The Prince of Homburg

ACT I
AT RISE Fehrbellin. A formal
garden in the French style. In the background,
 a castle. A ramp  leads down from it in front. Night.
 Bareheaded and in an open shirt, the PRINCE
of HOMBURG sits under an oak tree weaving a  wreath. He is neither awake nor  asleep. The ELECTOR, the ELECTRESS, PRINCESS NATALIE,  COUNT HOHENZOLLERN, CAPTAIN GOLZ
and others stealthily emerge from the castle and look
over the balustrade at the prince below. Pages with torches.
 HOHENZOLLERN
After three day in relentless pursuit of the elusive Swede, our brave cousin the Prince of Homburg has returned exhausted to Fehrbellin’s headquarters. He is to rest and provision for no more than three hours before riding for the Hackel Mountains to prevent Wrangel from taking up a position on the Rhyn. These are your orders to him, are they not, sir?
ELECTOR
They are.
HOHENZOLLERN
Now that he has readied the cavalry to move out at ten, he has collapsed on the straw like a spent dog, to recover strength for tomorrow’s battle at dawn.
ELECTOR
So I have been told. And…?
HOHENZOLLERN
The hour strikes, the cavalry is drawn up at the city gates, the horses stamp the ground, and who is missing? Their commander. The Prince. Lamps, lanterns, torches seek him out, and where is our hero to be found?
(HE takes a torch from a page)
Asleep on his feet! Look at that bench – see how he sits, drugged by the moonlight, dreaming the bright dreams of posterity, weaving the crown of his glorious renown!
ELECTOR
What?
HOHENZOLLERN
Just as I said. Look: there he sits!
ELECTOR
Asleep? Impossible.
HOHENZOLLERN
Fast asleep. Only call out his name and he will drop to the ground.
ELECTRESS
(after a pause)
He must be ill.
NATALIE
Send for a surgeon.
ELECTRESS
We are wrong to make idle sport of the man when he needs help.
HOHENZOLLERN
(returning torch to page)
Good ladies, you may spare him your concern. He is no more in need of a surgeon than I. As will be clear to the Swede on tomorrow’s battlefield. Believe me, it is nothing more serious than the wayward flight of a passing fancy.
ELECTOR
It’s like a scene in a fairytale. Follow me, friends, I want to have a closer look.
COURTIER
Stand back with the torches!
HOHENZOLLERN
Let them approach. The whole castle could go up in flames: his senses would be no more affected than the diamond on his little finger.
     (They surround him, the pages holding up their  torches for light.)
ELECTOR
               (bending over him)
What is the leaf he is plaiting in the wreath? Is it a willow leaf?
HOHENZOLLERN
What? A willow? Oh, sir, it is a laurel wreath . The kind he has seen on the heads of heroes whose portraits hang from the armory walls in Berlin.
.
ELECTOR
Where in this sandy soil could he have found laurel?
HOHENZOLLERN
God only knows.
COURTIER
Perhaps among the exotic plants in the garden behind the castle.
ELECTOR
Heaven knows, it is a strange sight. But I think I know what accounts for this folly.
HOHENZOLLERN
Oh, indeed! Tomorrow’s battle, I have no doubt. In his mind’s eye, he sees stargazers weaving a victory wreath from many suns.
COURTIER
Look! It’s finished.
HOHENZOLLERN
A pity there is no mirror to hand. He would gaze at his image with all the vanity of a young girl in a bonnet decked with flowers.
ELECTOR
By God, I want to see how far he will go!
(The ELECTOR takes the wreath from HOMBURG’S hands. The prince reddens and stares at him. The ELECTOR takes the gold chain he wears around his neck and drapes it on the wreath, which he then hands to NATALIE. HOMBURG starts up from the bench. The ELECTOR backs up with NATALIE, who holds the wreath aloft. HOMBURG follows her with outstretched hands.)
HOMBURG
    (whispering)
Natalie! My own! My bride!
ELECTOR
Back. Get back. Hurry!
HOHENZOLLERN
What is the fool saying?
COURTIER
What were his words?
(They all move back up the ramp.)
HOMBURG

Frederick! My sovereign! My father!

