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The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Inspector-General, by Nicolay Gogol
This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or
re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org
Title: The Inspector-General
Author: Nicolay Gogol
Translator: Thomas Seltzer
Release Date: February, 2003 [Etext #3735]
Posting Date: February 14, 2010
Language: English
*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE INSPECTOR-GENERAL ***
Produced by Judy Boss
THE INSPECTOR-GENERAL
By Nicolay Gogol
A comedy in five acts
Translated by Thomas Seltzer from the Russian
INTRODUCTION
The Inspector-General is a national institution. To place a purely
literary valuation upon it and call it the greatest of Russian comedies
would not convey the significance of its position either in Russian
literature or in Russian life itself. There is no other single work in
the modern literature of any language that carries with it the wealth of
associations which the Inspector-General does to the educated Russian.
The Germans have their Faust; but Faust is a tragedy with a cosmic
philosophic theme. In England it takes nearly all that is implied in the
comprehensive name of Shakespeare to give the same sense of bigness that
a Russian gets from the mention of the Revizor.
That is not to say that the Russian is so defective in the critical
faculty as to balance the combined creative output of the greatest
English dramatist against Gogol's one comedy, or even to attribute to
it the literary value of any of Shakespeare's better plays. What the
Russian's appreciation indicates is the pregnant role that literature
plays in the life of intellectual Russia. Here literature is not a
luxury, not a diversion. It is bone of the bone, flesh of the flesh, not
only of the intelligentsia, but also of a growing number of the common
people, intimately woven into their everyday existence, part and parcel
of their thoughts, their aspirations, their social, political and
economic life. It expresses their collective wrongs and sorrows, their
collective hopes and strivings. Not only does it serve to lead the
movements of the masses, but it is an integral component element of
those movements. In a word, Russian literature is completely bound up
with the life of Russian society, and its vitality is but the measure of
the spiritual vitality of that society.
This unique character of Russian literature may be said to have had its
beginning with the Inspector-General. Before Gogol most Russian writers,
with few exceptions, were but weak imitators of foreign models.
The drama fashioned itself chiefly upon French patterns. The
Inspector-General and later Gogol's novel, Dead Souls, established that
tradition in Russian letters which was followed by all the great writers
from Dostoyevsky down to Gorky.
As with one blow, Gogol shattered the notions of the theatre-going
public of his day of what a comedy should be. The ordinary idea of a
play at that time in Russia seems to have been a little like our
own tired business man's. And the shock the Revizor gave those early
nineteenth-century Russian audiences is not unlike the shocks we
ourselves get when once in a while a theatrical manager is courageous
enough to produce a bold modern European play. Only the intensity of
the shock was much greater. For Gogol dared not only bid defiance to the
accepted method; he dared to introduce a subject-matter that under the
guise of humor audaciously attacked the very foundation of the state,
namely, the officialdom of the Russian bureaucracy. That is why the
Revizor marks such a revolution in the world of Russian letters. In form
it was realistic, in substance it was vital. It showed up the rottenness
and corruption of the instruments through which the Russian government
functioned. It held up to ridicule, directly, all the officials of
a typical Russian municipality, and, indirectly, pointed to the same
system of graft and corruption among the very highest servants of the
crown.
What wonder that the Inspector-General became a sort of comedy-epic in
the land of the Czars, the land where each petty town-governor is almost
an absolute despot, regulating his persecutions and extortions according
to the sage saying of the town-governor in the play, "That's the way God
made the world, and the Voltairean free-thinkers can talk against it
all they like, it won't do any good." Every subordinate in the town
administration, all the way down the line to the policemen, follow--not
always so scrupulously--the law laid down by the same authority, "Graft
no higher than your rank." As in city and town, so in village and
hamlet. It is the tragedy of Russian life, which has its roots in that
more comprehensive tragedy, Russian despotism, the despotism that gives
the sharp edge to official corruption. For there is no possible redress
from it except in violent revolutions.
That is the prime reason why the Inspector-General, a mere comedy, has
such a hold on the Russian people and occupies so important a place
in Russian literature. And that is why a Russian critic says, "Russia
possesses only one comedy, the Inspector-General."
The second reason is the brilliancy and originality with which this
national theme was executed. Gogol was above all else the artist. He was
not a radical, nor even a liberal. He was strictly conservative. While
hating the bureaucracy, yet he never found fault with the system
itself or with the autocracy. Like most born artists, he was strongly
individualistic in temperament, and his satire and ridicule were aimed
not at causes, but at effects. Let but the individuals act morally, and
the system, which Gogol never questioned, would work beautifully. This
conception caused Gogol to concentrate his best efforts upon delineation
of character. It was the characters that were to be revealed, their
actions to be held up to scorn and ridicule, not the conditions which
created the characters and made them act as they did. If any lesson at
all was to be drawn from the play it was not a sociological lesson, but
a moral one. The individual who sees himself mirrored in it may be moved
to self-purgation; society has nothing to learn from it.
Yet the play lives because of the social message it carries. The
creation proved greater than the creator. The author of the Revizor was
a poor critic of his own work. The Russian people rejected his
estimate and put their own upon it. They knew their officials and they
entertained no illusions concerning their regeneration so long as the
system that bred them continued to live. Nevertheless, as a keen satire
and a striking exposition of the workings of the hated system itself,
they hailed the Revizor with delight. And as such it has remained graven
in Russia's conscience to this day.
