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.
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.
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