(The referenced passage from Act II is pasted beneath the sample.)
Trofimov’s New Russia
The Cherry Orchard is a play about change. As Liubov and her family come to terms
with the change in their status as they lose the last tangible vestiges of their aristocratic
roots, so the Russian people move toward the recognition and acceptance of the new social
classes and forces emerging around them. This passage from the end of Act II, in which
Trofimov bleakly criticizes the average Russian citizen for inactivity and self-satisfaction,
develops the idea of an industrious and deserving new Russia as exemplified by Lopakhin,
while marking the flaws of Liubov’s fading aristocracy and the intelligentsia, represented by
Trofimov himself. These ideas materialize gradually through the passage, resulting in a
detailed social portrait that Chekhov paints through his use of setting, tone, and
characterization.
The passage takes place in or just outside of the cherry orchard itself, around sunset
during June or July. The scene is pastoral and relaxed, as the characters lounge about,
humoring and even encouraging Trofimov’s longwinded tirade for the sake of
entertainment. The fact that this is likely to be the last time the family joins to enjoy their
cherished orchard is notable, as is the stark contrast between the idyllic, placid setting, and
the content of Trofimov’s monologue. While the party lolls about on an idle midsummer
evening, the eternal student declares, “We have to work, work with all our might, to
support those who are seeking the truth of things” (40). The cherry orchard, like Liubov’s
elevated status and extravagant habits, hovers in a fragile and anachronistic bubble that
seems liable to burst at any time, if Trofimov’s vehement words can be believed. “You’re so
clever, Petya!” Liubov gushes, as incapable of facing Trofimov’s serious charges as she is of
confronting her own financial predicament. Chekhov’s choice of setting, as juxtaposed with
the characters’ dialogue, illustrates the inevitability of change that informs both the passage
and the play as a whole.
The greater part of the passage is devoted to Trofimov’s monologue, and Chekhov’s
tone here serves as an excellent example of the compassionate irony with which he treats
many of his characters. The compassion lies in the truth of Trofimov’s words – when he
alleges that “in Russia so far, very few of us are working,” one can hardly contest his
accusation, given that no member of Liubov’s family except Varya seems to have ever
worked; indeed, even the servants of the household, with the exception of Firs, devote most
of their time to flirtation and diversion. Equally, Trofimov’s earnest portrayal of the plight of
the Russian poor, who he claims are “fed on filth, no pillows to their beds, thirty or forty to a
room, and everywhere bedbugs, stench, damp, and moral degradation,” is wholly plausible,
based on what Firs has established earlier about the consequences of the serfs’
emancipation forty years before. Nonetheless, it would be impossible to endure Trofimov’s
diatribe against the Russian intelligentsia, who “seek nothing, do nothing . . . don’t want to
work and wouldn’t know how,” without noting that his every complaint against them seems
to apply perfectly to his own character. Trofimov, who has leeched off of Liubov’s generosity
since Grisha’s death and admits that he will probably be a student forever, hardly seems fit
to condemn his countrymen for their lack of industry and action. Additionally, he harps
about the Russian intelligentsia, “all so earnest, with such serious faces, talking and
philosophising away about deep important things,” while he forges an image of himself as a
tiresome, idealistic orator, using parallel rhetorical questions (“[W]here are all those nursery
schools everyone talks about? Where are those reading rooms?”) and other “fine talk is just
to distract attention” (39) from his own shortcomings. In the undeniable contradiction
between Trofimov’s words and his own life lies Chekhov’s gentle satire, as well as the
possibility that the emergent Russia (Trofimov, Lopakhin) has a set of defects of its own.
