Plays by Anton Chekhov - LightNovelsOnl.com
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LOPAKHIN. Last year at this time the snow was already falling, if you remember, and now it's nice and sunny. Only it's rather cold.... There's three degrees of frost.
VARYA. I didn't look. [Pause] And our thermometer's broken.... [Pause.]
VOICE AT THE DOOR. Ermolai Alexeyevitch!
LOPAKHIN. [As if he has long been waiting to be called] This minute.
[Exit quickly.]
[VARYA, sitting on the floor, puts her face on a bundle of clothes and weeps gently. The door opens. LUBOV ANDREYEVNA enters carefully.]
LUBOV. Well? [Pause] We must go.
VARYA. [Not crying now, wipes her eyes] Yes, it's quite time, little mother. I'll get to the Ragulins to-day, if I don't miss the train....
LUBOV. [At the door] Anya, put on your things. [Enter ANYA, then GAEV, CHARLOTTA IVANOVNA. GAEV wears a warm overcoat with a cape. A servant and drivers come in. EPIKHODOV bustles around the luggage] Now we can go away.
ANYA. [Joyfully] Away!
GAEV. My friends, my dear friends! Can I be silent, in leaving this house for evermore?--can I restrain myself, in saying farewell, from expressing those feelings which now fill my whole being...?
ANYA. [Imploringly] Uncle!
VARYA. Uncle, you shouldn't!
GAEV. [Stupidly] Double the red into the middle.... I'll be quiet.
[Enter TROFIMOV, then LOPAKHIN.]
TROFIMOV. Well, it's time to be off.
LOPAKHIN. Epikhodov, my coat!
LUBOV. I'll sit here one more minute. It's as if I'd never really noticed what the walls and ceilings of this house were like, and now I look at them greedily, with such tender love....
GAEV. I remember, when I was six years old, on Trinity Sunday, I sat at this window and looked and saw my father going to church....
LUBOV. Have all the things been taken away?
LOPAKHIN. Yes, all, I think. [To EPIKHODOV, putting on his coat] You see that everything's quite straight, Epikhodov.
EPIKHODOV. [Hoa.r.s.ely] 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 appears 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 n.o.body 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 dear, 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.]
