The Essential Russian Plays & Short Stories. Максим Горький
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[fumbling in his pockets]. Have you a hundred rubles, Piotr Ivanovich? All I have is forty.
DOBCHINSKY [examining his pocket-book]. I have only twenty-five.
BOBCHINSKY. Look harder, Piotr Ivanovich. I know you have a hole in your pocket, and the money must have dropped down into it somehow.
DOBCHINSKY. No, honestly, there isn't any in the hole either.
KHLESTAKOV. Well, never mind. I merely mentioned the matter. Sixty-five will do. [Takes the money.]
DOBCHINSKY. May I venture to ask a favor of you concerning a very delicate matter?
KHLESTAKOV. What is it?
DOBCHINSKY. It's a matter of an extremely delicate nature. My oldest son—I beg to inform you—was born before I was married.
KHLESTAKOV. Indeed?
DOBCHINSKY. That is, only in a sort of way. He is really my son, just as if he had been born in wedlock. I made up everything afterwards, set everything right, as it should be, with the bonds of matrimony, you know. Now, I venture to inform you, I should like to have him altogether—that is, I should like him to be altogether my legitimate son and be called Dobchinsky the same as I.
KHLESTAKOV. That's all right. Let him be called Dobchinsky. That's possible.
DOBCHINSKY. I shouldn't have troubled you; but it's a pity, he is such a talented youngster. He gives the greatest promise. He can recite different poems by heart; and whenever he gets hold of a penknife, he makes little carriages as skilfully as a conjurer. Here's Piotr Ivanovich. He knows. Am I not right?
BOBCHINSKY. Yes, the lad is very talented.
KHLESTAKOV. All right, all right. I'll try to do it for you. I'll speak to—I hope—it'll be done, it'll all be done. Yes, yes. [Turning to Bobchinsky.] Have you anything you'd like to say to me?
BOBCHINSKY. Why, of course. I have a most humble request to make.
KHLESTAKOV. What is it?
BOBCHINSKY. I beg your Highness or your Excellency most worshipfully, when you get back to St. Petersburg, please tell all the high personages there, the senators and the admirals, that Piotr Ivanovich Bobchinsky lives in this town. Say this: "Piotr Ivanovich lives there."
KHLESTAKOV. Very well.
BOBCHINSKY. And if you should happen to speak to the Czar, then tell him, too: "Your Majesty," tell him, "Your Majesty, Piotr Ivanovich Bobchinsky lives in this town."
KHLESTAKOV. Very well.
BOBCHINSKY. Pardon me for having troubled you with my presence.
KHLESTAKOV. Not at all, not at all. It was my pleasure. [Sees them to the door.]
SCENE VIII
KHLESTAKOV [alone]. My, there are a lot of officials here. They seem to be taking me for a government functionary. To be sure, I threw dust in their eyes yesterday. What a bunch of fools! I'll write all about it to Triapichkin in St. Petersburg. He'll write them up in the papers. Let him give them a nice walloping.—Ho, Osip, give me paper and ink.
OSIP [looking in at the door]. D'rectly.
KHLESTAKOV. Anybody gets caught in Triapichkin's tongue had better look out. For the sake of a witticism he wouldn't spare his own father. They are good people though, these officials. It's a nice trait of theirs to lend me money. I'll just see how much it all mounts up to. Here's three hundred from the Judge and three hundred from the Postmaster—six hundred, seven hundred, eight hundred—What a greasy bill!—Eight hundred, nine hundred.—Oho! Rolls up to more than a thousand! Now, if I get you, captain, now! We'll see who'll do whom!
SCENE IX
Khlestakov and Osip entering with paper and ink.
KHLESTAKOV. Now, you simpleton, you see how they receive and treat me. [Begins to write.]
OSIP. Yes, thank God! But do you know what, Ivan Aleksandrovich?
KHLESTAKOV. What?
OSIP. Leave this place. Upon my word, it's time.
KHLESTAKOV [writing]. What nonsense! Why?
OSIP. Just so. God be with them. You've had a good time here for two days. It's enough. What's the use of having anything more to do with them? Spit on them. You don't know what may happen. Somebody else may turn up. Upon my word, Ivan Aleksandrovich. And the horses here are fine. We'll gallop away like a breeze.
KHLESTAKOV [writing]. No, I'd like to stay a little longer. Let's go tomorrow.
OSIP. Why tomorrow? Let's go now, Ivan Aleksandrovich, now, 'pon my word. To be sure, it's a great honor and all that. But really we'd better go as quick as we can. You see, they've taken you for somebody else, honest. And your dad will be angry because you dilly-dallied so long. We'd gallop off so smartly. They'd give us first-class horses here.
KHLESTAKOV [writing]. All right. But first take this letter to the postoffice, and, if you like, order post horses at the same time. Tell the postilions that they should drive like couriers and sing songs, and I'll give them a ruble each. [Continues to write.] I wager Triapichkin will die laughing.
OSIP. I'll send the letter off by the man here. I'd rather be packing in the meanwhile so as to lose no time.
KHLESTAKOV. All right. Bring me a candle.
OSIP [outside the door, where he is heard speaking]. Say, partner, go to the post office and mail a letter, and tell the postmaster to frank it. And have a coach sent round at once, the very best courier coach; and tell them the master doesn't pay fare. He travels at the expense of the government. And make them hurry, or else the master will be angry. Wait, the letter isn't ready yet.
KHLESTAKOV. I wonder where he lives now, on Pochtamtskaya or Grokhovaya Street. He likes to move often, too, to get out of paying rent. I'll make a guess and send it to Pochtamtskaya Street. [Folds the letter and addresses it.]
Osip brings the candle. Khlestakov seals the letter with sealing wax. At that moment Derzhimorda's voice is heard saying: "Where are you going, whiskers? You've been told that nobody is allowed to come in."
KHLESTAKOV [giving the letter to Osip]. There, have it mailed.
MERCHANT'S VOICE. Let us in, brother. You have no right to keep us out. We have come on business.
DERZHIMORDA'S VOICE. Get out of here, get out of here! He doesn't receive anybody. He's asleep.
The disturbance outside grows louder.
KHLESTAKOV. What's the matter there, Osip? See what the noise is about.
OSIP [looking through the window]. There are some merchants there who want to come in, and the sergeant won't let them. They are waving papers. I suppose they want to see you.
KHLESTAKOV [going to the window]. What is it, friends?
MERCHANT'S VOICE. We appeal for your protection. Give orders, your Lordship, that our petitions be received.
KHLESTAKOV. Let them in, let them in. Osip, tell them to come in.
Osip goes out.
KHLESTAKOV [takes the petitions through the window, unfolds one of them and reads]. "To his most honorable, illustrious financial Excellency, from the merchant Abdulin...." The devil knows what this is! There's no such title.
SCENE X
Khlestakov and Merchants, with a basket of wine and sugar loaves.
KHLESTAKOV. What is it, friends?
MERCHANTS. We beseech your favor.
KHLESTAKOV. What do you want?
MERCHANTS. Don't