HOHENZOLLERN
Hell and damnation.
ELECTOR
         (still backing up)
Here! Open the doors!
HOMBURG
Oh, mother!
HOHENZOLLERN
He’s raving. He’s –
ELECTRESS
What can he mean?
HOMBURG
         (reaching for the wreath)
O my dearest! Why do you draw back? Natalie!
(He draws the glove from her hand.)
HOHENZOLLERN
Good heavens! What was that he took?
COURTIER
The wreath?
NATALIE
No, no!
HOHENZOLLERN
(opening the door)
Quick! Inside, sir! Let the whole picture dissolve!
ELECTOR
Back into the void with you, Prince of Homburg! Let nothingness engulf you! We shall meet again, if you please, on the battlefield. Such prizes as these are not to be won in dreams!
(All go out. The doors of the castle clang shut. Pause. HOMBURG stands for a moment gazing in bewilderment at the door. Then he turns and descends the ramp deep in thought, with the hand holding the glove pressed to his forehead. At the bottom, he turns and looks up again at the door. HOHENZOLLERN enters below through a postern gate, followed by a page.)
PAGE
(softly)
Good my lord, a word with you.
HOHENZOLLERN
(irritated)
Hush, little cricket. Well, what is it?
PAGE
I have a message –
HOHENZOLLERN
Don’t wake him with your chirping. All right. What is it?
PAGE
A message from the elector. When the prince wakes up, he is not to hear about the trick that was played on him.
HOHENZOLLERN
Good. Go lie in a haystack and fill your head with sleep. I know that well enough. Now off with you!
         (Exit PAGE. HOHENZOLLERN places himself at a distance    from HOMBURG, who still stares distractedly at the ramp)
Arthur!
(HOMBURG falls to the ground).
There he lies! A bullet could have done no more.
(nearing)
It only remains to hear story he will concoct to justify his presence here.
         (bending over him)
Arthur! What possesses you? What are you doing? Here, in this place, at this time of night?
HOMBURG
Oh, my friend!
HOHENZOLLERN
Now really, what can I say? The cavalry rode out an hour ago, and I find you asleep in a garden.
HOMBURG
What cavalry?
HOHENZOLLERN
(ironic)
Oh, the Mamelukes! As I live and breathe, he doesn’t even know he commands the Brandenburg  cavalry.
HOMBURG
(standing)
Hurry! My helmet! My armor!
HOHENZOLLERN
And where, may I ask, is one to find them?
HOMBURG
There, to the right, to the right. On the stool, Heinz!
HOHENZOLLERN
What stool? Where?
HOMBURG
I must have – I’m certain that is where I left them.
HOHENZOLLERN
(staring at him)
If you put them on the stool, then go and fetch them from the stool!
HOMBURG
       (noticing the glove in his hand)
What glove is this?
HOHENZOLLERN
How should I know?
(aside)
The devil! He must have inadvertantly drawn it from the hand of the princess.
       (abruptly)
Hurry up! What are you waiting for?
HOMBURG
       (throwing the glove away)
At once! At once!
(calling)
Franz! That good for nothing was told to wake me.
HOHENZOLLERN
       (watching him closely)
He’s raving mad.
HOMBURG
On my word, dearest Henry, I don’t know where I am.
HOHENZOLLERN
In Fehrbellin, you addlepated dreamer. On a garden path behind the castle.
HOMBURG
(aside)
Let night swallow me up. In spite of myself, I’ve gone straying again in the moonlight.
       (masters himself)
Forgive me. Now I remember: I couldn’t sleep in this heat, so I slipped out into the garden; and the night, heavy with perfume, welcomed me like a Persion bride her bridegroom – so I lay my weary head in her lap. What hour just struck?
HOHENZOLLERN
Half-past eleven.
HOMBURG
You say the cavalry has moved out?
HOHENZOLLERN
Well, naturally. At ten o’clock sharp. Just as planned. By now the regiment of the Princess of Orange will have reached the summit of Hacklewitz; come tomorrow, it will serve to conceal the movement of the troops from Wrangel.
