LYUBOV ANDREEVNA. Oh, my sins . . . I’ve always thrown money around wildly, like a maniac, and married a man who produced nothing but debts. My husband died of champagne — he was a terrible drunkard,—and, then, to add to my troubles, I fell in love with another man, had an affair, and just at that time — this was my first punishment, dropped right on my head,—over there in the river . . . my little boy drowned, and I went abroad, went for good, never to return, never to see that river again . . . I shut my eyes, ran away, out of my mind, and he came after me . . . cruelly, brutally. I bought a villa near Mentone, because he fell ill there, and for three years I didn’t know what it was to rest day or night: the invalid wore me out, my heart shriveled up. But last year, when the villa was sold to pay my debts, I went to Paris, and there he robbed me, ran off, had an affair with another woman, I tried to poison myself . . . so silly, so shameful . . . and suddenly I was drawn back to Russia, to my country, to my little girl . . . (Wipes away her tears.) Lord, Lord, be merciful, forgive me my sins! Don’t punish me any more! (Takes a telegram out of her pocket.) I received this today from Paris . . . He begs my forgiveness, implores me to come back . . . (Tears up telegram.) Sounds like music somewhere. (Listens.)
GAEV. That’s our famous Jewish orchestra. You remember, four fiddles, a flute, and a double bass.
LYUBOV ANDREEVNA. Does it still exist? We ought to hire them some time and throw a party.
LOPAKHIN (listening). I don’t hear it . . . (Sings softly.) “And for cash the Prussians will frenchify the Russians.” (Laughs.) That was some play I saw at the theater yesterday, very funny.
LYUBOV ANDREEVNA. And most likely there was nothing funny about it. You have no business looking at plays, you should look at yourselves more. You all live such gray lives, you talk such nonsense.
LOPAKHIN. That’s true, I’ve got to admit, this life of ours is idiotic . . .
Pause.
My dad was a peasant, an imbecile, he didn’t understand anything, didn’t teach me, all he did was get drunk and beat me, with the same old stick. Deep down, I’m the same kind of blockhead and imbecile. I never studied anything, my handwriting is disgusting, I write, I’m ashamed to show it to people, like a pig.
LYUBOV ANDREEVNA. You ought to get married, my friend.
LOPAKHIN. Yes . . . that’s true.
LYUBOV ANDREEVNA. You should marry our Varya; she’s a good girl.
LOPAKHIN. Yes.
LYUBOV ANDREEVNA. She came to me from peasant stock, she works all day long, but the main thing is she loves you. Besides, you’ve been fond of her a long time.
LOPAKHIN. Why not? I’m not against it . . . She’s a good girl.
Pause.
GAEV. They’re offering me a position at the bank. Six thousand a year . . . Have you heard?
LYUBOV ANDREEVNA. You indeed! Stay where you are . . .
FIRS enters, carrying an overcoat.
FIRS (to Gaev). Please, sir, put it on, or you’ll get wet.
GAEV (putting on the overcoat). You’re a pest, my man.
FIRS. Never you mind . . . This morning you went out, didn’t tell nobody. (Inspects him.)
LYUBOV ANDREEVNA. How old you’re getting, Firs!
FIRS. What’s wanted?
LOPAKHIN. The mistress says, you’re getting very old!
FIRS. I’ve lived a long time. They were making plans to marry me off, long before your daddy even saw the light . . . (Laughs.) And when freedom came,401 was already head footman. I didn’t go along with freedom then, I stayed by the masters . . .
Pause.
And I recollect they was all glad, but what they was glad about, that they didn’t know.
LOPAKHIN. It used to be nice all right. In those days you could at least get flogged.
FIRS (not having heard). I’ll say. The peasants stood by the masters, the masters stood by the peasants, but now things is every which way, you can’t figure it out.
GAEV. Keep quiet, Firs. Tomorrow I have to go to town. They promised to introduce me to some general, who might make us a loan on an I.O.U.
LOPAKHIN. Nothing’ll come of it. And you won’t pay the interest, never fear.
LYUBOV ANDREEVNA. He’s raving. There are no such generals.
Enter TROFIMOV, ANYA, and VARYA.
GAEV. Look, here comes our crowd.
ANYA. Mama’s sitting down.
LYUBOV ANDREEVNA (tenderly). Come here, come . . . My darlings . . . (Embracing Anya and Varya.) If only you both knew how much I love you. Sit beside me, that’s right.
Everyone sits down.
LOPAKHIN. Our perpetual student is always stepping out with the young ladies.
TROFIMOV. None of your business.
LOPAKHIN. Soon he’ll be fifty and he’ll still be a student.
TROFIMOV. Stop your idiotic jokes.
LOPAKHIN. What are you getting angry about, you crank?
TROFIMOV. Stop pestering me.
LOPAKHIN (laughs). And may I ask, what do you make of me?
TROFIMOV. This is what I make of you, Yermolay Alekseich: you’re a rich man, soon you’ll be a millionaire. And just as an essential component in the conversion of matter is the wild beast that devours whatever crosses its path, you’re essential.
Everyone laughs.
VARYA. Petya, tell us about the planets instead.
LYUBOV ANDREEVNA. No, let’s go on with yesterday’s discussion.
TROFIMOV. What was that about?
GAEV. Human pride.41
TROFIMOV. Yesterday we talked for quite a while, but we didn’t get anywhere. Human pride, as you see it, has something mystical about it. Maybe you’re right from your point of view, but if we reason it out simply, without frills, what’s the point of human pride, what’s the sense of it, if man is poorly constructed physiologically, if the vast majority is crude, unthinking, profoundly wretched. We should stop admiring ourselves. We should just work.
GAEV. All the same you’ll die.
TROFIMOV. Who knows? What does that mean — you’ll die? Maybe man has a hundred senses and in death only the five we know perish, the remaining ninety-five live on.
LYUBOV ANDREEVNA. Aren’t you clever, Petya! . . .
LOPAKHIN (ironically). Awfully!
TROFIMOV. Mankind is advancing, perfecting its powers. Everything that’s unattainable for us now will some day come within our grasp and our understanding, only we’ve got to work, to help the truth seekers with all our might. So far here in Russia, very few people do any work. The vast majority of educated people, as I know them, pursues nothing, does nothing, and so far isn’t capable of work. They call themselves intellectuals, but they refer to the servants by pet names,42 treat the peasants like animals, are poorly informed, read nothing serious, do absolutely nothing, just talk about science, barely understand art. They’re all earnest, they all have serious faces, they all talk only about major issues, they philosophize, but meanwhile anybody can see that the working class is abominably fed, sleeps without pillows, thirty or forty to a room, everywhere bedbugs, stench,43 damp, moral pollution . . . So obviously all our nice chitchat serves only to shut our eyes to ourselves and to others. Show me, where are the day-care centers we talk so much about, where are the reading rooms? People only write about them in novels, in fact there aren’t any. There’s only dirt, vulgarity, Asiatic inertia . . .44 I’m afraid of, I don’t like very earnest faces, I’m afraid of earnest discussions. It’s better to keep still!