The Russian Masters: Works by Dostoevsky, Chekhov, Tolstoy, Pushkin, Gogol, Turgenev and More. Максим Горький
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take it. He'll fly into a rage at us. He's a government official, you know. Perhaps it should be given to him in the form of a gift from the nobility for some sort of memorial?
POSTMASTER. Or, perhaps, tell him some money has been sent here by post and we don't know for whom?
ARTEMY. You had better look out that he doesn't send you by post a good long ways off. Look here, things of such a nature are not done this way in a well-ordered state. What's the use of a whole regiment here? We must present ourselves to him one at a time, and do—what ought to be done, you know—so that eyes do not see and ears do not hear. That's the way things are done in a well-ordered society. You begin it, Ammos Fiodorovich, you be the first.
AMMOS. You had better go first. The distinguished guest has eaten in your institution.
ARTEMY. Then Luka Lukich, as the enlightener of youth, should go first.
LUKA. I can't, I can't, gentlemen. I confess I am so educated that the moment an official a single degree higher than myself speaks to me, my heart stands still and I get as tongue-tied as though my tongue were caught in the mud. No, gentlemen, excuse me. Please let me off.
ARTEMY. It's you who have got to do it, Ammos Fiodorovich. There's no one else. Why, every word you utter seems to be issuing from Cicero's mouth.
AMMOS. What are you talking about! Cicero! The idea! Just because a man sometimes waxes enthusiastic over house dogs or hunting hounds.
ALL [pressing him]. No, not over dogs, but the Tower of Babel, too. Don't forsake us, Ammos Fiodorovich, help us. Be our Saviour!
AMMOS. Let go of me, gentlemen.
Footsteps and coughing are heard in Khlestakov's room. All hurry to the door, crowding and jostling in their struggle to get out. Some are uncomfortably squeezed, and half-suppressed cries are heard.
BOBCHINSKY'S VOICE. Oh, Piotr Ivanovich, you stepped on my foot.
ARTEMY. Look out, gentlemen, look out. Give me a chance to atone for my sins. You are squeezing me to death.
Exclamations of "Oh! Oh!" Finally they all push through the door, and the stage is left empty.
SCENE II
Enter Khlestakov, looking sleepy.
KHLESTAKOV [alone]. I seem to have had a fine snooze. Where did they get those mattresses and feather beds from? I even perspired. After the meal yesterday they must have slipped something into me that knocked me out. I still feel a pounding in my head. I see I can have a good time here. I like hospitality, and I must say I like it all the more if people entertain me out of a pure heart and not from interested motives. The Governor's daughter is not a bad one at all, and the mother is also a woman you can still—I don't know, but I do like this sort of life.
SCENE III
Khlestakov and the Judge.
JUDGE [comes in and stops. Talking to himself]. Oh, God, bring me safely out of this! How my knees are knocking together! [Drawing himself up and holding the sword in his hand. Aloud.] I have the honor to present myself—Judge of the District Court here, College Assessor Liapkin-Tiapkin.
KHLESTAKOV. Please be seated. So you are the Judge here?
JUDGE. I was elected by the nobility in 1816 and I have served ever since.
KHLESTAKOV. Does it pay to be a judge?
JUDGE. After serving three terms I was decorated with the Vladimir of the third class with the approval of the government. [Aside.] I have the money in my hand and my hand is on fire.
KHLESTAKOV. I like the Vladimir. Anna of the third class is not so nice.
JUDGE [slightly extending his balled fist. Aside]. Good God! I don't know where I'm sitting. I feel as though I were on burning coals.
KHLESTAKOV. What have you got in your hand there?
AMMOS [getting all mixed up and dropping the bills on the floor]. Nothing.
KHLESTAKOV. How so, nothing? I see money has dropped out of it.
AMMOS [shaking all over]. Oh no, oh no, not at all! [Aside.] Oh, Lord! Now I'm under arrest and they've brought a wagon to take me.
KHLESTAKOV. Yes, it IS money. [Picking it up.]
AMMOS [aside]. It's all over with me. I'm lost! I'm lost!
KHLESTAKOV. I tell you what—lend it to me.
AMMOS [eagerly]. Why, of course, of course—with the greatest pleasure. [Aside.] Bolder! Bolder! Holy Virgin, stand by me!
KHLESTAKOV. I've run out of cash on the road, what with one thing and another, you know. I'll let you have it back as soon as I get to the village.
AMMOS. Please don't mention it! It is a great honor to have you take it. I'll try to deserve it—by putting forth the best of my feeble powers, by my zeal and ardor for the government. [Rises from the chair and draws himself up straight with his hands hanging at his sides.] I will not venture to disturb you longer with my presence. You don't care to give any orders?
KHLESTAKOV. What orders?
JUDGE. I mean, would you like to give orders for the district court here?
KHLESTAKOV. What for? I have nothing to do with the court now. No, nothing. Thank you very much.
AMMOS [bowing and leaving. Aside.]. Now the town is ours.
KHLESTAKOV. The Judge is a fine fellow.
SCENE IV
Khlestakov and the Postmaster.
POSTMASTER [in uniform, sword in hand. Drawing himself up]. I have the honor to present myself—Postmaster, Court Councilor Shpekin.
KHLESTAKOV. I'm glad to meet you. I like pleasant company very much. Take a seat. Do you live here all the time?
POSTMASTER. Yes, sir. Quite so.
KHLESTAKOV. I like this little town. Of course, there aren't many people. It's not very lively. But what of it? It isn't the capital. Isn't that so—it isn't the capital?
POSTMASTER. Quite so, quite so.
KHLESTAKOV. It's only in the capital that you find bon-ton and not a lot of provincial lubbers. What is your opinion? Isn't that so?
POSTMASTER. Quite so. [Aside.] He isn't a bit proud. He inquires about everything.
KHLESTAKOV. And yet you'll admit that one can live happily in a little town.
POSTMASTER. Quite so.
KHLESTAKOV. In my opinion what you want is this—you want people to respect you and to love you sincerely. Isn't that so?
POSTMASTER. Exactly.
KHLESTAKOV. I'm glad you agree with me. Of course, they call me queer. But that's the kind of character I am. [Looking him in the face and talking to himself.] I think I'll ask this postmaster for a loan. [Aloud.] A strange accident happened to me and I ran out of cash on the road. Can you lend me three hundred rubles?
POSTMASTER. Of course. I shall esteem it a piece of great good fortune. I am ready to serve you with all my heart.
KHLESTAKOV. Thank you very much. I must say, I hate like the devil to deny myself on the road. And why should I? Isn't that so?
POSTMASTER. Quite so. [Rises, draws himself up, with his sword in his hand.] I'll not venture to disturb you any more. Would you care to make any remarks about the post office administration?
KHLESTAKOV. No, nothing.
The Postmaster bows and goes out.
KHLESTAKOV [lighting a cigar]. It seems to me the Postmaster is a fine fellow, too. He's certainly obliging.