HOMBURG
Nothing’s lost. Old Kottwitz commands the regiment. He knows every detail of the dispositions. Besides, I was expected to return to headquarters early this morning for my final orders. I may just as well stay on. Let’s go. Does the elector know of this?
HOHENZOLLERN
Oh, he’s long since in bed.
(They start to leave. HOMBURG stops abruptly, turns back, and picks up the fallen glove.)
HOMBURG
I had the most astonishing dream. It seemed as if the portals of a royal castle broke open, streaming with gold and silver, and a procession of all those nearest to my heart moved toward me down a marble ramp: the elector, his consort and a third – what is her name?
HOHENZOLLERN
Who?
HOMBURG
(searching) You know who I mean. A deaf mute could speak her name.
HOHENZOLLERN
Lady Platen?
HOMBURG
No, no. Please.
HOHENZOLLERN
Baroness Ramin?
HOMBURG
No. Hardly her.
HOHENZOLLERN
Lady Winterfield? Bork?
HOMBURG
No, no. Please. You overlook the pearl in the ring for the glitter of the setting.
HOHENZOLLERN
Hang it all, say! Picture her features, can’t you! What lady to you mean?
HOMBURG
Never mind. I lost the name when I woke. Besides, it has no bearing on what happened next.
HOHENZOLLERN
Good. Go on.
HOMBURG
But don’t interrupt. The elector, with a brow like Jove’s, holds a laurel wreath in his hand. He raises it before my eyes, removes
his gold chain of office, and as if to tempt my very soul, entwines it in the wreath. Then, intending for her to crown me with it, he gives it to –
HOHENZOLLERN
To whom?
HOMBURG
Oh, my friend, to –
HOHENZOLLERN
Well, say!
HOMBURG
It must have been Lady Platen after all.
HOHENZOLLERN
You mean the Lady Platen who went to Prussia?
HOMBURG
Lady Platen of course. Or Baroness Ramin.
HOHENZOLLERN
Oh, the redheaded Baroness Ramin. Or Lady Platen with the mischievous violet eyes. It’s known you have a liking for her.
HOMBURG
I have a liking for her.
HOHENZOLLERN
Well, and it was she, you say, who offered you the wreath?
HOMBURG
She holds up the wreath entwined with the glittering chain as if she were the goddess of Victory about to crown a hero. I stretch forth my hand – inexpressibly moved – stretch forth my hand to take it from her. I want to fall on my knees at her feet. Then, like the sweet, fresh breath of a valley sucked up by a sudden wind, the whole procession is drawn back up the ramp. The ramp lengthens beneath my feet interminably as I follow, climbing almost to the height of heaven’s gates. I grope to the left and to the right with an aching heart, trying to hold back one of those wraithlike forms – no luck! The doors of the castle fling open and all are annihilated in a flash of light. The doors clang shut. I only succeed, in my eager pursuit, in drawing a glove from the dear phantom’s arm. And as I wake, almighty God, what do I find in my hand? A glove!
HOHENZOLLERN
On my word. Do you mean this glove belongs to her then?
HOMBURG
To whom?
HOHENZOLLERN
Why, the Lady Platen.
HOMBURG
Lady Platen. Of course. Or Baroness Ramin.
HOHENZOLLERN
(laughs)
You and your absurd visions! Who knows what charming indiscretion could have delivered this glove into your hand!
HOMBURG
What do you mean? Delivered to my – Oh, my dear love!
HOHENZOLLERN
Devil take it! Lady Platen or Baroness Ramin, why should I care? The post leaves Sunday for Prussia: That’s the best way to find out if your beauty is missing her glove. Let’s go. It’s midnight. Why do we stand here dithering?
HOMBURG
(looking dreamily at the ground) You are right. It’s time we were in bed. But something I did mean to ask you, Henry: Are the elector’s wife and her lovely niece, the princess of Orange, still here?
HOHENZOLLERN
Why do you want to know that?
       (aside)
It looks as if the fool –
HOMBURG
Why? I am to provide an escort of thirty horsemen to see them from camp. I’ve asked Ramin to see to it.
HOHENZOLLERN
Oh, that! They are long since gone – gone if not on the way. At least Ramin was posted at the gate all night, duly alerted. But let’s go, for heaven’s sake. It’s midnight, and I hope to get some rest before the battle.