It must be said that "Gogol himself grew with the writing of the
Revizor." Always a careful craftsman, scarcely ever satisfied with the
first version of a story or a play, continually changing and rewriting,
he seems to have bestowed special attention on perfecting this comedy.
The subject, like that of Dead Souls, was suggested to him by the poet
Pushkin, and was based on a true incident. Pushkin at once recognized
Gogol's genius and looked upon the young author as the rising star
of Russian literature. Their acquaintance soon ripened into intimate
friendship, and Pushkin missed no opportunity to encourage and stimulate
him in his writings and help him with all the power of his great
influence. Gogol began to work on the play at the close of 1834, when he
was twenty-five years old. It was first produced in St. Petersburg,
in 1836. Despite the many elaborations it had undergone before Gogol
permitted it to be put on the stage, he still did not feel satisfied,
and he began to work on it again in 1838. It was not brought down to its
present final form until 1842.
Thus the Revizor occupied the mind of the author over a period of
eight years, and resulted in a product which from the point of view of
characterization and dramatic technique is almost flawless. Yet far
more important is the fact that the play marked an epoch in Gogol's own
literary development. When he began on it, his ambitions did not rise
above making it a comedy of pure fun, but, gradually, in the course of
his working on it, the possibilities of the subject unfolded themselves
and influenced his entire subsequent career. His art broadened and
deepened and grew more serious. If Pushkin's remark, that "behind his
laughter you feel the sad tears," is true of some of Gogol's former
productions, it is still truer of the Revizor and his later works.
A new life had begun for him, he tells us himself, when he was no longer
"moved by childish notions, but by lofty ideas full of truth." "It was
Pushkin," he writes, "who made me look at the thing seriously. I saw
that in my writings I laughed vainly, for nothing, myself not knowing
why. If I was to laugh, then I had better laugh over things that are
really to be laughed at. In the Inspector-General I resolved to gather
together all the bad in Russia I then knew into one heap, all the
injustice that was practised in those places and in those human
relations in which more than in anything justice is demanded of men, and
to have one big laugh over it all. But that, as is well known, produced
an outburst of excitement. Through my laughter, which never before came
to me with such force, the reader sensed profound sorrow. I myself
felt that my laughter was no longer the same as it had been, that in my
writings I could no longer be the same as in the past, and that the need
to divert myself with innocent, careless scenes had ended along with my
young years."
With the strict censorship that existed in the reign of Czar Nicholas I,
it required powerful influence to obtain permission for the production
of the comedy. This Gogol received through the instrumentality of
his friend, Zhukovsky, who succeeded in gaining the Czar's personal
intercession. Nicholas himself was present at the first production in
April, 1836, and laughed and applauded, and is said to have remarked,
"Everybody gets it, and I most of all."
Naturally official Russia did not relish this innovation in dramatic
art, and indignation ran high among them and their supporters. Bulgarin
led the attack. Everything that is usually said against a new departure
in literature or art was said against the Revizor. It was not original.
It was improbable, impossible, coarse, vulgar; lacked plot. It turned
on a stale anecdote that everybody knew. It was a rank farce. The
characters were mere caricatures. "What sort of a town was it that did
not hold a single honest soul?"
Gogol's sensitive nature shrank before the tempest that burst upon him,
and he fled from his enemies all the way out of Russia. "Do what you
please about presenting the play in Moscow," he writes to Shchepkin four
days after its first production in St. Petersburg. "I am not going to
bother about it. I am sick of the play and all the fussing over it. It
produced a great noisy effect. All are against me... they abuse me and
go to see it. No tickets can be obtained for the fourth performance."
But the best literary talent of Russia, with Pushkin and Bielinsky, the
greatest critic Russia has produced, at the head, ranged itself on his
side.
Nicolay Vasilyevich Gogol was born in Sorochintzy, government of
Poltava, in 1809. His father was a Little Russian, or Ukrainian,
landowner, who exhibited considerable talent as a playwright and actor.
Gogol was educated at home until the age of ten, then went to Niezhin,
where he entered the gymnasium in 1821. Here he edited a students'
manuscript magazine called the Star, and later founded a students'
theatre, for which he was both manager and actor. It achieved such
success that it was patronized by the general public.
In 1829 Gogol went to St. Petersburg, where he thought of becoming
an actor, but he finally gave up the idea and took a position as a
subordinate government clerk. His real literary career began in 1830
with the publication of a series of stories of Little Russian country
life called Nights on a Farm near Dikanka. In 1831 he became acquainted
with Pushkin and Zhukovsky, who introduced the "shy Khokhol" (nickname
for "Little Russian"), as he was called, to the house of Madame O.
A. Smirnov, the centre of "an intimate circle of literary men and the
flower of intellectual society." The same year he obtained a position as
instructor of history at the Patriotic Institute, and in 1834 was made
professor of history at the University of St. Petersburg. Though his
lectures were marked by originality and vivid presentation, he seems on
the whole not to have been successful as a professor, and he resigned in
1835.
