MARYA. Now really, mamma, we shall know all about it in a minute or two. Avdotya must come back soon. (Looks out of the window and exclaims.) Oh, mamma, someone is coming—there down the street!
ANNA. Where? Just your imagination again!—Why, yes, someone is coming. I wonder who it is. A short man in a frock coat. Who can it be? Eh? The suspense is awful! Who can it be, I wonder.
MARYA. Dobchinsky, mamma.
ANNA. Dobchinsky! Your imagination again! It's not Dobchinsky at all. (Waves her handkerchief.) Ho, you! Come here! Quick!
MARYA. It is Dobchinsky, mamma.
ANNA. Of course, you've got to contradict. I tell you, it's not Dobchinsky.
MARYA. Well, well, mamma? Isn't it Dobchinsky?
ANNA. Yes, it is, I see now. Why do you argue about it? (Calls through the window.) Hurry up, quick! You're so slow. Well, where are they? What? Speak from where you are. It's all the same. What? He is very strict? Eh? And how about my husband? (Moves away a little from the window, exasperated.) He is so stupid. He won't say a word until he is in the room.
Scene II
Enter Dobchinsky.
ANNA. Now tell me, aren't you ashamed? You were the only one I relied on to act decently. They all ran away and you after them, and till now I haven't been able to find out a thing. Aren't you ashamed? I stood godmother to your Vanichka and Lizanko, and this is the way you treat me.
DOBCHINSKY. Godmother, upon my word, I ran so fast to pay my respects to you that I'm all out of breath. How do you do, Marya Antonovna?
MARYA. Good afternoon, Piotr Ivanovich.
ANNA. Well, tell me all about it. What is happening at the inn?
DOBCHINSKY. I have a note for you from Anton Antonovich.
ANNA. But who is he? A general?
DOBCHINSKY. No, not a general, but every bit as good as a general, I tell you. Such culture! Such dignified manners!
ANNA. Ah! So he is the same as the one my husband got a letter about.
DOBCHINSKY. Exactly. It was Piotr Ivanovich and I who first discovered him.
ANNA. Tell me, tell me all about it.
DOBCHINSKY. It's all right now, thank the Lord. At first he received Anton Antonovich rather roughly. He was angry and said the inn was not run properly, and he wouldn't come to the Governor's house and he didn't want to go to jail on account of him. But then when he found out that Anton Antonovich was not to blame and they got to talking more intimately, he changed right away, and, thank Heaven, everything went well. They've gone now to inspect the philanthropic institutions. I confess that Anton Antonovich had already begun to suspect that a secret denunciation had been lodged against him. I myself was trembling a little, too.
ANNA. What have you to be afraid of? You're not an official.
DOBCHINSKY. Well, you see, when a Grand Mogul speaks, you feel afraid.
ANNA. That's all rubbish. Tell me, what is he like personally? Is he young or old?
DOBCHINSKY. Young—a young man of about twenty-three. But he talks as if he were older. "If you will allow me," he says, "I will go there and there." (Waves his hands.) He does it all with such distinction. "I like," he says, "to read and write, but I am prevented because my room is rather dark."
ANNA. And what sort of a looking man is he, dark or fair?
DOBCHINSKY. Neither. I should say rather chestnut. And his eyes dart about like little animals. They make you nervous.
ANNA. Let me see what my husband writes. (Reads.) "I hasten to let you know, dear, that my position was extremely uncomfortable, but relying on the mercy of God, two pickles extra and a half portion of caviar, one ruble and twenty-five kopeks." (Stops.) I don't understand. What have pickles and caviar got to do with it?
DOBCHINSKY. Oh, Anton Antonovich hurriedly wrote on a piece of scrap paper. There's a kind of bill on it.
ANNA. Oh, yes, I see. (Goes on reading.) "But relying on the mercy of God, I believe all will turn out well in the end. Get a room ready quickly for the distinguished guest—the one with the gold wall paper. Don't bother to get any extras for dinner because we'll have something at the hospital with Artemy Filippovich. Order a little more wine, and tell Abdulin to send the best, or I'll wreck his whole cellar. I kiss your hand, my dearest, and remain yours, Anton Skvoznik-Dmukhanovsky." Oh my! I must hurry. Hello, who's there? Mishka?
DOBCHINSKY (Runs to the door and calls.) Mishka! Mishka! Mishka! (Mishka enters.)
