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Act Four
The same room in the MAYORās house. Cautiously, almost on tiptoe, enter the JUDGE, the CHARITIES WARDEN, the POSTMASTER, the SCHOOLS SUPERINTENDENT, DOBCHINSKY and BOBCHINSKY, all in full dress uniform. The entire scene is played in hushed voices.
JUDGE (organizes everybody into a semi-circle). Gentlemen, for goodnessā sake, hurry up and form a circle, letās have a bit more order! God save us, this is a man who drives to the Palace and tears strips off the Privy Council! Get into battle order, come on, line up! No, Bobchinsky, you run round to this side, and you stay where you are, Dobchinsky.
BOBCHINSKY and DOBCHINSKY both run round on tiptoe.
WARDEN. Itās up to you, Judge, but we really ought to arrange something.
JUDGE. What do you mean exactly?
WARDEN. Well, you know . . .
JUDGE. What, a bribe?
WARDEN. Yes, a backhander, you know . . .
JUDGE. No, too risky, dammit. Heāll howl the place down, a Government man. Not unless we make a donation, say, from the local gentry, towards some monument or other.
POSTMASTER. What if we say: āLook, hereās some money just arrived through the post, weāve no idea who it belongs toā?
WARDEN. Yes, well, youād better watch he doesnāt post you, to some far-off land! Listen, in a well-ordered society people donāt do these things. And what are we all lined up here for, like a cavalry charge? We ought to present ourselves to him one by one, so itās private, and, er . . . to keep things right ā so other people canāt hear. Thatās what happens in a well-ordered society. Right then, Judge ā you can go first.
JUDGE. No no ā itās better if you go. After all, our distinguished visitor did break bread in your hospital.
WARDEN. Actually, the Superintendent should go first, as the torch-bearer to our youth.
SUPERINTENDENT. No, I canāt, sirs ā I canāt do it. Perhaps itās my upbringing, but honestly, the minute someone even one rank higher than me starts speaking, my mind goes blank, and I get completely tongue-tied. No, sirs, please, count me out!
WARDEN. Well, Judge, I suppose that leaves you. Go on, youād even be a match for Cicero.
JUDGE. Oh, rubbish! Cicero, really! Just because a man gets carried away now and again, talking about his dogs, or a fine bloodhound . . .
ALL (urging him). No, no, Judge ā not just dogs, you couldāve talked up the Tower of Babel! Judge, please, donāt let us down, youāre like a father to us! Please, donāt abandon us!
JUDGE. Gentlemen, leave me be!
Just then, footsteps and coughing are heard from KHLESTAKOVās room. They all make a mad rush to escape from the room, bunching together, and some of them become wedged in the door. Stifled cries of pain.
BOBCHINSKY. Ouch! Dobchinsky, youāre standing on my foot!
WARDEN. Let me through, sirs, have a heart! Youāre squeezing me to death!
More cries of āOuch!, etc., until finally all manage to squeeze out, leaving the room empty. KHLESTAKOV then emerges, bleary-eyed.
KHLESTAKOV. Well, I mustāve had a decent snooze. I wonder where they got those mattresses and eiderdowns? Iām dripping with sweat. I think they mustāve slipped me something at lunch yesterday ā my headās still thumping. Yes, from what Iāve seen, I could pass the time very pleasantly here. I do enjoy hospitality, and all the more so when itās out of the goodness of peopleās hearts, and not some ulterior motive. The Mayorās daughterās not bad-looking, and his wifeād do a turn, too . . . I donāt know, I quite fancy this way of life.
The JUDGE enters, and stops by the door.
JUDGE (aside). Oh Lord, oh Lord! Help me out here, please! My knees are giving way . . . (Aloud, drawing himself up to his full height, his hand on his sword-hilt.) Sir, permit me to introduce myself ā Collegiate Assessor, and presiding Judge of the District Court ā Lyapkin-Tyapkin.
KHLESTAKOV. Sit down, please. So ā youāre the law in these parts?
JUDGE. Yes, sir ā appointed in 1816 for a three-year term, at the instance of the local nobility, and continued in that post until the present.
KHLESTAKOV. I see. And is it a profitable business, being a judge?