During this period he kept up his literary activity uninterruptedly, and
in 1835 published his collection of stories, Mirgorod, containing
How Ivan Ivanovich Quarreled with Ivan Nikiforovich, Taras Bulba, and
others. This collection firmly established his position as a leading
author. At the same time he was at work on several plays. The Vladimir
Cross, which was to deal with the higher St. Petersburg functionaries
in the same way as the Revizor with the lesser town officials, was never
concluded, as Gogol realized the impossibility of placing them on the
Russian stage. A few strong scenes were published. The comedy Marriage,
finished in 1835, still finds a place in the Russian theatrical
repertoire. The Gamblers, his only other complete comedy, belongs to a
later period.
After a stay abroad, chiefly in Italy, lasting with some interruptions
for seven years (1836-1841), he returned to his native country, bringing
with him the first part of his greatest work, Dead Souls. The novel,
published the following year, produced a profound impression and made
Gogol's literary reputation supreme. Pushkin, who did not live to see
its publication, on hearing the first chapters read, exclaimed, "God,
how sad our Russia is!" And Alexander Hertzen characterized it as
"a wonderful book, a bitter, but not hopeless rebuke of contemporary
Russia." Aksakov went so far as to call it the Russian national epic,
and Gogol the Russian Homer.
Unfortunately the novel remained incomplete. Gogol began to suffer
from a nervous illness which induced extreme hypochondria. He became
excessively religious, fell under the influence of pietists and a
fanatical priest, sank more and more into mysticism, and went on a
pilgrimage to Jerusalem to worship at the Holy Sepulchre. In this
state of mind he came to consider all literature, including his own, as
pernicious and sinful.
After burning the manuscript of the second part of Dead Souls, he began
to rewrite it, had it completed and ready for the press by 1851, but
kept the copy and burned it again a few days before his death (1852), so
that it is extant only in parts.
THOMAS SELTZER.
CHARACTERS OF THE PLAY
ANTON ANTONOVICH SKVOZNIK-DMUKHANOVSKY, the
Governor.
ANNA ANDREYEVNA, his wife.
MARYA ANTONOVNA, his daughter.
LUKA LUKICH KHLOPOV, the Inspector of Schools.
His Wife.
AMMOS FIODOROVICH LIAPKIN-TIAPKIN, the Judge.
ARTEMY FILIPPOVICH ZEMLIANIKA, the Superintendent of
Charities.
IVAN KUZMICH SHPEKIN, the Postmaster.
PIOTR IVANOVICH DOBCHINSKY. }
PIOTR IVANOVICH BOBCHINSKY. } Country Squires.
IVAN ALEKSANDROVICH KHLESTAKOV, an official from St.
Petersburg.
OSIP, his servant.
CHRISTIAN IVANOVICH HÜBNER, the district Doctor.
FIODR ANDREYEVICH LULIUKOV. } ex-officials,
}esteemed
IVAN LAZAREVICH RASTAKOVSKY. }personages
STEPAN IVANOVICH KOROBKIN. }of the town.
STEPAN ILYICH UKHOVERTOV, the Police Captain.
SVISTUNOV. }
PUGOVITZYN. }Police Sergeants.
DERZHIMORDA. }
ABDULIN, a Merchant.
FEVRONYA PETROVA POSHLIOPKINA, the Locksmith's wife.
The Widow of a non-commissioned Officer.
MISHKA, the Governor's Servant.
Servant at the Inn.
Guests, Merchants, Citizens, and Petitioners.
CHARACTERS AND COSTUMES
DIRECTIONS FOR ACTORS
THE GOVERNOR.--A man grown old in the service, by no means a fool in his
own way. Though he takes bribes, he carries himself with dignity. He is
of a rather serious turn and even given somewhat to ratiocination. He
speaks in a voice neither too loud nor too low and says neither too much
nor too little. Every word of his counts. He has the typical hard stern
features of the official who has worked his way up from the lowest rank
in the arduous government service. Coarse in his inclinations, he passes
rapidly from fear to joy, from servility to arrogance. He is dressed in
uniform with frogs and wears Hessian boots with spurs. His hair with a
sprinkling of gray is close-cropped.
ANNA ANDREYEVNA.--A provincial coquette, still this side of middle age,
educated on novels and albums and on fussing with household affairs and
servants. She is highly inquisitive and has streaks of vanity. Sometimes
she gets the upper hand over her husband, and he gives in simply because
at the moment he cannot find the right thing to say. Her ascendency,
however, is confined to mere trifles and takes the form of lecturing and
twitting. She changes her dress four times in the course of the play.
KHLESTAKOV.--A skinny young man of about twenty-three, rather stupid,
being, as they say, "without a czar in his head," one of those persons
called an "empty vessel" in the government offices. He speaks and acts
without stopping to think and utterly lacks the power of concentration.
The words burst from his mouth unexpectedly. The more naiveté
and ingenousness the actor puts into the character the better will he
sustain the role. Khlestakov is dressed in the latest fashion.
OSIP.--A typical middle-aged servant, grave in his address, with eyes
always a bit lowered. He is argumentative and loves to read sermons
directed at his master. His voice is usually monotonous. To his master
his tone is blunt and sharp, with even a touch of rudeness. He is the
cleverer of the two and grasps a situation more quickly. But he does not
like to talk. He is a silent, uncommunicative rascal. He wears a shabby
gray or blue coat.
BOBCHINSKY AND DOBCHINSKY.--Short little fellows, strikingly like
each other. Both have small paunches, and talk rapidly, with emphatic
gestures of their hands, features and bodies. Dobchinsky is slightly
the taller and more subdued in manner. Bobchinsky is freer, easier and
livelier. They are both exceedingly inquisitive.
