YASHA: They didn't light the stoves today—it wasn't worth it, since we're leaving. Laughs.
Lopahin: Why are you laughing?
Yasha: It's just that I'm pleased.
Lop^mn: It's October, yet it's as still and sunny as though it were summer. Good weather for building. Looks at his watch, and speaks off. Bear in mind, ladies and gentlemen, the train goes in forty-seven minutes, so you ought to start for the station in twenty minutes. Better hurry up!
Enter Trofimov wearing an overcoat.
TROFIMOV: I think it's time to start. The carriages are at the door. The devil only knows what's become of my rubbers; they've disappeared. Calling off. Anyal My rubbers are gone. I can't find them.
LopAjnN: I've got to go to Kharkov. I'll take the same train you do. I'll spend the winter in Kharkov. I've been hanging round here with you, till I'm worn out with loafing. I can't live without work—I don't know what to do with my hands, they dangle as if they didn't belong to me.
TROFIMOV: Well, we'll soon be gone, then you can go on with your useful labors again.
LopAinN: Have a glass.
Trofimov: No, I won't
LOPAIDN: So you're going to Moscow now?
THOFIMOV: Yes. I'll see them into to^, and tomor- row I'll go on to Moscow.
Lopahin: Well, I'll wager the professors aren't giv- ing any lectures, they're waiting for you to come.
TROFIMOV: That's none of your business.
Lopahin: Just how many years have you been at the university?
TROFIMOV: Can't you think of something new? Your joke's stale and flat. Looking for his rubbers. Well probably never see each other again, so allow me to give you a piece of advice at parting: don't wave your hands about! Get out of the habit. And another thing: building bungalows, figuring that summer residents will eventually become small farmers, figuring like that is just another form of waving your hands about. . . . Never mind, I love you anyway; you have fine, delicate fingers, like an artist; you have a fine, delicate soul.
Lopahin, embracing him: Good-by, my dear fellow. Thank you for everything. Let me give you some money for the journey, if you need it.
Trofimov: What for? I don't need it.
Lopahin: But you haven't any.
Trofimov: Yes, I have, thank you. I got some money for a translation—here it is in my pocket. Amiously. But where are my rubbers?
Varya, from the next room: Herel Take the nasty things. Flings a pair of rubbers onto the stage.
Trofimov: What are you so cross about, Varya? Hm . . . and these are not my rubbers.
Lopahin: I sowed three thousand acres of poppies in the spring, and now I've made 40,000 on them, clear profit; and when my poppies were in bloom, what a picture it was! So, as I say, I made 40,000; and I am offering you a loan because I can aford it. Why turn up your nose at it? I'm a peasant—I speak bluntly.
Trofimov: Your father was a peasant, mine was a druggist—that proves absolutely nothing whatever. Lopahin takes out his wallet. Don't, put that away! If you were to offer me two hundred thousand I wouldn't take it. I'm a free man. And everything that all of you, rich and poor alike, value so highly and hold so dear, hasn't the slightest power over me. It's like so much fluff floating in the air. I can get on without you, I can pass you by, I'm strong and proud. Mankind is moving towards the highest truth, towards the highest happi- ness possible on earth, and I am in the front ranks.
Lopahin: Will you get there?
TROFIMOV: I will. Pause. I wiU get there, or I wiU show others the way to get there.
The sound of axes chopping do^ trees is heard in the distance.
Lopaiiin: Well, good-by, my dear fellow. It's time to leave. We turn up our noses at one another, but life goes on just the same. When I'm working hard, without resting, my mind is easier, and it seems to me that I too know why I exist. But how many people are there in Russia, brother, who exist nobody knows why? Well, it doesn't matter. That's not what makes the wheels go round. They say Leonid Andreyevich has taken a posi- tion in the bank, 6,000 rubles a year. Only, of course, he won't stick to it, he's too lazy. . . .
Anya, in the doorway: Mamma begs you not to start cutting down the cherry-trees until she's gone.
Trofimov: Really, you should have more tact! Exits.
LopAHIN: Right away—right away! Those men . . . Exits.
^^a: Has Firs been taken to the hospital?
Yasha: I told them this morning. They must have taken him.
Anya, to Yepihodov who crosses the room: Yepi- hodov, please find out if Firs has been taken to the hospital.
YASHA, offended: I told Yegor this morning. Why ask a dozen times?
YEPIHODOv: The aged Firs, in my definitive opinion, is beyond mending. It's time he was gathered to his fathers. And I can only envy him. Puts a suitcase do^ on a hat-box and crushes it. There now, of course. I knew it! Exits.
YASHA, mockingly: Two-and-Twenty Troubles!
Varya, through the door: Has Firs been taken to the hospital?
ANYA: Yes.
Varya: Then why wasn't the note for the doctor taken too?
Anya: Oh! Then someone must take it to him. Exits.
Varya, from, adpining room: Where's Yasha? Tell him his mother's come and wants to say good-by.
YASHA, waves his hand: She tries my patience.
DuNYASHA has been occupied with the luggage. See- ing YASHA alone, she goes up to him.
Dunyasha: You might just give me one little look, Yasha. You're going away. . . • You're leaving me . . . Weeps and throws herself on his neck.
YASHA: What's there to cry about? Drinks cham- pagne. In six days I shall be in Paris again. Tomorrow we get into an express train and off we go, that's the last you'll see of us. . • . I can scarcely believe it. Vive la France! It don't suit me here, I just can't live here. That's all there is to it. I'm fed up with the ignorance here, I've had enough of it. Drinks champagne. What's there to cry about? Behave yourself properly, and you'll have no cause to cry.
DuNYASHA, powders her face, looking in pocket mir- ror: Do send me a letter from Paris. You know I loved you, Yasha, how I loved you! I'm a delicate creature, Yasha.
YASHA: Somebody's coming! Busies himself with the luggage; hums softly.
Enter M^. RANEVSKAYA, GAYEV, Anya, and C^^-
LOTTA.
GAYEv: We ought to be leaving. We haven't much time. Looks at Yasha. Who smells of herring?
Mme. RANEVSKAYA: In about ten minutes we should be getting into the carriages. Looks around the room. Good-by, dear old home, good-by, grandfather. Winter will pass, spring will come, you will no longer be here, they will have torn you down. How much these walls have seen! Kisses Anya warmly. My treasure, how radi- ant you look! Your eyes are sparkling like diamonds. Are you glad? Very?
Anya, gaily: Very glad. A new life is beginning, mamma.
Gayev: Well, really, everything is all right now. Be- fore the cherry orchard was sold, we all fretted and suffered; but afterwards, when the question was settled finally and irrevocably, we all calmed down, and even felt quite cheerful. I'm a bank employee now, a finan- cier. The yellow ball in the side pocket! And anyhow, you are looking better Luba, there's no doubt of that.