The Cherry Orchard / Вишневый сад. Книга для чтения на английском языке. Антон Чехов
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it go to auction! I swear by all I am!
Anya. [She is calm again and happy] How good and clever you are, uncle. [Embraces him] I’m happy now! I’m happy! All’s well!
Enter Fiers.
Fiers. [Reproachfully] Leonid Andreyevitch, don’t you fear God? When are you going to bed?
Gaev. Soon, soon. You go away, Fiers. I’ll undress myself. Well, children, bye-bye!.. I’ll give you the details tomorrow, but let’s go to bed now. [Kisses Anya and Varya] I’m a man of the eighties… People don’t praise those years much, but I can still say that I’ve suffered for my beliefs. The peasants don’t love me for nothing, I assure you. We’ve got to learn to know the peasants! We ought to learn how…
Anya. You’re doing it again, uncle!
Varya. Be quiet, uncle!
Fiers. [Angrily] Leonid Andreyevitch!
Gaev. I’m coming, I’m coming… Go to bed now. Off two cushions into the middle! I turn over a new leaf…
Exit. Fiers goes out after him.
Anya. I’m quieter now. I don’t want to go to Yaroslav, I don’t like grandmother; but I’m calm now; thanks to uncle. [Sits down.]
Varya. It’s time to go to sleep. I’ll go. There’s been an unpleasantness here while you were away. In the old servants’ part of the house, as you know, only the old people live – little old Efim and Polya and Evstigney, and Karp as well. They started letting some tramps or other spend the night there – I said nothing. Then I heard that they were saying that I had ordered them to be fed on peas and nothing else; from meanness, you see… And it was all Evstigney’s doing… Very well, I thought, if that’s what the matter is, just you wait. So I call Evstigney… [Yawns] He comes. “What’s this,” I say, “Evstigney, you old fool… [Looks at Anya] Anya dear! [Pause] She’s dropped off… [Takes Anya’s arm] Let’s go to bye-bye… Come along!… [Leads her] My darling’s gone to sleep! Come on… [They go. In the distance, the other side of the orchard, a shepherd plays his pipe. Trofimov crosses the stage and stops on seeing Varya and Anya] Sh! She’s asleep, asleep. Come on, dear.
Anya. [Quietly, half-asleep] I’m so tired… all the bells… uncle, dear! Mother and uncle!
Varya. Come on, dear, come on! [They go into Anya’s room.]
Trofimov. [Moved] My sun! My spring!
Curtain.
Act II
In a field. An old, crooked shrine, which has been long abandoned; near it a well and large stones, which apparently are old tombstones, and an old garden seat. The road is seen to Gaev’s estate. On one side rise dark poplars, behind them begins the cherry orchard. In the distance is a row of telegraph poles, and far, far away on the horizon are the indistinct signs of a large town, which can only be seen on the finest and clearest days. It is close on sunset. Charlotta, Yasha, and Dunyasha are sitting on the seat; Epikhodov stands by and plays on a guitar; all seem thoughtful. Charlotta wears a man’s old peaked cap; she has unslung a rifle from her shoulders and is putting to rights the buckle on the strap.
Charlotta. [Thoughtfully] I haven’t a real passport. I don’t know how old I am, and I think I’m young. When I was a little girl my father and mother used to go round fairs and give very good performances and I used to do the salto mortale and various little things. And when papa and mamma died a German lady took me to her and began to teach me. I liked it. I grew up and became a governess. And where I came from and who I am, I don’t know… Who my parents were – perhaps they weren’t married – I don’t know. [Takes a cucumber out of her pocket and eats] I don’t know anything. [Pause] I do want to talk, but I haven’t anybody to talk to… I haven’t anybody at all.
Epikhodov. [Plays on the guitar and sings]
“What is this noisy earth to me,
What matter friends and foes?”
I do like playing on the mandoline!
Dunyasha. That’s a guitar, not a mandoline.
Looks at herself in a little mirror and powders herself.
Epikhodov. For the enamoured madman, this is a mandoline. [Sings]
“Oh that the heart was warmed,
By all the flames of love returned!”
Yasha sings too.
Charlotta. These people sing terribly… Foo! Like jackals.
Dunyasha. [To Yasha] Still, it must be nice to live abroad.
Yasha. Yes, certainly. I cannot differ from you there. [Yawns and lights a cigar.]
Epikhodov. That is perfectly natural. Abroad everything is in full complexity.
Yasha. That goes without saying.
Epikhodov. I’m an educated man, I read various remarkable books, but I cannot understand the direction I myself want to go – whether to live or to shoot myself, as it were. So, in case, I always carry a revolver about with me. Here it is. [Shows a revolver.]
Charlotta. I’ve done. Now I’ll go. [Slings the rifle] You, Epikhodov, are a very clever man and very terrible; women must be madly in love with you. Brrr!! [Going] These wise ones are all so stupid. I’ve nobody to talk to. I’m always alone, alone; I’ve nobody at all… and I don’t know who I am or why I live. [Exit slowly.]
Epikhodov. As a matter of fact, independently of everything else, I must express my feeling, among other things, that fate has been as pitiless in her dealings with me as a storm is to a small ship. Suppose, let us grant, I am wrong; then why did I wake up this morning, to give an example, and behold an enormous spider on my chest, like that. [Shows with both hands] And if I do drink some kvass, why is it that there is bound to be something of the most indelicate nature in it, such as a beetle? [Pause] Have you read Buckle? [Pause] I should like to trouble you, Avdotya Fedorovna, for two words.
Dunyasha. Say on.
Epikhodov. I should prefer to be alone with you. [Sighs.]
Dunyasha. [Shy] Very well, only first bring me my little cloak… It’s by the cupboard. It’s a little damp here.
Epikhodov. Very well… I’ll bring it… Now I know what to do with my revolver. [Takes guitar and exits, strumming.]
Yasha. Two-and-twenty troubles! A silly man, between you and me and the gatepost. [Yawns.]
Dunyasha. I hope to goodness he won’t shoot himself. [Pause] I’m so nervous, I’m worried. I went into service when I was quite a little girl, and now I’m not used to common life, and my hands are white, white as a lady’s. I’m so tender and so delicate now;