LIAPKIN-TIAPKIN.--He has read four or five books and so is a bit of
a freethinker. He is always seeing a hidden meaning in things and
therefore puts weight into every word he utters. The actor should
preserve an expression of importance throughout. He speaks in a bass
voice, with a prolonged rattle and wheeze in his throat, like an
old-fashioned clock, which buzzes before it strikes.
ZEMLIANIKA.--Very fat, slow and awkward; but for all that a sly, cunning
scoundrel. He is very obliging and officious.
SHPEKIN.--Guileless to the point of simplemindedness. The other
characters require no special explanation, as their originals can be met
almost anywhere.
The actors should pay especial attention to the last scene. The last
word uttered must strike all at once, suddenly, like an electric shock.
The whole group should change its position at the same instant. The
ladies must all burst into a simultaneous cry of astonishment, as if
with one throat. The neglect of these directions may ruin the whole
effect.
THE INSPECTOR-GENERAL
ACT I
A Room in the Governor's House.
SCENE I
Anton Antonovich, the Governor, Artemy Filippovich, the Superintendent
of Charities, Luka Lukich, the Inspector of Schools, Ammos Fiodorovich,
the Judge, Stepan Ilyich, Christian Ivanovich, the Doctor, and two
Police Sergeants.
GOVERNOR. I have called you together, gentlemen, to tell you an
unpleasant piece of news. An Inspector-General is coming.
AMMOS FIOD. What, an Inspector-General?
ARTEMY FIL. What, an Inspector-General?
GOVERNOR. Yes, an Inspector from St. Petersburg, incognito. And with
secret instructions, too.
AMMOS. A pretty how-do-you-do!
ARTEMY. As if we hadn't enough trouble without an Inspector!
LUKA LUKICH. Good Lord! With secret instructions!
GOVERNOR. I had a sort of presentiment of it. Last night I kept dreaming
of two rats--regular monsters! Upon my word, I never saw the likes of
them--black and supernaturally big. They came in, sniffed, and then went
away.--Here's a letter I'll read to you--from Andrey Ivanovich. You
know him, Artemy Filippovich. Listen to what he writes: "My dear
friend, godfather and benefactor--[He mumbles, glancing rapidly down the
page.]--and to let you know"--Ah, that's it--"I hasten to let you know,
among other things, that an official has arrived here with instructions
to inspect the whole government, and your district especially. [Raises
his finger significantly.] I have learned of his being here from highly
trustworthy sources, though he pretends to be a private person. So, as
you have your little peccadilloes, you know, like everybody else--you
are a sensible man, and you don't let the good things that come your
way slip by--" [Stopping] H'm, that's his junk--"I advise you to take
precautions, as he may arrive any hour, if he hasn't already, and is not
staying somewhere incognito.--Yesterday--" The rest are family matters.
"Sister Anna Krillovna is here visiting us with her husband. Ivan
Krillovich has grown very fat and is always playing the fiddle"--et
cetera, et cetera. So there you have the situation we are confronted
with, gentlemen.
AMMOS. An extraordinary situation, most extraordinary! Something behind
it, I am sure.
LUKA. But why, Anton Antonovich? What for? Why should we have an
Inspector?
GOVERNOR. It's fate, I suppose. [Sighs.] Till now, thank goodness, they
have been nosing about in other towns. Now our turn has come.
AMMOS. My opinion is, Anton Antonovich, that the cause is a deep one
and rather political in character. It means this, that Russia--yes--that
Russia intends to go to war, and the Government has secretly
commissioned an official to find out if there is any treasonable
activity anywhere.
GOVERNOR. The wise man has hit on the very thing. Treason in this little
country town! As if it were on the frontier! Why, you might gallop three
years away from here and reach nowhere.
AMMOS. No, you don't catch on--you don't--The Government is shrewd. It
makes no difference that our town is so remote. The Government is on the
look-out all the same--
GOVERNOR [cutting him short]. On the look-out, or not on the look-out,
anyhow, gentlemen, I have given you warning. I have made some
arrangements for myself, and I advise you to do the same. You
especially, Artemy Filippovich. This official, no doubt, will want first
of all to inspect your department. So you had better see to it that
everything is in order, that the night-caps are clean, and the patients
don't go about as they usually do, looking as grimy as blacksmiths.
ARTEMY. Oh, that's a small matter. We can get night-caps easily enough.
GOVERNOR. And over each bed you might hang up a placard stating in Latin
or some other language--that's your end of it, Christian Ivanovich--the
name of the disease, when the patient fell ill, the day of the week
and the month. And I don't like your invalids to be smoking such strong
tobacco. It makes you sneeze when you come in. It would be better, too,
if there weren't so many of them. If there are a large number, it
will instantly be ascribed to bad supervision or incompetent medical
treatment.
ARTEMY. Oh, as to treatment, Christian Ivanovich and I have worked out
our own system. Our rule is: the nearer to nature the better. We use
no expensive medicines. A man is a simple affair. If he dies, he'd die
anyway. If he gets well, he'd get well anyway. Besides, the doctor would
have a hard time making the patients understand him. He doesn't know a
word of Russian.
The Doctor gives forth a sound intermediate between M and A.
GOVERNOR. And you, Ammos Fiodorovich, had better look to the courthouse.
