TROFIMOV. Is that so?
LYUBOV ANDREEVNA. You should act like a man, at your age you should understand people in love. And you should be in love yourself . . . you should fall in love! (Angrily.) Yes, yes! And there’s no purity in you, you’re simply a puritan, a funny crackpot, a freak . . .
TROFIMOV (aghast). What is she saying?
LYUBOV ANDREEVNA. “I am above love!” You’re not above love, you’re simply, as our Firs says, a half-baked bungler. At your age not to have a mistress! . . .
TROFIMOV (aghast). This is horrible! What is she saying! (Rushes to the ballroom, clutching his head.) This is horrible . . . I can’t stand it, I’m going . (Exits, but immediately returns.) All is over between us! (Exits to the hall.)
LYUBOV ANDREEVNA (shouting after him). Petya, wait! You funny man, I was joking! Petya!
We hear in the hallway someone running up the stairs and suddenly falling back down with a crash. ANYA and VARYA shriek, but immediately there is the sound of laughter.
LYUBOV ANDREEVNA. What’s going on in there?
ANYA runs in.
ANYA (laughing). Petya fell down the stairs! (Runs out.)
LYUBOV ANDREEVNA. What a crackpot that Petya is . . .
The STATION MASTER stops in the middle of the ballroom and recites Aleksey Tolstoy’s “The Sinful Woman.” 60 The guests listen, but barely has he recited a few lines, when the strains of a waltz reach them from the hallway, and the recitation breaks off. Everyone dances. Enter from the hall, TROFIMOV, ANYA, VARYA, and LYUBOV ANDREEVNA.
Well, Petya . . . well, my pure-in-heart . . . I apologize . . . let’s dance . . . (Dances with TROFIMOV.)
ANYA and VARYA dance.
FIRS enters, leaves his stick by the side door. YASHA also enters the drawing-room, watching the dancers.
YASHA. What’s up, Gramps?
FIRS. I’m none too well. In the old days we had generals, barons, admirals dancing at our parties, but now we send for the postal clerk and the station master, yes and they don’t come a-running. Somehow I got weak. The late master, the grandfather, doctored everybody with sealing wax for every ailment. I’ve took sealing wax every day now for twenty-odd years, and maybe more, maybe that’s why I’m still alive.61
YASHA. You bore me stiff, Gramps. (Yawns.) How about dropping dead.
FIRS. Eh, you . . . half-baked bungler! (Mutters.)
TROFIMOV and LYUBOV ANDREEVNA dance in the ballroom, then in the drawing-room.
LYUBOV ANDREEVNA. Merci. I’m going to sit for a bit . . . (Sits down.) I’m tired.
Enter ANYA.
ANYA (upset). Just now in the kitchen some man was saying the cherry orchard’s been sold already.
LYUBOV ANDREEVNA. Sold to whom?
ANYA. He didn’t say. He left. (Dances with TROFIMOV; they both go into the ballroom.)
YASHA. There was some old man muttering away. Not one of ours.
FIRS. And Leonid Andreich still isn’t back, still not home. That topcoat he’s got on’s too flimsy, for between seasons, see if he don’t catch cold. Eh, when they’re young, they’re green!
LYUBOV ANDREEVNA. I’ll die this instant! Yasha, go and find out to whom it’s been sold.
YASHA. He went away a long time ago, that old man. (Laughs.)
LYUBOV ANDREEVNA (somewhat annoyed). Well, what are you laughing about? What’s made you so happy?
YASHA. Yepikhodov’s awfully funny. The man’s incompetent. Tons of Trouble.
LYUBOV ANDREEVNA. Firs, if the estate is sold, then where will you go?
FIRS. Wherever you order, there I’ll go.
LYUBOV ANDREEVNA. Why is your face like that? Aren’t you well? You know you ought to be in bed . . .
FIRS. Yes—(with a grin) I go to bed, and with me gone, who’ll serve, who’ll look after things? I’m the only one in the whole house.
YASHA (to Lyubov Andreevna). Lyubov Andreevna! Let me ask you a favor, be so kind! If you go off to Paris again, take me with you, please. For me to stick around here is absolutely out of the question. (Glances around, lowers his voice.) It goes without saying, you can see for yourself, the country’s uncivilized, the people are immoral, not to mention the boredom, in the kitchen they feed us garbage and there’s that Firs going around, muttering all kinds of improper remarks. Take me with you, be so kind!
Enter PISHCHIK.
PISHCHIK. May I request . . . a teeny waltz, loveliest of ladies . . . (LYUBOV ANDREEVNA goes with him.) Enchanting lady, I’ll borrow a hundred and eighty little rubles off you just the same . . . Yes, I will . . . (Dances.) A hundred and eighty little rubles . . .
They have passed into the ballroom.
YASHA (singing softly). “Wilt thou learn my soul’s unrest . . .”62
In the ballroom a figure in a gray top hat and checked trousers waves its arms and jumps up and down; shouts of “Bravo, Charlotta Ivanovna!”
DUNYASHA (stops to powder her nose). The young mistress orders me to dance — lots of gentlemen and few ladies—but dancing makes my head swim, my heart pound, Firs Nikolaevich, and just now the postal clerk told me something that took my breath away.
Music subsides.
FIRS. Well, what did he tell you?
DUNYASHA. You, he says, are like a flower.
YASHA (yawns). How uncouth . . . (Exits.)
DUNYASHA. Like a flower . . . I’m such a sensitive girl, I’m awfully fond of compliments.
FIRS. You’ll get your head turned.
Enter YEPIKHODOV.
YEPIKHODOV. Avdotya Fyodorovna, you don’t wish to see me . . . as if I were some sort of bug. (Sighs.) Ech, life!
DUNYASHA. What can I do for you?
YEPIKHODOV. Indubitably you may be right. (Sighs.) But, of course, if it’s considered from a standpoint, then you, if I may venture the expression, pardon my outspokenness, positively drove me into a state of mind. I know my lot, every day I run into some kind of trouble, and I’ve grown accustomed to that long ago, so I look upon my destiny with a smile. You gave me your word, and even though I . . .
DUNYASHA. Please, let’s talk later on, but leave me alone for now. I’m dreaming now. (Toys with her fan.)
YEPIKHODOV. Every day I run into trouble, and I, if I may venture the expression, merely smile, even laugh.
Enter VARYA from the ballroom.
VARYA. Haven’t you gone yet, Semyon? Honestly, you are the most disrespectful man. (To Dunyasha.) Clear out of here, Dunyasha. (To Yepikhodov.) If you’re not playing billiards and breaking the cue, you’re lounging around the drawing-room like a guest.