ANNA. Listen! Run over to Abdulin—wait, I'll give you a note. (She sits down at the table and writes, talking all the while.) Give this to Sidor, the coachman, and tell him to take it to Abdulin and bring back the wine. And get to work at once and make the gold room ready for a guest. Do it nicely. Put a bed in it, a wash basin and pitcher and everything else.
DOBCHINSKY. Well, I'm going now, Anna Andreyevna, to see how he does the inspecting.
ANNA. Go on, I'm not keeping you.
Scene III
Anna Andreyevna and Marya Antonovna.
ANNA. Now, Mashenka, we must attend to our toilet. He's a metropolitan swell and God forbid that he should make fun of us. You put on your blue dress with the little flounces. It's the most becoming.
MARYA. The idea, mamma! The blue dress! I can't bear it. Liapkin-Tiapkin's wife wears blue and so does Zemlianika's daughter. I'd rather wear my flowered dress.
ANNA. Your flowered dress! Of course, just to be contrary. You'll look lots better in blue because I'm going to wear my dun-colored dress. I love dun-color.
MARYA. Oh, mamma, it isn't a bit becoming to you.
ANNA. What, dun-color isn't becoming to me?
MARYA. No, not a bit. I'm positive it isn't. One's eyes must be quite dark to go with dun-color.
ANNA. That's nice! And aren't my eyes dark? They are as dark as can be. What nonsense you talk! How can they be anything but dark when I always draw the queen of clubs.
MARYA. Why, mamma, you are more like the queen of hearts.
ANNA. Nonsense! Perfect nonsense! I never was a queen of hearts. (She goes out hurriedly with Marya and speaks behind the scenes.) The ideas she gets into her head! Queen of hearts! Heavens! What do you think of that?
As they go out, a door opens through which Mishka sweeps dirt on to the stage. Osip enters from another door with a valise on his head.
Scene IV
Mishka and Osip.
OSIP. Where is this to go?
MISHKA. In here, in here.
OSIP. Wait, let me fetch breath first. Lord! What a wretched life! On an empty stomach any load seems heavy.
MISHKA. Say, uncle, will the general be here soon?
OSIP. What general?
MISHKA. Your master.
OSIP. My master? What sort of a general is he?
MISHKA. Isn't he a general?
OSIP. Yes, he's a general, only the other way round.
MISHKA. Is that higher or lower than a real general?
OSIP. Higher.
MISHKA. Gee whiz! That's why they are raising such a racket about him here.
OSIP. Look here, young man, I see you're a smart fellow. Get me something to eat, won't you?
MISHKA. There isn't anything ready yet for the likes of you. You won't eat plain food. When your master takes his meal, they'll let you have the same as he gets.
OSIP. But have you got any plain stuff?
MISHKA. We have cabbage soup, porridge and pie.
OSIP. That's all right. We'll eat cabbage soup, porridge and pie, we'll eat everything. Come, help me with the valise. Is there another way to go out there?
MISHKA. Yes.
They both carry the valise into the next room.
Scene V
The Sergeants open both folding doors. Khlestakov enters followed by the Governor, then the Superintendent of Charities, the Inspector of Schools, Dobchinsky and Bobchinsky with a plaster on his nose. The Governor points to a piece of paper lying on the floor, and the Sergeants rush to pick it up, pushing each other in their haste.
KHLESTAKOV. Excellent insti
tutions. I like the way you show strangers everything in your town. In other towns they didn't show me a thing.
GOVERNOR. In other towns, I venture to observe, the authorities and officials look out for themselves more. Here, I may say, we have no other thought than to win the Government's esteem through good order, vigilance, and efficiency.
KHLESTAKOV. The lunch was excellent. I've positively overeaten. Do you set such a fine table every day?
GOVERNOR. In honor of so agreeable a guest we do.
KHLESTAKOV. I like to eat well. That's what a man lives for—to pluck the flowers of pleasure. What was that fish called?
ARTEMY (running up to him). Labardan.
KHLESTAKOV. It was delicious. Where was it we had our lunch? In the hospital, wasn't it?
ARTEMY. Precisely, in the hospital.
KHLESTAKOV. Yes, yes, I remember. There were beds there. The patients must have gotten well. There don't seem to have been many of them.
ARTEMY. About ten are left. The rest recovered. The place is so well run, there is such perfect order. It may seem incredible to you, but ever since I've taken over the management, they all recover like flies. No sooner does a patient enter the hospital than he feels better. And we obtain this result not so much by medicaments as by honesty and orderliness.