The attendants have turned the entrance hall where the petitioners
usually wait into a poultry yard, and the geese and goslings go poking
their beaks between people's legs. Of course, setting up housekeeping is
commendable, and there is no reason why a porter shouldn't do it. Only,
you see, the courthouse is not exactly the place for it. I had meant to
tell you so before, but somehow it escaped my memory.
AMMOS. Well, I'll have them all taken into the kitchen to-day. Will you
come and dine with me?
GOVERNOR. Then, too, it isn't right to have the courtroom littered up
with all sorts of rubbish--to have a hunting-crop lying right among the
papers on your desk. You're fond of sport, I know, still it's better to
have the crop removed for the present. When the Inspector is gone, you
may put it back again. As for your assessor, he's an educated man, to
be sure, but he reeks of spirits, as if he had just emerged from a
distillery. That's not right either. I had meant to tell you so long
ago, but something or other drove the thing out of my mind. If his
odor is really a congenital defect, as he says, then there are ways of
remedying it. You might advise him to eat onion or garlic, or something
of the sort. Christian Ivanovich can help him out with some of his
nostrums.
The Doctor makes the same sound as before.
AMMOS. No, there's no cure for it. He says his nurse struck him when he
was a child, and ever since he has smelt of vodka.
GOVERNOR. Well, I just wanted to call your attention to it. As regards
the internal administration and what Andrey Ivanovich in his letter
calls "little peccadilloes," I have nothing to say. Why, of course,
there isn't a man living who hasn't some sins to answer for. That's the
way God made the world, and the Voltairean freethinkers can talk against
it all they like, it won't do any good.
AMMOS. What do you mean by sins? Anton Antonovich? There are sins and
sins. I tell everyone plainly that I take bribes. I make no bones about
it. But what kind of bribes? White greyhound puppies. That's quite a
different matter.
GOVERNOR. H'm. Bribes are bribes, whether puppies or anything else.
AMMOS. Oh, no, Anton Antonovich. But if one has a fur overcoat worth
five hundred rubles, and one's wife a shawl--
GOVERNOR. [testily]. And supposing greyhound puppies are the only bribes
you take? You're an atheist, you never go to church, while I at least am
a firm believer and go to church every Sunday. You--oh, I know you. When
you begin to talk about the Creation it makes my flesh creep.
AMMOS. Well, it's a conclusion I've reasoned out with my own brain.
GOVERNOR. Too much brain is sometimes worse than none at all.--However,
I merely mentioned the courthouse. I dare say nobody will ever look at
it. It's an enviable place. God Almighty Himself seems to watch over it.
But you, Luka Lukich, as inspector of schools, ought to have an eye on
the teachers. They are very learned gentlemen, no doubt, with a college
education, but they have funny habits--inseparable from the profession,
I know. One of them, for instance, the man with the fat face--I forget
his name--is sure, the moment he takes his chair, to screw up his face
like this. [Imitates him.] And then he has a trick of sticking his hand
under his necktie and smoothing down his beard. It doesn't matter, of
course, if he makes a face at the pupils; perhaps it's even necessary.
I'm no judge of that. But you yourself will admit that if he does it to
a visitor, it may turn out very badly. The Inspector, or anyone else,
might take it as meant for himself, and then the deuce knows what might
come of it.
LUKA. But what can I do? I have told him about it time and again. Only
the other day when the marshal of the nobility came into the class-room,
he made such a face at him as I had never in my life seen before. I
dare say it was with the best intentions; But I get reprimanded for
permitting radical ideas to be instilled in the minds of the young.
GOVERNOR. And then I must call your attention to the history teacher. He
has a lot of learning in his head and a store of facts. That's evident.
But he lectures with such ardor that he quite forgets himself. Once
I listened to him. As long as he was talking about the Assyrians
and Babylonians, it was not so bad. But when he reached Alexander of
Macedon, I can't describe what came over him. Upon my word, I thought a
fire had broken out. He jumped down from the platform, picked up a chair
and dashed it to the floor. Alexander of Macedon was a hero, it is true.
But that's no reason for breaking chairs. The state must bear the cost.
LUKA. Yes, he is a hot one. I have spoken to him about it several times.
He only says: "As you please, but in the cause of learning I will even
sacrifice my life."
GOVERNOR. Yes, it's a mysterious law of fate. Your clever man is either
a drunkard, or he makes such grimaces that you feel like running away.
LUKA. Ah, Heaven save us from being in the educational department! One's
afraid of everything. Everybody meddles and wants to show that he is as
clever as you.
GOVERNOR. Oh, that's nothing. But this cursed incognito! All of a sudden
he'll look in: "Ah, so you're here, my dear fellows! And who's the judge
here?" says he. "Liapkin-Tiapkin." "Bring Liapkin-Tiapkin here.--And who
is the Superintendent of Charities?" "Zemlianika."--"Bring Zemlianika
here!"--That's what's bad.
SCENE II
Enter Ivan Kuzmich, the Postmaster.
POSTMASTER. Tell me, gentlemen, who's coming? What chinovnik?
GOVERNOR. What, haven't you heard?
POSTMASTER. Bobchinsky told me. He was at the postoffice just now.
GOVERNOR. Well, what do you think of it?
POSTMASTER. What do I think of it? Why, there'll be a war with the
Turks.
