The Cherry Orchard

her. Mischievous creature! Fancy! Goes out. Lyubov And still Leonid doesn’t come. I can’t understand what he’s doing in the town so long! Why, everything must be over by now. The estate is sold, or the sale has not taken place. Why keep us so long in suspense? Varya Trying to console her. Uncle’s bought it. I feel sure of that. Trofimov Ironically. Oh, yes! Varya Great-aunt sent him an authorisation to buy it in her name, and transfer the debt. She’s doing it for Anya’s sake, and I’m sure God will be merciful. Uncle will buy it. Lyubov My aunt in Yaroslavl sent fifteen thousand to buy the estate in her name, she doesn’t trust us⁠—but that’s not enough even to pay the arrears hides her face in her hands. My fate is being sealed today, my fate⁠ ⁠… Trofimov Teasing Varya. Madame Lopahin. Varya Angrily. Perpetual student! Twice already you’ve been sent down from the University. Lyubov Why are you angry, Varya? He’s teasing you about Lopahin. Well, what of that? Marry Lopahin if you like, he’s a good man, and interesting; if you don’t want to, don’t! Nobody compels you, darling. Varya I must tell you plainly, mamma, I look at the matter seriously; he’s a good man, I like him. Lyubov Well, marry him. I can’t see what you’re waiting for. Varya Mamma, I can’t make him an offer myself. For the last two years, everyone’s been talking to me about him. Everyone talks; but he says nothing or else makes a joke. I see what it means. He’s growing rich, he’s absorbed in business, he has no thoughts for me. If I had money, were it ever so little, if I had only a hundred roubles, I’d throw everything up and go far away. I would go into a nunnery. Trofimov What bliss! Varya To Trofimov. A student ought to have sense! In a soft tone with tears. How ugly you’ve grown, Petya! How old you look! To Lyubov Andreyevna, no longer crying. But I can’t do without work, mamma; I must have something to do every minute. Enter Yasha. Yasha Hardly restraining his laughter. Epihodov has broken a billiard cue! Goes out. Varya What is Epihodov doing here? Who gave him leave to play billiards? I can’t make these people out goes out. Lyubov Don’t tease her, Petya. You see she has grief enough without that. Trofimov She is so very officious, meddling in what’s not her business. All the summer she’s given Anya and me no peace. She’s afraid of a love affair between us. What’s it to do with her? Besides, I have given no grounds for it. Such triviality is not in my line. We are above love! Lyubov And I suppose I am beneath love. Very uneasily. Why is it Leonid’s not here? If only I could know whether the estate is sold or not! It seems such an incredible calamity that I really don’t know what to think. I am distracted⁠ ⁠… I shall scream in a minute⁠ ⁠… I shall do something stupid. Save me, Petya, tell me something, talk to me! Trofimov What does it matter whether the estate is sold today or not? That’s all done with long ago. There’s no turning back, the path is overgrown. Don’t worry yourself, dear Lyubov Andreyevna. You mustn’t deceive yourself; for once in your life you must face the truth! Lyubov What truth? You see where the truth lies, but I seem to have lost my sight, I see nothing. You settle every great problem so boldly, but tell me, my dear boy, isn’t it because you’re young⁠—because you haven’t yet understood one of your problems through suffering? You look forward boldly, and isn’t it that you don’t see and don’t expect anything dreadful because life is still hidden from your young eyes? You’re bolder, more honest, deeper than we are, but think, be just a little magnanimous, have pity on me. I was born here, you know, my father and mother lived here, my grandfather lived here, I love this house. I can’t conceive of life without the cherry orchard, and if it really must be sold, then sell me with the orchard embraces Trofimov, kisses him on the forehead. My boy was drowned here weeps. Pity me, my dear kind fellow. Trofimov You know I feel for you with all my heart. Lyubov But that should have been said differently, so differently takes out her handkerchief, telegram falls on the floor. My heart is so heavy today. It’s so noisy here, my soul is quivering at every sound, I’m shuddering all over, but I can’t go away; I’m afraid to be quiet and alone. Don’t be hard on me, Petya⁠ ⁠… I love you as though you were one of ourselves. I would gladly let you marry Anya⁠—I swear I would⁠—only, my dear boy, you must take your degree, you do nothing⁠—you’re simply tossed by fate from place to place. That’s so strange. It is, isn’t it? And you must do something with your beard to make it grow somehow laughs. You look so funny! Trofimov Picks up the telegram. I’ve no wish to be a beauty. Lyubov That’s a telegram from Paris. I get one every day. One yesterday and one today. That savage creature is ill again, he’s in trouble again. He begs forgiveness, beseeches me to go, and really I ought to go to Paris to see him. You look shocked, Petya. What am I to do, my dear boy, what am I to do? He is ill, he is alone and unhappy, and who’ll look after him, who’ll keep him from doing the wrong thing, who’ll give him his medicine at the right time? And why hide it or be silent? I love him, that’s clear. I love him! I love him! He’s a millstone about my neck, I’m going to the bottom with him, but I love that stone and can’t live without it presses