Plays by Anton Chekhov, Second Series

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 to-day.

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]

“Oh, will you understand
My soul’s deep restlessness?”

[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!”]

DUNYASHA. [Stops to powder her face] The young mistress tells me to dance – there are a lot of gentlemen, but few ladies – and my head goes round when I dance, and my heart beats, Fiers Nicolaevitch; the Post-office clerk told me something just now which made me catch my breath. [The music grows faint.]

FIERS. What did he say to you?

DUNYASHA. He says, “You’re like a little flower.”

YASHA. [Yawns] Impolite… [Exit.]

DUNYASHA. Like a little flower. I’m such a delicate girl; I simply love words of tenderness.

FIERS. You’ll lose your head.

[Enter EPIKHODOV.]

EPIKHODOV. You, Avdotya Fedorovna, want to see me no more than if I was some insect. [Sighs] Oh, life!

DUNYASHA. What do you want?

EPIKHODOV. Undoubtedly, perhaps, you may be right. [Sighs] But, certainly, if you regard the matter from the aspect, then you, if I may say so, and you must excuse my candidness, have absolutely reduced me to a state of mind. I know my fate, every day something unfortunate happens to me, and I’ve grown used to it a long time ago, I even look at my fate with a smile. You gave me your word, and though I…

DUNYASHA. Please, we’ll talk later on, but leave me alone now. I’m meditating now. [Plays with her fan.]

EPIKHODOV. Every day something unfortunate happens to me, and I, if I may so express myself, only smile, and even laugh.

[VARYA enters from the drawing-room.]

VARYA. Haven’t you gone yet, Simeon? You really have no respect for anybody. [To DUNYASHA] You go away, Dunyasha. [To EPIKHODOV] You play billiards and break a cue, and walk about the drawing-room as if you were a visitor!

EPIKHODOV. You cannot, if I may say so, call me to order.

VARYA. I’m not calling you to order, I’m only telling you. You just walk about from place to place and never do your work. Goodness only knows why we keep a clerk.

EPIKHODOV. [Offended] Whether I work, or walk about, or eat, or play billiards, is only a matter to be settled by people of understanding and my elders.