GOVERNOR. In this connection may I venture to call your attention to what a brain-racking job the office of Governor is. There are so many matters he has to give his mind to just in connection with keeping the town clean and repairs and alterations. In a word, it is enough to upset the most competent person. But, thank God, all goes well. Another governor, of course, would look out for his own advantage. But believe me, even nights in bed I keep thinking: "Oh, God, how could I manage things in such a way that the government would observe my devotion to duty and be satisfied?" Whether the government will reward me or not, that of course, lies with them. At least I'll have a clear conscience. When the whole town is in order, the streets swept clean, the prisoners well kept, and few drunkards—what more do I want? Upon my word, I don't even crave honors. Honors, of course, are alluring; but as against the happiness which comes from doing one's duty, they are nothing but dross and vanity.
ARTEMY (aside). Oh, the do-nothing, the scoundrel! How he holds forth! I wish the Lord had blessed me with such a gift!
KHLESTAKOV. That's so. I admit I sometimes like to philosophize, too. Sometimes it's prose, and sometimes it comes out poetry.
BOBCHINSKY (to Dobchinsky). How true, how true it all is, Piotr Ivanovich. His remarks are great. It's evident that he is an educated man.
KHLESTAKOV. Would you tell me, please, if you have any amusements here, any circles where one could have a game of cards?
GOVERNOR (aside). Ahem! I know what you are aiming at, my boy. (Aloud.) God forbid! Why, no one here has even heard of such a thing as card-playing circles. I myself have never touched a card. I don't know how to play. I can never look at cards with indifference, and if I happen to see a king of diamonds or some such thing, I am so disgusted I have to spit out. Once I made a house of cards for the children, and then I dreamt of those confounded things the whole night. Heavens! How can people waste their precious time over cards!
LUKA LUKICH (aside). But he faroed me out of a hundred rubles yesterday, the rascal.
GOVERNOR. I'd rather employ my time for the benefit of the state.
KHLESTAKOV. Oh, well, that's rather going too far. It all depends upon the point of view. If, for instance, you pass when you have to treble stakes, then of course—No, don't say that a game of cards isn't very tempting sometimes.
Scene VI
The above, Anna Andreyevna and Marya Antonovna.
GOVERNOR. Permit me to introduce my family, my wife and daughter.
KHLESTAKOV (bowing). I am happy, madam, to have the pleasure of meeting you.
ANNA. Our pleasure in meeting so distinguished a person is still greater.
KHLESTAKOV (showing off). Excuse me, madam, on the contrary, my pleasure is the greater.
ANNA. Impossible. You condescend to say it to compliment me. Won't you please sit down?
KHLESTAKOV. Just to stand near you is bliss. But if you insist, I will sit down. I am so, so happy to be at your side at last.
ANNA. I beg your pardon, but I dare not take all the nice things you say to myself. I suppose you must have found travelling very unpleasant after living in the capital.
KHLESTAKOV. Extremely unpleasant. I am accustomed, comprenez-vous, to life in the fashionable world, and suddenly to find myself on the road, in dirty inns with dark rooms and rude people—I confess that if it were not for this chance which—(giving Anna a look and showing off) compensated me for everything—
ANNA. It must really have been extremely unpleasant for you.
KHLESTAKOV. At this moment, however, I find it exceedingly pleasant, madam.
ANNA. Oh, I cannot believe it. You do me much honor. I don't deserve it.
KHLESTAKOV. Why don't you deserve it? You do deserve it, madam.
ANNA. I live in a village.
KHLESTAKOV. Well, after all, a village too has something. It has its hills and brooks. Of course it's not to be compared with St. Petersburg. Ah, St. Petersburg! What a life, to be sure! Maybe you think I am only a copying clerk. No, I am on a friendly footing with the chief of our department. He slaps me on the back. "Come, brother," he says, "and have dinner with me." I just drop in the office for a couple of minutes to say this is to be done so, and that is to be done that way. There's a rat of a clerk there for copying letters who does nothing but scribble all the time—tr, tr—They even wanted to make me a college assessor, but I think to myself, "What do I want it for?" And the doorkeeper flies after me on the stairs with the shoe brush. "Allow me to shine your boots for you, Ivan Aleksandrovich," he says. (To the Governor.) Why are you standing, gentleman? Please sit down.
GOVERNOR (Together). Our rank is such that we can very well stand.
ARTEMY (Together). We don't mind standing.
LUKA (Together). Please don't trouble.