(Exeunt.)
For the complete play, please contact me.

The Inspector General*

* It has become fashionable in the last 20 years or so to call this play “The Government Inspector,” which is British English. America does not have government inspectors; it has inspectors general, of whose appointment one sometimes hears about in the news. As the translation is meant for the American stage, I have preferred the traditional title.

ACT I

A room in the MAYOR’s house. The MAYOR, the COMMISSIONER OF CHARITIES (ARTEMII FILIPOVICH ZEMLYANIKA), the SUPERINTENDENT OF SCHOOLS (LUKA LUKICH KHLOPOV), the JUDGE (AMOS FYODOROVICH LYAPKIN‑TYAPKIN), the DISTRICT DOCTOR (CHRISTIAN IVANOVICH GIEBNER) the CHIEF OF POLICE, two POLICEMEN.

                               MAYOR
 Gentlemen, I’ve called this meeting because I’ve had a very disagreeable piece of news: we are to be visited by an Inspector General.
                               JUDGE
 What do you mean, an Inspector General?
                             ZEMLYANIKA
What kind of Inspector General?
                                MAYOR
An Inspector General from Petersburg. Incognito. Moreover, with secret instructions.
                               JUDGE
I’ll be damned.
                             ZEMLYANIKA
That takes the cake!
                               KHLOPOV
Just think of it! Moreover, with secret instructions.
                              MAYOR
It’s as if I’d had a premonition. I dreamed all night long about rats. A strange pair of rats. Like no rats I’ve ever seen. Abnormally large black rats. They ran in, they sniffed, they ran out. Here, I’ll read you the letter I have just received from Andrei Ivanovich Chemyhov.
(To ZEMLYANIKA)
You’ve met him. Listen: My dear friend, godfather and benefactor.”
(Muttering to himself, scans the letter)
…”You ought to know at once” ‑ Ah, here’s the place. “By the way, you ought to know at once that an official has arrived with instructions to inspect the entire province and our district in particular.
(Raising his finger significantly)
“I have it in strictest confidence, even though he passes himself off as an ordinary citizen. Since I realize that, given the nature of public office, you may not have been able to resist certain temptations, after all, you are nobody’s fool and you are not going to turn a deaf ear when opportunity knocks…” Well, we’re all friends here…”I advise you to take every precaution, as he may turn up any minute if he hasn’t arrived already and settled down somewhere incognito. Yesterday, I…” Well, here he goes on to family news. “Sister Anna Kirilovna came to visit with her husband. Ivan Kirilovich has gotten fat and still plays the violin.” Etcetera etcetera. So there, gentlemen, you have the situation.
                                                                                 JUDGE
The situation …. It’s irregular, highly irregular. There’s more to this than meets the eye.
                                                                             KHLOPOV
But why, Anton Antonovich? Why? What would an Inspector General want with us?
                                                                               MAYOR
Why indeed! It’s fate, that’s why.
                                                                               (Sighing)
Til now, thank God, the honor has fallen to others. Now it’s our turn.
                                                                                 JUDGE
Anton Antonovich, I think the explanation is more subtle and rather of a political nature. Here is what it means: Russia… yes… Russia intends to declare war, so the government has appointed this official to investigate rumors of treason.
                                                                               MAYOR
Well, now, isn’t that bright. And you, an intelligent man. Treason in a provincial town! Do you think we’re located on a frontier or what? You can gallop for three years without leaving the country!
                                                                                JUDGE
No, I tell you, you haven’t quite grasped … you don’t… the government has subtle ends in view. Granted our town is of no account,  the arm of the state is far-reaching.
                                                                               MAYOR
Well, far-reaching or not, you can’t say I haven’t warned you, gentlemen. You may as well know I’ve taken certain precautions for my own part, and I advise you to do likewise. Especially you, Artemii Filipovich. Our public heath services will no doubt be high on the list of this official’s priorities, so you had best look to the infirmary. You need to clean up the patients, give them fresh hospital gowns, so they stop looking like shoeblacks; it may be all right to look like that in private, but not in the wards of a hospital.
