KHLESTAKOV. I'd rather take the cab with you.
GOVERNOR (to Dobchinsky). Now there'll be no room for you, Piotr Ivanovich.
DOBCHINSKY. It doesn't matter. I'll walk.
GOVERNOR (aside, to Dobchinsky). Listen. Run as fast as you can and take two notes, one to Zemlianika at the hospital, the other to my wife. (To Khlestakov.) May I take the liberty of asking you to permit me to write a line to my wife to tell her to make ready to receive our honored guest?
KHLESTAKOV. Why go to so much trouble? However, there is the ink. I don't know whether there is any paper. Would the bill do?
GOVERNOR. Yes, that'll do. (Writes, talking to himself at the same time.) We'll see how things will go after lunch and several stout-bellied bottles. We have some Russian Madeira, not much to look at, but it will knock an elephant off its legs. If I only knew what he is and how much I have to be (on) my guard.
He finishes writing and gives the notes to Dobchinsky. As the latter walks across the stage, the door suddenly falls in, and Bobchinsky tumbles in with it to the floor. All exclaim in surprise. Bobchinsky rises.
KHLESTAKOV. Have you hurt yourself?
BOBCHINSKY. Oh, it's nothing—nothing at all— only a little bruise on my nose. I'll run in to Dr. Hübner's. He has a sort of plaster. It'll soon pass away.
GOVERNOR (making an angry gesture at Bobchinsky. To Khlestakov) . Oh, it's nothing. Now, if you please, sir, we'll go. I'll tell your servant to carry your luggage over. (Calls Osip.) Here, my good fellow, take all your master's things to my house, the Governor's. Anyone will tell you where it is. By your leave, sir. (Makes way for Khlestakov and follows him; then turns and says reprovingly to Bobchinsky.) Couldn't you find some other place to fall in? Sprawling out here like a lobster!
Goes out. After him Bobchinsky. Curtain falls.
ACT III
SCENE: The same as in Act I.
SCENE I
Anna Andreyevna and Marya Antonovna standing at the window in the same positions as at the end of Act I.
ANNA. There now! We've been waiting a whole hour. All on account of your silly prinking. You were completely dressed, but no, you have to keep on dawdling.— Provoking! Not a soul to be seen, as though on purpose, as though the whole world were dead.
MARYA. Now really, mamma, we shall know all about it in a minute or two. Avdotya must come back soon. (Looks out of the window and exclaims.) Oh, mamma, someone is coming—there down the street!
ANNA. Where? Just your imagination again!— why, yes, someone is coming. I wonder who it is. A short man in a frock coat. Who can it be? Eh? The suspense is awful! Who can it be, I wonder.
MARYA. Dobchinsky, mamma.
ANNA. Dobchinsky! Your imagination again! It's not Dobchinsky at all. (Waves her handkerchief.) Ho, you! Come here! Quick!
MARYA. It is dobchinsky, mamma.
ANNA. Of course, you've got to contradict. I tell you, it's not Dobchinsky.
MARYA. Well, well, mamma? Isn't it dobchinsky?
ANNA. Yes, it is, i see now. Why do you argue about it? (Calls through the window.) Hurry up, quick! You're so slow. Well, where are they? What? Speak from where you are. It's all the same. What? He is very strict? Eh? And how about my husband? (Moves away a little from the window, exasperated.) He is so stupid. He won't say a word until he is in the room.
SCENE II
Enter Dobchinsky.
ANNA. Now tell me, aren't you ashamed? You were the only one I relied on to act decently. They all ran away and you after them, and till now I haven't been able to find out a thing. Aren't you ashamed? I stood godmother to your Vanichka and Lizanko, and this is the way you treat me.
DOBCHINSKY. Godmother, upon my word, i ran so fast to pay my respects to you that I'm all out of breath. How do you do, Marya Antonovna?
MARYA. Good afternoon, Piotr Ivanovich.
ANNA. Well, tell me all about it. What is happening at the inn?
DOBCHINSKY. I have a note for you from Anton Antonovich.
ANNA. But who is he? A general?
DOBCHINSKY. No, not a general, but every bit as good as a general, I tell you. Such culture! Such dignified manners!
ANNA. Ah! So he is the same as the one my husband got a letter about.
DOBCHINSKY. Exactly. It was Piotr Ivanovich and I who first discovered him.
ANNA. Tell me, tell me all about it.
DOBCHINSKY. It's all right now, thank the lord. At first he received Anton Antonovich rather roughly. He was angry and said the inn was not run properly, and he wouldn't come to the Governor's house and he didn't want to go to jail on account of him. But then when he found out that Anton Antonovich was not to blame and they got to talking more intimately, he changed right away, and, thank Heaven, everything went well. They've gone now to inspect the philanthropic institutions. I confess that Anton Antonovich had already begun to suspect that a secret denunciation had been lodged against him. I myself was trembling a little, too.
ANNA. What have you to be afraid of? You're not an official.
DOBCHINSKY. Well, you see, when a grand mogul speaks, you feel afraid.
ANNA. That's all rubbish. Tell me, what is he like personally? Is he young or old?
DOBCHINSKY. Young—a young man of about twenty-three. But he talks as if he were older. "If you will allow me," he says, "I will go there and there." (Waves his hands.) He does it all with such distinction. "I like," he says, "to read and write, but I am prevented because my room is rather dark."
ANNA. And what sort of a looking man is he, dark or fair?
DOBCHINSKY. Neither. I should say rather chestnut. And his eyes dart about like little animals. They make you nervous.
ANNA. Let me see what my husband writes. (Reads.) "I hasten to let you know, dear, that my position was extremely uncomfortable, but relying on the mercy of God, two pickles extra and a half portion of caviar, one ruble and twenty-five kopeks." (Stops.) I don't understand. What have pickles and caviar got to do with it?
DOBCHINSKY. Oh, Anton Antonovich hurriedly wrote on a piece of scrap paper. There's a kind of bill on it.
ANNA. Oh, yes, i see. (Goes on reading.) "But relying on the mercy of God, I believe all will turn out well in the end. Get a room ready quickly for the distinguished guest—the one with the gold wall paper. Don't bother to get any extras for dinner because we'll have something at the hospital with Artemy Filippovich. Order a little more wine, and tell Abdulin to send the best, or I'll wreck his whole cellar. I kiss your hand, my dearest, and remain yours, Anton Skvoznik-Dmukhanovsky." Oh my! I must hurry. Hello, who's there? Mishka?