Although Lopakhin’s spoken part in the passage is minor, the characterization
achieved by his speech in conjunction with Trofimov’s prescription for the new Russia lends
new significance to his character. After Trofimov concludes his monologue, Lopakhin
identifies himself as the diligent individual Trofimov has called for, stating that he “work[s]
from morning till night.” His efforts have paid off and he has accumulated a fortune; he is
“constantly handling money, [his] and other people’s[.]” Lopakhin has attained success
through hard work, and is one of the only solvent characters in the entire play. Additionally,
whereas Liubov can only look longingly to the past, he greets the future with optimism and
sees unlimited possibilities in the development of Russia’s natural bounty, exclaiming, “Dear
Lord, you have given us these vast forests and boundless plains to the wide horizon – living
here we should really be giants!” (40). Lopakhin, the son of a humble, brutish serf, embodies
the new Russian that Trofimov describes, rising from the nation’s history of oppression to
claim his just reward for the hard work, shrewdness and foresight with which he has
elevated himself. His memories of his meek origins inspire gratitude; he even invokes his
“Dear Lord” as a reminder of his humility. Of course, it is only fitting that Lopakhin will
inherit the orchard in which the party indolently loafs throughout this scene, as the rising
middle class takes the reins from the declining elite, and comes into its own in early
twentieth century Russia.
In The Cherry Orchard, Chekhov achieves a delicate balance. He acknowledges and
commends the forward march of the Russian merchant class, but mourns all the while the
loss of the elegance, beauty and tradition that characterize the aristocracy, now being
rendered obsolete. Rather than taking sides, he painstakingly records the monumental
changes unfolding in his homeland at the turn of the century. His treatment of Trofimov and
Lopakhin in this passage underscores the two-sided nature of a future for Russia that,
though brimming with possibilities, runs the risk of consuming all that is noble about its
past.
IOC 3, The Cherry Orchard (Anton Chekhov) - From Act II, pp. 39 – 41:
VARYA: Petya, tell us about the planets, they’re safer ground.
LIUBOV: No, let’s go on where we left off yesterday.
TROFIMOV: What was that?
GAEV: Human pride.
TROFIMOV: Oh, yes. We talked for ages yesterday about how we pride
ourselves on being human, but we didn’t get anywhere. In your mind there’s
something mystical in our idea of ourselves, and maybe it’s true for you, but if
we take the simplest view of things, what have we got to be so proud of when
man as a physiological machine is so inefficient? I mean, what sense does it
make when the vast majority of us are brutish, ignorant, and profoundly
unhappy? We have to stop admiring ourselves. Only work can save us.
GAEV: You’re just as dead in the end.
TROFIMOV: Who knows? What does it mean – to be dead? Maybe we have a
hundred senses and it’s only the five we know that die, and the other ninety-five
continue on.
LIUBOV: You’re so clever, Petya!
LOPAKHIN: (ironically) Brilliant!
TROFIMOV: Mankind is advancing, developing its powers. Everything which
is as yet out of reach is coming closer to our grasp and our understanding, but
we have to work, work with all our might, to support those who are seeking the
truth of things. In Russia so far, very few of us are working. With few
exceptions, the intelligentsia, from what I’ve seen of them, seek nothing, do
nothing, they don’t want to work and wouldn’t know how. They call themselves
the intelligentsia but they treat their servants like children, and peasants like
animals, they don’t know how to study, don’t read anything serious, they may
as well not bother – science is only there to chatter about, and needless to say
they don’t know much about art. They’re all so earnest, with such serious faces,
talking and philosophising away about deep important things, and all the while
in front of their eyes, the masses are fed on filth, no pillows to their beds, thirty
or forty to a room, and everywhere bedbugs, stench, damp, and moral
degradation. It’s obvious that all the fine talk is just to distract attention, theirs
and ours. Perhaps you can tell me, where are all those nursery schools everyone
talks about? Where are those reading rooms? You only see them in novels, they
don’t actually exist. There’s nothing out there but dirt, banality, and
backwardness. I’m afraid of those serious faces and their serious conversations.
It’s better to say nothing at all.
LOPAKHIN: Well, let me tell you – I’m up every day before five o’clock. I
work from morning till night, and yes, I’m constantly handling money, mine
and other people’s, and I get a good look at what people around me are like.
You only have to try to get something done and you soon find out how few
decent, reliable people there are. Sometimes when I can’t sleep, I think, “Dear
Lord, you have given us these vast forests and boundless plains to the wide
horizon – living here we should really be giants!”