                                                                         ZEMLYANIKA
Don’t worry. Hospital gowns can be found, clean ones too.
                                                                               MAYOR
Oh, and hang up charts in Latin or another foreign language – Christian Ivanovich, that’s your department – at the head of each bed telling who is in it, and when he got there and why, with a couple of dates. . . And the fumes of the patients’ tobacco are so thick, when you step foot into a ward you have a sneezing fit. Yes, and it would look better if there weren’t so many of them. It might be put down to administrative chaos or medical incompetence.
                                                                         ZEMLYANIKA
Oh, Christian Ivanovich and I share a basic philosophy of healthcare: we let nature take its course. The less you interfere with it, the better. We don’t waste money on expensive medicines. The human constitution is simple: if you are going to die, you die; if you are going to recover, you recover. Besides, how can Christian Ivanovich communicate with the patients? He doesn’t speak a word of the language.
        (A sound issues from the DOCTOR partway between the letter a and the letter e)
                                                                               MAYOR
Now you, Amos Fedorovich, need to attend to the courthouse. Take the anteroom where the litigants wait. There’s a flock of geese and  goslings always squawking underfoot. I have no quarrel with raising poultrey, indeed, in a janitor, it’s even commendable, but in a place like that, it might be thought not the thing. I meant to mention this earlier but it slipped my mind.
                                                                                 JUDGE
When I get home, I’ll send over my cook. Would you care to  come to dinner tonight?
                                                                               MAYOR
Besides that,  it’s not right to have bits and pieces of laundry strung up in the judge’s chambers. Or to hang your riding crop on the cabinet where you file your legal papers. I know how keen you are on hunting, but for the time being, take it home, and then when this inspector has gone, hang it up again.  Oh, and about your law clerk… He’s a walking statute book, I know, but he smells like a distillery.  I wanted to point this out earlier, but something else came up. There are remedies, even though he says it’s the natural state of his breath. You might tactfully suggest onions or garlic, or something in that line. Christian Ivanovich can write out a prescription.
                                (Same sound issues from Christian Ivanovich)
                                                                                 JUDGE
No, it can’t be helped. He says his nurse tickled him when he was an infant in arms, and ever since he has smelled of vodka.
                                                                 MAYOR
Well, I only mention it in passing. Now about personal arrangements and what Andrei Ivanovich refers to in his letter as “temptations,” I’m at a loss what to say. Yes, and it’s an odd thing, too. There’s no one without something on his conscience; it’s not as if any one of us were perfect. That’s how God made things and that’s the how they’ll stay, Voltaire or no Voltaire.
                                                                                 JUDGE
But Anton Antonovich, let’s define our terms. After all, there are temptations and temptations. I make no secret of taking bribes, but what kind of bribes?  Borzoi puppies. Now, I ask you…
                                                                               MAYOR
Borzoi puppies or not… a bribe is a bribe.
                                                                                 JUDGE
Well, no, Anton Antonovich. Take a fur coat worth five hundred rubles,  or a silk shawl for your wife…
                                                                               MAYOR
All right then, what if Borzoi puppies are the only bribes you take – you don’t believe in God. You never go to church. I at least am firm in the faith and attend service every Sunday. But you… don’t think I haven’t heard. The way you talk about the Creation is hair-raising.
                                                                                 JUDGE
That’s an original theory. I arrived at it with no outside help.
                                                                MAYOR
Well, in some cases, too many brains are worse than none at all. Anyhow, I only wanted to mention the courthouse in passing. To be frank, I doubt anyone would give it a second thought. You’re sitting so pretty, it’s enviable. The place might be under a special dispensation from heaven. Now you, Luka Lukich, as Superintendent of Schools, are responsible for the teachers. These are learned men, all of them with an assortment of higher degrees, but they can behave in alarming ways, inseparable from the profession of course. Take the one ‑ what’sisname ‑ the one with the fat face –  the moment he steps on the rostrum, his features contort in the most grotesque ways ‑ like this (he demonstrates) ‑ and then he’ll iron out his beard beneath his cravat. If he makes faces like that at his students, that’s as it may be, but with a visitor present, judge for yourself, it could give the wrong impression. An Inspector General or someone of that ilk might think it was meant for him, and wouldn’t that be cute!
