Anton Chekhov - The Cherry Orchard / Вишневый сад. Книга для чтения на английском языке

Trofimov.You know I sympathize with all my soul.

Lubov.Yes, but it ought to be said differently, differently… [ Takes another handkerchief, a telegram falls on the floor ] I’m so sick at heart today, you can’t imagine. Here it’s so noisy, my soul shakes at every sound. I shake all over, and I can’t go away by myself, I’m afraid of the silence. Don’t judge me harshly, Peter… I loved you, as if you belonged to my family. I’d gladly let Anya marry you, I swear it, only dear, you ought to work, finish your studies. You don’t do anything, only fate throws you about from place to place, it’s so odd… Isn’t it true? Yes? And you ought to do something to your beard to make it grow better [ Laughs ] You are funny!

Trofimov.[ Picking up telegram ] I don’t want to be a Beau Brummel.

Lubov.This telegram’s from Paris. I get one every day. Yesterday and today. That wild man is ill again, he’s bad again… He begs for forgiveness, and implores me to come, and I really ought to go to Paris to be near him. You look severe, Peter, but what can I do, my dear, what can I do; he’s ill, he’s alone, unhappy, and who’s to look after him, who’s to keep him away from his errors, to give him his medicine punctually? And why should I conceal it and say nothing about it; I love him, that’s plain, I love him, I love him… That love is a stone round my neck; I’m going with it to the bottom, but I love that stone and can’t live without it. [ Squeezes Trofimov’s hand ] Don’t think badly of me, Peter, don’t say anything to me, don’t say…

Trofimov.[ Weeping ] For God’s sake forgive my speaking candidly, but that man has robbed you!

Lubov.No, no, no, you oughtn’t to say that! [ Stops her ears. ]

Trofimov.But he’s a wretch, you alone don’t know it! He’s a petty thief, a nobody…

Lubov.[ Angry, but restrained ] You’re twenty-six or twenty-seven, and still a schoolboy of the second class!

Trofimov.Why not!

Lubov.You ought to be a man, at your age you ought to be able to understand those who love. And you ought to be in love yourself, you must fall in love! [ Angry ] Yes, yes! You aren’t pure, you’re just a freak, a queer fellow, a funny growth…

Trofimov.[ In horror ] What is she saying!

Lubov.“I’m above love!” You’re not above love, you’re just what our Fiers calls a bungler. Not to have a mistress at your age!

Trofimov.[ In horror ] This is awful! What is she saying? [ Goes quickly up into the drawing-room, clutching his head ] It’s awful… I can’t stand it, I’ll go away. [ Exit, but returns at once ] All is over between us! [ Exit. ]

Lubov.[ Shouts after him ] Peter, wait! Silly man, I was joking! Peter! [ Somebody is heard going out and falling downstairs noisily. Anya and Varya scream; laughter is heard immediately ] What’s that?

Anya comes running in, laughing.

Anya.Peter’s fallen downstairs! [ Runs out again. ]

Lubov.This Peter’s a marvel.

The station-master stands in the middle of the drawing-room and recites “The Magdalen” by Tolstoy. He is listened to, but he has only delivered a few lines when a waltz is heard from the front room, and the recitation is stopped. Everybody dances. Trofimov, Anya, Varya , and Lubov Andreyevna come in from the front room.

Lubov.Well, Peter… you pure soul… I beg your pardon… let’s dance.

She dances with Peter. Anya and Varya dance. Fiers enters and stands his stick by a side door. Yasha has also come in and looks on at the dance.

Yasha.Well, grandfather?

Fiers.I’m not well. At our balls some time back, generals and barons and admirals used to dance, and now we send for post-office clerks and the station-master, and even they come as a favour. I’m very weak. The dead master, the grandfather, used to give everybody sealing-wax when anything was wrong. I’ve taken sealing-wax every day for twenty years, and more; perhaps that’s why I still live.

Yasha.I’m tired of you, grandfather. [ Yawns ] If you’d only hurry up and kick the bucket.

Fiers.Oh you… bungler! [ Mutters. ]

Trofimov and Lubov Andreyevna dance in the reception-room, then into the sitting-room.

Lubov. Merci. I’ll sit down. [ Sits ] I’m tired.

Enter Anya.

Anya.[ Excited ] Somebody in the kitchen was saying just now that the cherry orchard was sold today.

Lubov.Sold to whom?

Anya.He didn’t say to whom. He’s gone now. [ Dances out into the reception-room with Trofimov.]

Yasha.Some old man was chattering about it a long time ago. A stranger!

Fiers.And Leonid Andreyevitch isn’t here yet, he hasn’t come. He’s wearing a light, demi-saison overcoat. He’ll catch cold. Oh these young fellows.

Lubov.I’ll die of this. Go and find out, Yasha, to whom it’s sold.

Yasha.Oh, but he’s been gone a long time, the old man. [ Laughs. ]

Lubov.[ Slightly vexed ] Why do you laugh? What are you glad about?

Yasha.Epikhodov’s too funny. He’s a silly man. Two-and-twenty troubles.

Lubov.Fiers, if the estate is sold, where will you go?

Fiers.I’ll go wherever you order me to go.

Lubov.Why do you look like that? Are you ill? I think you ought to go to bed…

Fiers.Yes… [ With a smile ] I’ll go to bed, and who’ll hand things round and give orders without me? I’ve the whole house on my shoulders.

Yasha.[ To Lubov Andreyevna] Lubov Andreyevna! I want to ask a favour of you, if you’ll be so kind! If you go to Paris again, then please take me with you. It’s absolutely impossible for me to stop here. [ Looking round; in an undertone ] What’s the good of talking about it, you see for yourself that this is an uneducated country, with an immoral population, and it’s so dull. The food in the kitchen is beastly, and here’s this Fiers walking about mumbling various inappropriate things. Take me with you, be so kind!

Enter Pischin.

Pischin.I come to ask for the pleasure of a little waltz, dear lady… [ Lubov Andreyevna goes to him ] But all the same, you wonderful woman, I must have 180 little roubles from you… I must… [ They dance ] 180 little roubles… [ They go through into the drawing-room. ]

Yasha.[ Sings softly ]

In the drawing-room a figure in a grey top-hat and in baggy check trousers is waving its hands and jumping about; there are cries of “Bravo, Charlotta Ivanovna!”