AMMOS. Exactly. Just what I thought.
GOVERNOR [sarcastically]. Yes, you've both hit in the air precisely.
POSTMASTER. It's war with the Turks for sure, all fomented by the
French.
GOVERNOR. Nonsense! War with the Turks indeed. It's we who are going to
get it, not the Turks. You may count on that. Here's a letter to prove
it.
POSTMASTER. In that case, then, we won't go to war with the Turks.
GOVERNOR. Well, how do you feel about it, Ivan Kuzmich?
POSTMASTER. How do I feel? How do YOU feel about it, Anton Antonovich?
GOVERNOR. I? Well, I'm not afraid, but I just feel a little--you
know--The merchants and townspeople bother me. I seem to be unpopular
with them. But the Lord knows if I've taken from some I've done it
without a trace of ill-feeling. I even suspect--[Takes him by the
arm and walks aside with him.]--I even suspect that I may have been
denounced. Or why would they send an Inspector to us? Look here, Ivan
Kuzmich, don't you think you could--ahem!--just open a little every
letter that passes through your office and read it--for the common
benefit of us all, you know--to see if it contains any kind of
information against me, or is only ordinary correspondence. If it is all
right, you can seal it up again, or simply deliver the letter opened.
POSTMASTER. Oh, I know. You needn't teach me that. I do it not so much
as a precaution as out of curiosity. I just itch to know what's doing in
the world. And it's very interesting reading, I tell you. Some letters
are fascinating--parts of them written grand--more edifying than the
Moscow Gazette.
GOVERNOR. Tell me, then, have you read anything about any official from
St. Petersburg?
POSTMASTER. No, nothing about a St. Petersburg official, but plenty
about Kostroma and Saratov ones. A pity you don't read the letters.
There are some very fine passages in them. For instance, not long ago a
lieutenant writes to a friend describing a ball very wittily.--Splendid!
"Dear friend," he says, "I live in the regions of the Empyrean, lots of
girls, bands playing, flags flying." He's put a lot of feeling into his
description, a whole lot. I've kept the letter on purpose. Would you
like to read it?
GOVERNOR. No, this is no time for such things. But please, Ivan Kuzmich,
do me the favor, if ever you chance upon a complaint or denunciation,
don't hesitate a moment, hold it back.
POSTMASTER. I will, with the greatest pleasure.
AMMOS. You had better be careful. You may get yourself into trouble.
POSTMASTER. Goodness me!
GOVERNOR. Never mind, never mind. Of course, it would be different if
you published it broadcast. But it's a private affair, just between us.
AMMOS. Yes, it's a bad business--I really came here to make you a
present of a puppy, sister to the dog you know about. I suppose you have
heard that Cheptovich and Varkhovinsky have started a suit. So now I
live in clover. I hunt hares first on the one's estate, then on the
other's.
GOVERNOR. I don't care about your hares now, my good friend. That cursed
incognito is on my brain. Any moment the door may open and in walk--
SCENE III
Enter Bobchinsky and Dobchinsky, out of breath.
BOBCHINSKY. What an extraordinary occurrence!
DOBCHINSKY. An unexpected piece of news!
ALL. What is it? What is it?
DOBCHINSKY. Something quite unforeseen. We were about to enter the inn--
BOBCHINSKY [interrupting]. Yes, Piotr Ivanovich and I were entering the
inn--
DOBCHINSKY [interrupting]. Please, Piotr Ivanovich, let me tell.
BOBCHINSKY. No, please, let me--let me. You can't. You haven't got the
style for it.
DOBCHINSKY. Oh, but you'll get mixed up and won't remember everything.
BOBCHINSKY. Yes, I will, upon my word, I will. PLEASE don't interrupt!
Do let me tell the news--don't interrupt! Pray, oblige me, gentlemen,
and tell Dobchinsky not to interrupt.
GOVERNOR. Speak, for Heaven's sake! What is it? My heart is in my mouth!
Sit down, gentlemen, take seats. Piotr Ivanovich, here's a chair for
you. [All seat themselves around Bobchinsky and Dobchinsky.] Well, now,
what is it? What is it?
BOBCHINSKY. Permit me, permit me. I'll tell it all just as it happened.
As soon as I had the pleasure of taking leave of you after you were good
enough to be bothered with the letter which you had received, sir, I ran
out--now, please don't keep interrupting, Dobchinsky. I know all about
it, all, I tell you.--So I ran out to see Korobkin. But not finding
Korobkin at home, I went off to Rastakovsky, and not seeing him, I went
to Ivan Kuzmich to tell him of the news you'd got. Going on from there I
met Dobchinsky--
DOBCHINSKY [interjecting]. At the stall where they sell pies--
BOBCHINSKY. At the stall where they sell pies. Well, I met Dobchinsky
and I said to him: "Have you heard the news that came to Anton
Antonovich in a letter which is absolutely reliable?" But Piotr
Ivanovich had already heard of it from your housekeeper, Avdotya, who, I
don't know why, had been sent to Filipp Antonovich Pachechuyev--
DOBCHINSKY [interrupting]. To get a little keg for French brandy.
BOBCHINSKY. Yes, to get a little keg for French brandy. So then I went
with Dobchinsky to Pachechuyev's.--Will you stop, Piotr Ivanovich?