JUDGE. Well, sir, after three full terms of office I was recommended for the Order of St Vladimir, Fourth Class, with my superiorsā approval. (Aside.) Oh Lord, this moneyās burning a hole in my fist!
KHLESTAKOV. Oh, I do like the Vladimir. It leaves the St Anne Third Class simply nowhere.
JUDGE (slowly extending his clenched fist. Aside). God Almighty ā I feel as if Iām sitting on hot coals!
KHLESTAKOV. Whatās that you have in your hand?
JUDGE (panics, and drops the banknotes on the floor). Nothing, sir!
KHLESTAKOV. What dāyou mean nothing? Didnāt I see money falling?
JUDGE (trembling all over). No no, it was absolutely nothing, sir! (Aside.) Oh Lord, Iām in the dock now! And the cartās arrived to whisk me off to jail!
KHLESTAKOV (Picking it up). Yes, it is money.
JUDGE (aside). The gameās up! Iām done for!
KHLESTAKOV. Look, Iāll tell you what ā why donāt you give me a loan of this?
JUDGE (eagerly). Oh yes, sir, yes! With the greatest of pleasure! (Aside.) Now, go to it! Holy Mother of God, see me through this!
KHLESTAKOV. I ran out of cash on the road, you see, what with one thing and another . . . Anyway, Iāll send it back to you from my estate.
JUDGE. Oh, please, donāt even mention it ā Iām only too honoured. Naturally, I endeavour to serve my superiors to the utmost of my abilities, meagre though they be . . . (Rises from his chair and comes to attention.) Sir, I shall not presume to trouble you further with my presence. Does Your Honour have any instructions for me?
KHLESTAKOV. What sort of instructions?
JUDGE. Well, I thought you might perhaps have some instructions for the District Court?
KHLESTAKOV. What on earth for? Iāve no business in that place now, surely?
JUDGE (bows and makes to exit. Aside). Yes, weāve won the day!
KHLESTAKOV (After he has gone). Decent chap, the Judge.
Enter the POSTMASTER, stiffly, his hand on his sword-hilt.
POSTMASTER. Sir, permit me to introduce myself ā Postmaster and Court Councillor Shpyokin.
KHLESTAKOV. Ah, Iām delighted to meet you. I do enjoy good company. Please, sit down. So, youāve always lived here?
POSTMASTER. Thatās correct, Your Honour.
KHLESTAKOV. Yes, I rather like this little town. Not many people, of course, but so what? Itās not the capital. Itās not exactly St Petersburg, is it?
POSTMASTER. Thatās perfectly true, sir.
KHLESTAKOV. Yes, the capitalās your only place for le bon ton ā none of your provincial clods there, eh? Whatās your opinion?
POSTMASTER. Thatās absolutely right, sir. (Aside.) Well, one thing ā he isnāt too proud to ask questions.
KHLESTAKOV. Even so, you can live quite contentedly in a small town, wouldnāt you say?
POSTMASTER. Yes, indeed, sir.
KHLESTAKOV. You know what I think? I think all you need is a bit of respect, a bit of sincere affection, nāest-ce pas?
POSTMASTER. I couldnāt agree more, sir.
KHLESTAKOV. You know, Iām really pleased weāre of the same mind. Of course, people will say Iām a queer fish, but thatās just how I am. (Peers closely at him, then aside.) I think Iāll tap this Postmaster for a loan! (Aloud.) You know, itās the damndest thing: I absolutely ran out of cash on the road. I donāt suppose you could see your way to lending me three hundred roubles?
POSTMASTER. Yes, why not? With the greatest of pleasure, sir. Here, take it, please. Iām delighted to be of service.
KHLESTAKOV. Thank you very much. I must confess, I positively loathe having to do without things when Iām travelling, and why on earth should I? Dāyou agree?
POSTMASTER. Oh, completely, sir. (Stands up, and comes to attention, his hand on his sword-hilt.) Sir, I shall not presume to trouble you further with my presence. Does Your Honour wish to make any observations pertaining to the postal administration?
KHLESTAKOV. No, none at all.
The POSTMASTER bows and exits.
The Postmaster seems a decent chap too. Obliging, at any rate. My sort of people.
Enter the SUPERINTENDENT, virtually shoved through the door. A voice i...