                                                                             KHLOPOV
But what can I do? I’ve brought it up with him more than once.  Just the other day, we had a visit from a member of the schoolboard, and the face he pulled wasn’t human!  He meant no harm, but I thought I’d never hear an end to it: infecting youth with subversive ideas . . .
                                                                               MAYOR
And I’m dutybound to mention the history teacher. He’s an authority in his field, knowledge oozes from his fingertips, but tell me what gets into him. I’ve hard him lecture myself. While he confined his remarks to the Assyrians and Babylonians, he showed some sense of restraint, but when he got to Alexander the Great it was pandemonium. I thought the place was on fire, so help me God. He leaped off the rostrum and slammed the floor with a chair. Alexander was a hero, but why break the furniture? It’s a drain on public funds.
                                                                             KHLOPOV
Yes, he’s a firebrand. Haven’t I warned him myself, and not the first time? But he won’t listen: “I don’t care,” he says,”My calling is sacred. I will lay down my life for it.”
                                                                               MAYOR
Yes, it’s an unfathomable law of nature: an intellectual either drinks like a fish or grimaces like a fiend.
                                                                             KHLOPOV
God help the man in my shoes. You always go in fear. Everyone puts in his two cents. Everyone has a better idea.
                                                                MAYOR
Well, it wouldn’t matter so much if it weren’t for that damned incognito. Can’t you just see him turning up? Good day, Gentlemen, good day to you. And which of you might be the judge? Lypakin‑Tyapkin? I see. Send in Lyapkin‑Tyapkin. And who, pray, is the Commissioner of Charities? Zemlyanika? I see. Let’s have a look at this Zemlyanika. That’s what hurts.
                                                (Enter the POSTMASTER)
                                                                         POSTMASTER
Will someone tell me what all this is about a government official?
                                                                               MAYOR
You mean you haven’t heard?
                                                                         POSTMASTER
Peter Ivanovich Bobchinsky was just at the post office telling me about it.
                                                                               MAYOR
Well, what do you think?
                                                                         POSTMASTER
What do I think? It means war with Turkey.
                                                                                 JUDGE
You see? That’s just what I said.
                                                                               MAYOR
You’re both in left field.
                                                                         POSTMASTER
That’s right. War with Turkey. With the French to thank, as usual.
                                                                               MAYOR
What next! War with Turkey! If anyone is in for it, it’s us, not the Turks. The letter makes that clear enough.
                                                                         POSTMASTER
In that case, war with Turkey is out.
                                                                               MAYOR
Well, what are you going to do, Ivan Kusmich?
                                                                         POSTMASTER
Do? What are you going to do, Anton Antonovich?
                                                                               MAYOR
What am I going to do? Well, of course, I’ve done nothing wrong, but even so… I’m not altogether easy in my mind about the shopkeepers, not to mention one or two others I could name. Feeling has been running high against me lately, I understand. But really, what if I did accept a trifle here or there, it was with the best intentions.
                                                        (Takes him confidentially   aside)
I’m even wondering if there might have been some kind of denunciation. Really, what would an Inspector General want here? Listen, Ivan Kusmich, why don’t you, in the common interest, so to speak, keep an eye on incoming and outgoing mail, perhaps skim through the letters to see if you spot a complaint, but if it’s just regular correspondence, then reseal the envelopes or not, as you like, and  send them on.
                                                                         POSTMASTER
Yes, yes, of course… you don’t have to spell out the obvious. But
it’s not  reasons of security that prompt me; it’s a burning desire to keep up with world. And believe me, there are rewards. Some letters are a sheer heaven ‑ such graphic details… and so improving… better than the Moscow Gazette.
                                                                               MAYOR
Well, what about it? Have you seen anything about an official from Petersburg?
                                                                         POSTMASTER
No, not from Petersburg, but there’s a lot about officials from Saratov and Kostroma. It’s a shame you can’t read the letters too. Such tidbits. Recently a lieutenant wrote to  his friend telling about a ball in the most colorful… it was so well done. “My life, dear friend,” he wrote, “passes in the Empyrean: ladies by the score, music playing, banners flying…” His descriptions were deeply deeply felt. I set it aside on purpose for a second read. Would you like to see it?