Please don't interrupt.--So off we went to Pachechuyev's, and on the
way Dobchinsky said: "Let's go to the inn," he said. "I haven't eaten a
thing since morning. My stomach is growling." Yes, sir, his stomach was
growling. "They've just got in a supply of fresh salmon at the inn," he
said. "Let's take a bite." We had hardly entered the inn when we saw a
young man--
DOBCHINSKY [Interrupting]. Of rather good appearance and dressed in
ordinary citizen's clothes.
BOBCHINSKY. Yes, of rather good appearance and dressed in citizen's
clothes--walking up and down the room. There was something out of the
usual about his face, you know, something deep--and a manner about
him--and here [raises his hand to his forehead and turns it around
several times] full, full of everything. I had a sort of feeling, and I
said to Dobchinsky, "Something's up. This is no ordinary matter."
Yes, and Dobchinsky beckoned to the landlord, Vlas, the innkeeper,
you know,--three weeks ago his wife presented him with a baby--a
bouncer--he'll grow up just like his father and keep a tavern.--Well,
we beckoned to Vlas, and Dobchinsky asked him on the quiet, "Who," he
asked, "is that young man?" "That young man," Vlas replied, "that young
man"--Oh, don't interrupt, Piotr Ivanovich, please don't interrupt. You
can't tell the story. Upon my word, you can't. You lisp and one tooth in
your mouth makes you whistle. I know what I'm saying. "That young man,"
he said, "is an official."--Yes, sir.--"On his way from St. Petersburg.
And his name," he said, "is Ivan Aleksandrovich Khlestakov, and he's
going," he said "to the government of Saratov," he said. "And he acts
so queerly. It's the second week he's been here and he's never left the
house; and he won't pay a penny, takes everything on account." When
Vlas told me that, a light dawned on me from above, and I said to Piotr
Ivanovich, "Hey!"--
DOBCHINSKY. No, Piotr Ivanovich, I said "HEY!"
BOBCHINSKY. Well first YOU said it, then I did. "Hey!" said both of us,
"And why does he stick here if he's going to Saratov?"--Yes, sir, that's
he, the official.
GOVERNOR. Who? What official?
BOBCHINSKY. Why, the official who you were notified was coming, the
Inspector.
GOVERNOR [terrified]. Great God! What's that you're saying. It can't be
he.
DOBCHINSKY. It is, though. Why, he doesn't pay his bills and he doesn't
leave. Who else can it be? And his postchaise is ordered for Saratov.
BOBCHINSKY. It's he, it's he, it's he--why, he's so alert, he
scrutinized everything. He saw that Dobchinsky and I were eating
salmon--chiefly on account of Dobchinsky's stomach--and he looked at our
plates so hard that I was frightened to death.
GOVERNOR. The Lord have mercy on us sinners! In what room is he staying?
DOBCHINSKY. Room number 5 near the stairway.
BOBCHINSKY. In the same room that the officers quarreled in when they
passed through here last year.
GOVERNOR. How long has he been here?
DOBCHINSKY. Two weeks. He came on St. Vasili's day.
GOVERNOR. Two weeks! [Aside.] Holy Fathers and saints preserve me! In
those two weeks I have flogged the wife of a non-commissioned officer,
the prisoners were not given their rations, the streets are dirty as a
pothouse--a scandal, a disgrace! [Clutches his head with both hands.]
ARTEMY. What do you think, Anton Antonovich, hadn't we better go in
state to the inn?
AMMOS. No, no. First send the chief magistrate, then the clergy, then
the merchants. That's what it says in the book. The Acts of John the
Freemason.
GOVERNOR. No, no, leave it to me. I have been in difficult situations
before now. They have passed off all right, and I was even rewarded
with thanks. Maybe the Lord will help us out this time, too. [Turns to
Bobchinsky.] You say he's a young man?
BOBCHINSKY. Yes, about twenty-three or four at the most.
GOVERNOR. So much the better. It's easier to pump things out of a young
man. It's tough if you've got a hardened old devil to deal with. But a
young man is all on the surface. You, gentlemen, had better see to your
end of things while I go unofficially, by myself, or with Dobchinsky
here, as though for a walk, to see that the visitors that come to town
are properly accommodated. Here, Svistunov. [To one of the Sergeants.]
SVISTUNOV. Sir.
GOVERNOR. Go instantly to the Police Captain--or, no, I'll want you.
Tell somebody to send him here as quickly as possibly and then come
back.
Svistunov hurries off.
ARTEMY. Let's go, let's go, Ammos Fiodorovich. We may really get into
trouble.
AMMOS. What have you got to be afraid of? Put clean nightcaps on the
patients and the thing's done.
ARTEMY. Nightcaps! Nonsense! The patients were ordered to have oatmeal
soup. Instead of that there's such a smell of cabbage in all the
corridors that you've got to hold your nose.
AMMOS. Well, my mind's at ease. Who's going to visit the court?
Supposing he does look at the papers, he'll wish he had left them alone.
I have been on the bench fifteen years, and when I take a look into a
report, I despair. King Solomon in all his wisdom could not tell what is
true and what is not true in it.
The Judge, the Superintendent of Charities, the School Inspector, and
Postmaster go out and bump up against the Sergeant in the doorway as the
latter returns.
SCENE IV
The Governor, Bobchinsky, Dobchinsky, and Sergeant Svistunov.
GOVERNOR. Well, is the cab ready?
