EPIKHODOV. [Hoarsely] You may depend upon me, Ermolai Alexeyevitch!
LOPAKHIN. What's the matter with your voice?
EPIKHODOV. I swallowed something just now; I was having a drink of water.
YASHA. [Suspiciously] What manners. . . .
LUBOV. We go away, and not a soul remains behind.
LOPAKHIN. Till the spring.
VARYA. [Drags an umbrella out of a bundle, and seems to be waving it about. LOPAKHIN pretends to be frightened] What are you doing? . . . I never thought . . .
TROFIMOV. Come along, let's take our seats . . . it's time! The train will be in directly.
VARYA. Peter, here they are, your goloshes, by that trunk. [In tears] And how old and dirty they are. . . .
TROFIMOV. [Putting them on] Come on!
GAEV. [Deeply moved, nearly crying] The train . . . the station. . . . Cross in the middle, a white double in the corner. . . .
LUBOV. Let's go!
LOPAKHIN. Are you all here? There's nobody else? [Locks the side-door on the left] There's a lot of things in there. I must lock them up. Come!
ANYA. Good-bye, home! Good-bye, old life!
TROFIMOV. Welcome, new life. [Exit with ANYA.]
VARYA looks round the room and goes out slowly. YASHA and CHARLOTTA, with her little dog, go out.
LOPAKHIN. Till the spring, then! Come on . . . till we meet again! [Exit.]
LUBOV ANDREYEVNA and GAEV are left alone. They might almost have been waiting for that. They fall into each other's arms and sob restrainedly and quietly, fearing that somebody might hear them.
GAEV. [In despair] My sister, my sister. . . .
LUBOV. My dead, my gentle, beautiful orchard! My life, my youth, my happiness, good-bye! Good-bye!
ANYA'S VOICE. [Gaily] Mother!
TROFIMOV'S VOICE. [Gaily, excited] Coo-ee!
LUBOV. To look at the walls and the windows for the last time. . . . My dead mother used to like to walk about this room. . . .
GAEV. My sister, my sister!
ANYA'S VOICE. Mother!
TROFIMOV'S VOICE. Coo-ee!
LUBOV. We're coming! [They go out.]
The stage is empty. The sound of keys being turned in the locks is heard, and then the noise of the carriages going away. It is quiet. Then the sound of an axe against the trees is heard in the silence, sadly and by itself. Steps are heard. FIERS comes in from the door on the right. He is dressed as usual, in a short jacket and white waistcoat; slippers on his feet. He is ill. He goes to the door and tries the handle.
FIERS. It's locked. They've gone away. [Sits on a sofa] They've forgotten about me. . . . Never mind, I'll sit here. . . . And Leonid Andreyevitch will have gone in a light overcoat instead of putting on his fur coat. . . . [Sighs anxiously] I didn't see. . . . Oh, these young people! [Mumbles something that cannot be understood] Life's gone on as if I'd never lived. [Lying down] I'll lie down. . . . You've no strength left in you, nothing left at all. . . Oh, you . . . bungler!
He lies without moving. The distant sound is heard, as if from the sky, of a breaking string, dying away sadly. Silence follows it, and only the sound is heard, some way away in the orchard, of the axe falling on the trees.
Curtain.
mother/little mother: the translator's choices for 'Mamochka,' an intimate nickname for mother