                                                                               MAYOR
No, now is not the time. But do me a favor, Ivan Kusmich: If you happen to see something damaging to my interests, don’t hesitate to withhold the letter.
                                                                         POSTMASTER
Gladly.
                                                           JUDGE
You’d better watch out. One of these days you’ll get caught.
                                                                         POSTMASTER
Oh, dear. Do you think so?
                                                                               MAYOR
Never mind. Don’t worry. It’s one thing when something is public knowledge and another when it’s all in the family.
                                                                                 JUDGE
Trouble is brewing all right. And to think, I was just about to make you a present of that Borzoi bitch you’ve had our eye on. You know about the lawsuit between Yeptovich and Verkhovensky? It’s providential: Now I can run hares on both properties.
                                                                               MAYOR
Please, no more about hares. I’ve got that damned incognito to deal with. I’m just waiting for the door to fly open and ‑
(Makes gesture of slitting his throat. BOBCHINSKY and DOBCHINSKY fly into the room)
                                                                       BOBCHINSKY
You won’t believe it!
                                                                        DOBCHINSKY
You’ll never guess!
                                                                                    ALL
What? What’s happened?
                                                                        DOBCHINSKY
Such an incredible thing. As we got to the inn . . .
                                                                         BOBCHINSKY
                                                                           (Interrupting)
As Peter Ivanovich and I got to the inn ‑
                                                                        DOBCHINKSY
                                                                           (Interrupting)
Now Peter Ivanovich, I’m telling this story.
                                                                         BOBCHINSKY
No, please, let me tell it, let me. You don’t know how.
                                                                         BOBCHINSKY
And you’ll mix everything up and leave out half.
                                                                         BOBCHINSKY
No, I won’t. I swear I won’t. Leave me alone. Let me tell it my way and leave me alone. Please, gentlemen, tell Peter Ivanovich to stop interrupting.
                                                            MAYOR
For God’s sake, get on with it. What happened? I’m on tenterhooks. Sit down, gentlemen, sit down. Here’s a chair for you, Peter Ivanovich.
           (THEY all sit down in a circle around the two PETER IVANOVICHES)
Well, go on, what happened?
                                                         DOBCHINSKY
Let me, let me. I’ll tell everything from the beginning exactly the way it happened. No sooner than I’d had the honor to leave you, aftr you’d received, so it please you, that distressing letter … Peter Ivanovich, will you stop interrupting? I know exactly how happened, exactly, exactly, EXACTLY! Well, as I was saying, I went to see Korobkin, and Korobkin was out, so I went to see Rastokovsky, and Rastokovsky was out, so I went to see Ivan Kusmich, to tell him all about it, you know, and then when I left the post office, I met Peter Ivanovich …
                                                                        DOBCHINSKY
At the stand where they sell hot dumplings.
                                                                         BOBCHINSKY
At the stand where they sell hot dumpings. So I met Peter Ivanovich and I said to him, “Have you heard about the confidential news the Mayor got in a letter?” But Peter Ivanovich had already heard about it from your housekeeper, Avdotya, who had gone over to Prochechuev’s for some reason …
                                                                        DOBCHINSKY
To fetch a keg of brandy.