SVISTUNOV. Yes, sir.
GOVERNOR. Go out on the street--or, no, stop--go and bring--why, where
are the others? Why are you alone? Didn't I give orders for Prokhorov to
be here? Where is Prokhorov?
SVISTUNOV. Prokhorov is in somebody's house and can't go on duty just
now.
GOVERNOR. Why so?
SVISTUNOV. Well, they brought him back this morning dead drunk. They
poured two buckets of water over him, but he hasn't sobered up yet.
GOVERNOR [clutching his head with both hands]. For Heaven's sake! Go
out on duty quick--or, no, run up to my room, do you hear? And fetch my
sword and my new hat. Now, Piotr Ivanovich, [to Dobchinsky] come.
BOBCHINSKY. And me--me, too. Let me come, too, Anton Antonovich.
GOVERNOR. No, no, Bobchinsky, it won't do. Besides there is not enough
room in the cab.
BOBCHINSKY. Oh, that doesn't matter. I'll follow the cab on foot--on
foot. I just want to peep through a crack--so--to see that manner of
his--how he acts.
GOVERNOR [turning to the Sergeant and taking his sword]. Be off and get
the policemen together. Let them each take a--there, see how scratched
my sword is. It's that dog of a merchant, Abdulin. He sees the
Governor's sword is old and doesn't provide a new one. Oh, the sharpers!
I'll bet they've got their petitions against me ready in their coat-tail
pockets.--Let each take a street in his hand--I don't mean a street--a
broom--and sweep the street leading to the inn, and sweep it clean,
and--do you hear? And see here, I know you, I know your tricks. You
insinuate yourselves into the inn and walk off with silver spoons in
your boots. Just you look out. I keep my ears pricked. What have you
been up to with the merchant, Chorniayev, eh? He gave you two yards of
cloth for your uniform and you stole the whole piece. Take care. You're
only a Sergeant. Don't graft higher than your rank. Off with you.
SCENE V
Enter the Police Captain.
GOVERNOR. Hello, Stepan Ilyich, where the dickens have you been keeping
yourself? What do you mean by acting that way?
CAPTAIN. Why, I was just outside the gate.
GOVERNOR. Well, listen, Stepan Ilyich. An official has come from St.
Petersburg. What have you done about it?
CAPTAIN. What you told me to. I sent Sergeant Pugovichyn with policemen
to clean the street.
GOVERNOR. Where is Derzhimorda?
CAPTAIN. He has gone off on the fire engine.
GOVERNOR. And Prokhorov is drunk?
CAPTAIN. Yes.
GOVERNOR. How could you allow him to get drunk?
CAPTAIN. God knows. Yesterday there was a fight outside the town. He
went to restore order and was brought back drunk.
GOVERNOR. Well, then, this is what you are to do.--Sergeant
Pugovichyn--he is tall. So he is to stand on duty on the bridge for
appearance' sake. Then the old fence near the bootmaker's must be pulled
down at once and a post stuck up with a whisp of straw so as to look
like grading. The more debris there is the more it will show the
governor's activity.--Good God, though, I forgot that about forty
cart-loads of rubbish have been dumped against that fence. What a vile,
filthy town this is! A monument, or even only a fence, is erected, and
instantly they bring a lot of dirt together, from the devil knows where,
and dump it there. [Heaves a sigh.] And if the functionary that has come
here asks any of the officials whether they are satisfied, they are to
say, "Perfectly satisfied, your Honor"; and if anybody is not satisfied,
I'll give him something to be dissatisfied about afterwards.--Ah, I'm
a sinner, a terrible sinner. [Takes the hat-box, instead of his hat.]
Heaven only grant that I may soon get this matter over and done with;
then I'll donate a candle such as has never been offered before. I'll
levy a hundred pounds of wax from every damned merchant. Oh my, oh my!
Come, let's go, Piotr Ivanovich. [Tries to put the hat-box on his head
instead of his hat.]
CAPTAIN. Anton Antonovich, that's the hat-box, not your hat.
GOVERNOR [throwing the box down]. If it's the hat-box, it's the hat-box,
the deuce take it!--And if he asks why the church at the hospital for
which the money was appropriated five years ago has not been built,
don't let them forget to say that the building was begun but was
destroyed by fire. I sent in a report about it, you know. Some blamed
fool might forget and let out that the building was never even begun.
And tell Derzhimorda not to be so free with his fists. Guilty
or innocent, he makes them all see stars in the cause of public
order.--Come on, come on, Dobchinsky. [Goes out and returns.] And don't
let the soldiers appear on the streets with nothing on. That rotten
garrison wear their coats directly over their undershirts.
All go out.
SCENE VI
Anna Andreyevna and Marya Antonovna rush in on the stage.
ANNA. Where are they? Where are they? Oh, my God! [opening the door.]
Husband! Antosha! Anton! [hurriedly, to Marya.] It's all your fault.
Dawdling! Dawdling!--"I want a pin--I want a scarf." [Runs to the window
and calls.] Anton, where are you going? Where are you going? What! He
has come? The Inspector? He has a moustache? What kind of a moustache?
GOVERNOR [from without]. Wait, dear. Later.
ANNA. Wait? I don't want to wait. The idea, wait! I only want one word.
Is he a colonel or what? Eh? [Disgusted.] There, he's gone! You'll pay