Curtain
ACT FOUR
First act setting. Neither curtains on the windows nor pictures on the wall, a few sticks of furniture remain, piled up in a corner as if for sale. A feeling of emptiness. Near the door to the outside and at the back of the stage are piles of suitcases, traveling bags, etc. The door at left is open, and through it we can hear the voices of Varya and Anya. LOPAKHIN stands, waiting. YASHA is holding a tray of glasses filled with champagne. In the hallway, YEPIKHODOV is tying up a carton. Offstage, at the back, a murmur. It’s the peasants come to say good-bye. GAEV’s voice: “Thank you, friends, thank you.”
YASHA. The common folk have come to say good-bye. I’m of the opinion, Yermolay Alekseich, they’re decent enough people, but not very bright.
The murmur subsides. Enter through the hall LYUBOV ANDREEVNA and GAEV. She isn’t crying, but is pale, her face twitches, she can’t talk.
GAEV. You gave them your purse, Lyuba. You shouldn’t have! You shouldn’t have!
LYUBOV ANDREEVNA. I couldn’t help it! I couldn’t help it!
They go out.
LOPAKHIN (through the door, after them). Please, I humbly beseech you! A little drink at parting! It didn’t occur to me to bring any from town, and at the station I only found one bottle. Please!
Pause.
How about it, ladies and gentlemen? Don’t you want any? (Walks away from the door.) If I’d known, I wouldn’t have bought it. Well, I won’t drink any either.
YASHA carefully sets the tray on a chair.
Drink up, Yasha, you have some.
YASHA. Greetings to those departing!64 And happy days to the stay-at-homes! (Drinks.) This champagne isn’t the genuine article, you can take it from me.
LOPAKHIN. Eight rubles a bottle.
Pause.
It’s cold as hell in here.
YASHA. They didn’t stoke up today, it doesn’t matter, we’re leaving. (Laughs.)
LOPAKHIN. What’s that for?
YASHA. Sheer satisfaction.
LOPAKHIN. Outside it’s October, but sunny and mild, like summer. Good building weather. (Glances at his watch, at the door.) Ladies and gentlemen, remember, until the train leaves, there’s forty-six minutes in all! Which means, in twenty minutes we start for the station. Get a move on.
Enter from outdoors TROFIMOV in an overcoat.
TROFIMOV. Seems to me it’s time to go now. The horses are at the door. Where the hell are my galoshes? Disappeared. (Through the door.) Anya, my galoshes aren’t here! I can’t find them!
LOPAKHIN. And I have to be in Kharkov. I’ll go with you on the same train. I’m spending all winter in Kharkov. I’ve been hanging around here with you, I’m worn out with nothing to do. I’ve got to be doing something, I don’t even know where to put my hands; they dangle this funny way, like somebody else’s.
TROFIMOV. We’ll be going soon, and you can return to your productive labors.
LOPAKHIN. Do have a little drink.
TROFIMOV. None for me.
LOPAKHIN. In other words, back to Moscow now?
TROFIMOV. Yes, I’ll go with them as far as town, but tomorrow back to Moscow.
LOPAKHIN. Yes . . . Hey, the professors are on a lecture strike, I’ll bet they’re waiting for you to show up!
TROFIMOV. None of your business.
LOPAKHIN. How many years have you been studying at the University?
TROFIMOV. Think up something fresher. That’s old and stale. (Looks for his galoshes.) You know, it’s unlikely we’ll ever meet again, so let me give you a piece of advice as a farewelclass="underline" don’t wave your arms! Break yourself of that habit—arm-waving. And cottage-building as well, figuring that vacationers will eventually turn into property owners, figuring that way is just the same as arm-waving . . . Anyhow, I can’t help liking you. You’ve got delicate, gentle fingers, like an artist, you’ve got a delicate, gentle heart . . .65
LOPAKHIN (hugs him). Good-bye, my boy. Thanks for everything. If you need it, borrow some money from me for the trip.
TROFIMOV. What for? Don’t need it.
LOPAKHIN. But you don’t have any!
TROFIMOV. I do. Thank you. I got some for a translation. Here it is, in my pocket. (Anxiously.) But my galoshes are missing!
VARYA (from the next room). Take your nasty things! (She flings a pair of rubber galoshes on stage.)
TROFIMOV. What are you upset about, Varya? Hm . . . But these aren’t my galoshes!
LOPAKHIN. Last spring I planted nearly three thousand acres of poppies, and now I’ve cleared forty thousand net. And when my poppies bloomed, it was like a picture! So look, what I’m getting at is, I cleared forty thousand, which means I offer you a loan because I can afford it. Why turn up your nose? I’m a peasant . . . plain and simple.
TROFIMOV. Your father was a peasant, mine a druggist, and it all adds up to absolutely nothing.
LOPAKHIN pulls out his wallet.
Don’t bother, don’t bother . . . Even if you gave me two hundred thousand, I wouldn’t take it. I’m a free man. And everything that you all value so highly and fondly, rich men and beggars alike, hasn’t the slightest effect on me, it’s like fluff floating in the air. I can manage without you, I can pass you by, I’m strong and proud. Humanity is moving toward the most sublime truth, the most sublime happiness possible on earth, and I’m in the front ranks!
LOPAKHIN. Will you get there?
TROFIMOV. I’ll get there.
Pause.
I’ll get there, or I’ll blaze a trail for others to get there.
We hear in the distance an axe striking a tree.
LOPAKHIN. Well, good-bye, my boy. Time to go. We turn up our noses at one another, while life keeps slipping by. When I work a long time nonstop, then my thoughts are clearer, and I even seem to know why I exist. But, pal, how many people there are in Russia who don’t know why they exist. Well, what’s the difference, that’s not what makes the world go round. Leonid Andreich, they say, took a job, he’ll be in the bank, six thousand a year . . . Only he won’t keep at it, too lazy . . .
ANYA (in the doorway). Mama begs you: until she’s gone, not to chop down the orchard.
TROFIMOV. I mean really, haven’t you got any tact . . . (Exits through the hall.)
LOPAKHIN. Right away, right away . . . These people, honestly! (Exits after him.)
ANYA. Did they take Firs to the hospital?
YASHA. I told them to this morning. They took him, I should think.
ANYA (to Yepikhodov, who is crossing through the room). Semyon Panteleich, please find out whether Firs was taken to the hospital.
YASHA (offended). I told Yegor this morning. Why ask a dozen times?
YEPIKHODOV. Superannuated Firs, in my conclusive opinion, is past all repairing, he should be gathered to his fathers. And I can only envy him. (Sets a suitcase on top of a cardboard hatbox and crushes it.) Well, look at that, typical. I should have known.