KHLESTAKOV. Please sit down without the rank. (The Governor and the rest sit down.) I don't like ceremony. On the contrary, I always like to slip by unobserved. But it's impossible to conceal oneself, impossible. I no sooner show myself in a place than they say, "There goes Ivan Aleksandrovich!" Once I was even taken for the commander-in-chief. The soldiers rushed out of the guard-house and saluted. Afterwards an officer, an intimate acquaintance of mine, said to me: "Why, old chap, we completely mistook you for the commander-in-chief."
ANNA. Well, I declare!
KHLESTAKOV. I know pretty actresses. I've written a number of vaudevilles, you know. I frequently meet literary men. I am on an intimate footing with Pushkin. I often say to him: "Well, Pushkin, old boy, how goes it?" "So, so, partner," he'd reply, "as usual." He's a great original.
ANNA. So you write too? How thrilling it must be to be an author! You write for the papers also, I suppose?
KHLESTAKOV. Yes, for the papers, too. I am the author of a lot of works—The Marriage of Figaro, Robert le Diable, Norma. I don't even remember all the names. I did it just by chance. I hadn't meant to write, but a theatrical manager said, "Won't you please write something for me?" I thought to myself: "All right, why not?" So I did it all in one evening, surprised everybody. I am extraordinarily light of thought. All that has appeared under the name of Baron Brambeus was written by me, and the The Frigate of Hope and The Moscow Telegraph.
ANNA. What! So you are Brambeus?
KHLESTAKOV. Why, yes. And I revise and whip all their articles into shape. Smirdin gives me forty thousand for it.
ANNA. I suppose, then, that Yury Miroslavsky is yours too.
KHLESTAKOV. Yes, it's mine.
ANNA. I guessed at once.
MARYA. But, mamma, it says that it's by Zagoskin.
ANNA. There! I knew you'd be contradicting even here.
KHLESTAKOV. Oh, yes, it's so. That was by Zagoskin. But there is
another Yury Miroslavsky which was written by me.
ANNA. That's right. I read yours. It's charming.
KHLESTAKOV. I admit I live by literature. I have the first house in St. Petersburg. It is well known as the house of Ivan Aleksandrovich. (Addressing the company in general.) If any of you should come to St. Petersburg, do please call to see me. I give balls, too, you know.
ANNA. I can guess the taste and magnificence of those balls.
KHLESTAKOV. Immense! For instance, watermelon will be served costing seven hundred rubles. The soup comes in the tureen straight from Paris by steamer. When the lid is raised, the aroma of the steam is like nothing else in the world. And we have formed a circle for playing whist—the Minister of Foreign Affairs, the French, the English and the German Ambassadors and myself. We play so hard we kill ourselves over the cards. There's nothing like it. After it's over I'm so tired I run home up the stairs to the fourth floor and tell the cook, "Here, Marushka, take my coat"—What am I talking about?—I forgot that I live on the first floor. One flight up costs me—My foyer before I rise in the morning is an interesting spectacle indeed—counts and princes jostling each other and humming like bees. All you hear is buzz, buzz, buzz. Sometimes the Minister—(The Governor and the rest rise in awe from their chairs.) Even my mail comes addressed "Your Excellency." And once I even had charge of a department. A strange thing happened. The head of the department went off, disappeared, no one knew where. Of course there was a lot of talk about how the place would be filled, who would fill it, and all that sort of thing. There were ever so many generals hungry for the position, and they tried, but they couldn't cope with it. It's too hard. Just on the surface it looks easy enough; but when you come to examine it closely, it's the devil of a job. When they saw they couldn't manage, they came to me. In an instant the streets were packed full with couriers, nothing but couriers and couriers—thirty-five thousand of them, imagine! Pray, picture the situation to yourself! "Ivan Aleksandrovich, do come and take the directorship of the department." I admit I was a little embarrassed. I came out in my dressing-gown. I wanted to decline, but I thought it might reach the Czar's ears, and, besides, my official record—"Very well, gentlemen," I said, "I'll accept the position, I'll accept. So be it. But mind," I said, "na-na-na, LOOK SHARP is the word with me, LOOK SHARP!" And so it was. When I went through the offices of my department, it was a regular earthquake, Everyone trembled and shook like a leaf. (The Governor and the rest tremble with fright. Khlestakov works himself up more and more as he speaks.) Oh, I don't like to joke. I got all of them thoroughly scared, I tell you. Even the Imperial Council is afraid of me. And really, that's the sort I am. I don't spare anybody. I tell them all, "I know myself, I know myself." I am everywhere, everywhere. I go to Court daily. Tomorrow they are going to make me a field-marsh—