? What was it like? You eat frogs?
LYUBOV ANDREEVNA. I ate crocodiles.
PISHCHIK. Can you imagine . . .
LOPAKHIN. So far there’s only been gentry and peasants in the country, but now there’s these vacationers. Every town, even the smallest, is surrounded these days by summer cottages. And I’ll bet that over the next twenty-odd years the summer vacationer will multiply fantastically. Now all he does is drink tea on his balcony, but it might just happen that on his two and a half acres he starts growing things, and then your cherry orchard will become happy, rich, lush . . .
GAEV (getting indignant). What drivel!
Enter VARYA and YASHA.
VARYA. Mama dear, there are two telegrams for you. (Selects a key; with a jangle opens the antique cupboard.) Here they are.
LYUBOV ANDREEVNA. They’re from Paris. (Tears up the telegrams without reading them.) I’m through with Paris . . .
GAEV. Lyuba, do you know how old that cupboard is? A week ago I pulled out the bottom drawer, took a look, and there are numbers branded on it. This cupboard was built exactly one hundred years ago. How d’you like that? Eh? Maybe we ought to celebrate its centenary. An inanimate object, but all the same, any way you look at it, this cupboard is a repository for books.
PISHCHIK (astounded). A hundred years . . . Can you imagine!
GAEV. Yes . . . This thing . . . (Stroking the cupboard.) Dear, venerated cupboard! I salute your existence, which for over a century has been dedicated to enlightened ideals of virtue and justice; your unspoken appeal to constructive endeavor has not faltered in the course of a century, sustaining (through tears) in generations of our line, courage, faith in a better future and nurturing within us ideals of decency and social consciousness.28
Pause.
LOPAKHIN. Right . . .
LYUBOV ANDREEVNA. You’re still the same, Lyonya.
GAEV (somewhat embarrassed). Carom to the right corner! Red in the center!
LOPAKHIN (glancing at his watch). Well, my time’s up.
YASHA (handing medicine to Lyubov). Maybe you’ll take your pills now . . .
PISHCHIK. Shouldn’t take medicine, dearest lady . . . It does no good, or harm . . . Hand ‘em over . . . most respected lady. (He takes the pills, shakes them into his palm, blows on them, pops them into his mouth, and drinks some kvas.) There!
LYUBOV ANDREEVNA (alarmed). You’ve gone crazy!
PISHCHIK. I took all the pills.
LOPAKHIN. He’s a bottomless pit.
They all laugh.
FIRS. The gent stayed with us Holy Week, ate half a bucket of pickles . . . (Mumbles.)
LYUBOV ANDREEVNA. What is he on about?
VARYA. For three years now he’s been mumbling like that. We’re used to it.
YASHA. Second childhood.
CHARLOTTA IVANOVNA crosses the stage in a white dress. She is very slender, tightly laced, with a pair of pince-nez on a cord at her waist.
LOPAKHIN. Excuse me, Charlotta Ivanovna, I haven’t had time yet to welcome you back. (Tries to kiss her hand.)
CHARLOTTA (pulling her hand away). If I let you kiss a hand, next you’d be after a elbow, then a shoulder . . .
LOPAKHIN. My unlucky day.
Everybody laughs.
Charlotta Ivanovna, show us a trick!
LYUBOV ANDREEVNA. Charlotta, show us a trick!
CHARLOTTA. Nothing doing. I want to go to bed. (Exits.)
LOPAKHIN. Three weeks from now we’ll meet again. (Kisses Lyubov Andre-evna’s hand.) Meanwhile, good-bye. It’s time. (To Gaev.) Be suing you.29 (Exchanges kisses with Pishchik.) Be suing you. (Gives his hand to Varya, then to Firs and Yasha.) I don’t want to go. (To Lyubov Andreevna.) If you reconsider this cottage business and come to a decision, then let me know, I’ll arrange a loan of fifty thousand or so. Give it some serious thought.
VARYA (angrily). Well, go if you’re going!
LOPAKHIN. I’m going, I’m going . . . (He leaves.)
GAEV. Oaf. All right, pardon . . . Varya’s going to marry him, that’s our Varya’s little intended!
VARYA. Don’t say anything uncalled for, uncle dear.
LYUBOV ANDREEVNA. So what, Varya, I’ll be very glad. He’s a good man.
PISHCHIK. A man, you’ve got to tell the truth . . . most worthy . . . And my Dashenka . . . also says that . . . says all sorts of things. (Snores but immediately wakes up.) But by the way, most respected lady, lend me . . . . two hundred and forty rubles . . . tomorrow I’ve got to pay the interest on the mortgage . . .30
VARYA (alarmed). We’re all out, all out!
LYUBOV ANDREEVNA. As a matter of fact, I haven’t a thing.
PISHCHIK. It’ll turn up. (Laughs.) I never lose hope. There, I think, all is lost, I’m a goner, lo and behold! — the railroad runs across my land and . . . pays me for it. And then, watch, something else will happen sooner or later . . . Dashenka will win two hundred thousand . . . she’s got a lottery ticket.
LYUBOV ANDREEVNA. The coffee’s finished, now we can go to bed.
FIRS (brushes Gaev’s clothes, scolding). You didn’t put on the right trousers again. What am I going to do with you!
VARYA (quietly). Anya’s asleep. (Quietly opens a window.) The sun’s up already, it’s not so cold. Look, Mama dear, what wonderful trees! My goodness, the air! The starlings are singing!