Trofimov, softly, through tears: There . • . there.
Mme. RANEVSKAYA, weeping quietly: My little boy was lost . . . drowned. Why? Why, my friend? More quietly. Anya's asleep in there, and here I am talking so loudly . . . making all this noise. . . . But tell me,
Petya, why do you look so badly? Why have you aged
so?
tnofimov: A mangy master, a peasant woman in the train called me.
Mme. Ranevskaya: You were just a boy then, a dear little student, and now your hair's thin—and you're wearing glasses! Is it possible you're still a student? Goes towards the door.
tnofimov: I suppose I'm a perpetual student.
Mme. Ranevskaya, kisses her brother, then Varya: Now, go to bed . . . You have aged, too, Leonid.
pishcink, follows her: So now we turn in. Oh, my gout! I'm staying the night here . . . Lubov Andre- yevna, my angel, tomorrow morning. . . . I do need 240 rubles.
Gayev: He keeps at it.
pisiichik: I'll pay it back, dear . . . it's a trifling sum.
Mme. r^^vskaya: All right, Leonid will give it to you. Give it to him, Leonid.
Gayev: Me give it to him! That's a good one!
Mme. ranevskaya: It can't be helped. Give it to him! He needs it. He'll pay it back.
\hie. Ranevskaya, tnofimov, Pishchik, and Frns go out; Gayev, Varya, and Yasia remain.
GAYEv: Sister hasn't got out of the habit of throwing money around. To YaSHA. Go away, my good fellow, you smell of the barnyard.
Yasha, with a grin: And you, Leonid Andreyevich, are just the same as ever.
Gayev: Who? To Varya: What did he say?
Varya, to YaSHA: Your mother's come from the vil- lage; she's been sitting in the servants' room since yes- terday, waiting to see you.
YASHA: Botheration!
VARYA: You should be ashamed of yourself!
Yasha: She's all I needed! She could have come to- morrow. Exits.
Varya: Mamma is just the same as ever; she hasn't changed a bit. If she had her own way, she'd keep noth- ing for herself.
Gayev: Yes . . . Pauses. If a great many remedies are offered for some disease, it means it is incurable; I keep thinking and racking my brains; I have many remedies, ever so many, and that really means none. It would be fine if we came in for a legacy; it would be fine if we married off our Anya to a very rich man; or we might go to Yaroslavl and try our luck with our aunt, the Countess. She's very, very rich, you know . . .
Varya, weeping: If only God would help us!
Gayev: Stop bawling. Aunt's very rich, but she doesn't like us. In the first place, sister married a lawyer who was no nobleman . . . Anya appears in the door- way. She married beneath her, and it can't be said that her behavior has been very exemplary. She's good, kind, sweet, and I love her, but no matter what extenuating circumstances you may adduce, there's no denying that she has no morals. You sense it in her least gesture.
VARYA, in a whisper: Anya's in the doorway.
GAYEv: Who? Pauses. It's queer, something got into my right eye—my eyes are going back on nie. . . . And on Thursday, when I was in the circuit court—
Enter ^^a.
Varya: Why aren't you asleep, Anya?
Anya: I can't get to sleep, I just can't.
Gayev: My little pet! Kisses Anya's face and hands. My child! Weeps. You are not my niece, you're my angel! You're everything to me. Believe me, believe—
Anya: I believe you, uncle. Everyone loves you and respects you . . . but, uncle dear, you must keep stiU. . . . You must. What were you saying just now about my mother? Your sister? What made you say that?
GAYEv: Yes; yes . . . Covers his face with her hand. Really, that was awful! Good Godl Heaven help me! Just now I made a speech to the bookcase . . . so stupid! And only after I was through, I saw how stupid it was.
Varya: It's true, uncle dear, you ought to keep stiU. Just don't talk, that's all.
^ota: If you could only keep stiU, it would make things easier for you too.
Gayev: I'll keep still. Kisses ANYA's and Varya's handsnds. I will. But now about business. On Thursday I was in court; well, there were a number of us there, and we began talking of one thing and another, and this and that, and do you know, I believe it will be possible to raise a loan on a promissory note, to pay the interest at the bank.
Varya: If only God would help us! Gayev: On Tuesday I'll go and see about it again. To Varya. Stop bawling. To Anya. Your mamma will talk to Lopahin, and he, of course, will not refuse her . . . and as soon as you're rested, you'll go to Yaroslavl to the Countess, your great-aunt. So we'll be working in three directions at once, and the thing is in the bag. We'll pay the interest—I'm sure of it. Puts a candy in his mouth. I swear on my honor, I swear by anything you like, the estate shan't be sold. Excitedly. I swear by my own hap- piness! Here's my hand on it, you can call me a swin- dler and a scoundrel if I let it come to an auction! I swear by my whole being.
^ota, relieved and quite happy again: How good you are, uncle, and how clever! Embraces him. Now I'm at peace, quite at peace, I'm happy.
Enter FiRS.
FIRS, reproachfully: Leonid Andreyevich, have you no fear of God? When are you going to bed?
Gayev: Directly, directly. Go away, Firs, I'll . . . yes, I will undress myself. Now, children, 'nightie- 'nightie. We'll consider details tomorrow, but now go to sleep. Kisses Anya and Varya. I am a man of the 'Eighties; they have nothing good to say of that period nowadays. Nevertheless, in the course of my life I have suffered not a little for my convictions. It's not for noth- ing that the peasant loves me; one should know the peasant; one should know from which—
Anya: There you go again, uncle.
Varya: Uncle dear, be quiet.
FIRS, angrily: Leonid Andreyevich!
Gayev: I'm coming, I'm coming! Go to bed! Double bank shot in the side pocket! Here goes a clean shot . . .
Exits, Fms hobbling after him.
^ota: I am at peace now. I don't want to go to Yaro- slavl—I don't like my great-aunt, but still, I am at peace, thanks to uncle. Sits down.
Varya: We must get some sleep. I'm going now. While you were away something unpleasant happened. In the old servants' quarters there are only the old peo- ple, as you know; Yefim, Polya, Yevstigney, and Karp, too. They began letting all sorts of rascals in to spend the night. ... I didn't say anything. Then I heard they'd been spreading a report that I gave them nothing but dried peas to eat—out of stinginess, you know . . • and it was all Yevstigney's doing. . . . All right, I thought, if that's how it is, I thought, just wait. I sent for Yevstigney. . . . Yawns. He comes. . . . "How's this, Yevstigney?" I say, "You fool . . ." Looking at Anya. Anichkal Pauses. She's asleep. Putsher arm around
Anya. Come to your little bed. . . . Come . . • Leads her. My darling has fallen asleep. • . . Come.
They go out. Far away beyond the orchard a shepherd is piping. Trofimov crosses the stage and, seeing Varya and ANYA, stands still.