                                                                         BOBCHINSKY
                                                                      (waving him off)
To fetch a keg of brandy. So Peter Ivanovich and I went to Prochechuev’s ‑ Peter Ivanovich, will you stop interrupting! So there we are on our way to see Prochechuev’s when Peter Ivanovich says: Let’s go to the inn. I’m starving. I haven’t had a bite to eat since breakfast and my digestion is acting up. That’s typical of Peter Ivanovich’s digestion. And they’ve just got in an order of fresh salmon at the inn, he says, so let’s drop in for a snack. Well, no sooner do we arrive at the inn than suddenly this young man…
                                                                        DOBCHINSKY
                                                                           (Interrupting)
Not half bad looking and dressed in civilian clothes…
                                                                         BOBCHINSKY
Not half bad looking and dressed in civilian clothes, comes sauntering in, and with such a deep look about him, something in the eyes, you know, the manner… and up here ‑
                                     (HE taps his forehead significantly)
Well, I as good as guessed it right then and there: so I turned to Peter Ivanovich and said: Something’s up. Peter Ivanovich had just called over Vlass, you know, Vlass the innkeeper. His wife had a baby three weeks ago. He’ll grow up to keep an inn just like his Daddy. So Vlass comes over and Peter Ivanovich asks him confidentially: Who is that young man over there? And Vlass says, That fellow… Oh, do stop interrupting, Peter Ivanovich, please. I’m telling this story, not you. Besides you lisp, you have a defective tooth. That fellow, he says, is a government employee ‑ yes! ‑ from Petersburg. His name is Ivan Aleksandrovich Khlestakov, and he is headed, he says, to Saratov, and he acts in a highly irregular way: he’s been here for two weeks, he never leaves his room, he charges everything to credit, and I haven’t seen a kopek out of him. Not one kopek. Well, the minute he said that, the light dawned.”Aha,” I said to Peter Ivanovich….
                                                                        DOBCHINSKY
No you don’t, Peter Ivanovich, I said that. I was the one who said “Aha!”
                                                                         BOBCHINSKY
All right, you said it first and then I said it. So Peter Ivanovich and I both say, “Aha!” and why, if he is on his way to Saratov, has he settled down here? Yes, sir! That’s your official for you!
                                                                               MAYOR
Official? What official?
                                                                         BOBCHINSKY
Why, the one in the letter. The Inspector General.
                                                                               MAYOR
                                                                             (Horrified)
Good God! It can’t be.
                                                                         BOBCHINSKY
Of course it is! He doesn’t pay and he doesn’t leave. Who else can it be? It’s even written on his passport: Saratov.
                                                                        DOBCHINSKY
Oh, yes indeed, it’s him. Eyes like a hawk! He doesn’t miss a thing. He noticed that Peter Ivanovich and I were eating salmon. On account of Peter Ivanovich’s digestion. He kept peering into our plates. It made my bones quake.
                                                                               MAYOR
Oh God, say it it’s not true. What room is he in?
                                                                        DOBCHINSKY
Number five, the room under the stairs.
                                                                         BOBCHINSKY
The room the officers trashed last year.
                                                                               MAYOR
How long has he been there?
                                                                         BOBCHINSKY
Two weeks today. He arrived on Saint Vassily the Egyptian’s Day.
                                                                               MAYOR
Two weeks! Holy Saint Anton! God in heaven! What hasn’t happened in two weeks? The sergeant’s wife flogged! No rations in the jail! Filth in the streets! O shame! O infamy!
                                                                  (HE clutches his head)
                                                                             KHLOPOV
What should we do, Anton Antonovich? Send an official delegation to welcome him?
                                                                                 JUDGE
No, no! We must observe the protocol. In a case like this, the clergy present themselves first, followed by the merchants.
                                                                               MAYOR
No, no. Leave it to me. There are more ways than one to skin a cat, I ought to know. Pray God won’t desert me now.
                                     (Turning to BOBCHINSKY)
You say he’s young?
                                                                         BOBCHINSKY
Young. Twenty‑three, ‑four, at the most.
                                                                               MAYOR
Good. He’ll be inexperienced. It’s the sly old foxes you have to watch out for. The younger the man, the more transparent. Now, gentlemen, look to your departments. For my part, I shall take a ride by myself in my carriage ‑ no, better still, you come with me, Peter Ivanovich, and we’ll call unofficially at the inn, to be sure that travelers are accorded every courtesy. Svistunov!
                                                             SVISTUNOV
Yes, sir!
                                                                               MAYOR
Get me the Police Chief. Hurry! No, wait! I need you. Send someone else, and tell him to move it.
                                               (POLICEMAN runs out with alacrity)
                                                                         ZEMLYANIKA
Come on, Amos Fyodorovich, let’s go. I have a feeling something terrible is about to happen.
                                                                                 JUDGE
Why should you be afraid? You only need to come up with clean hospital gowns, and nobody is the wiser.
                                                                         ZEMLYANIKA
Clean hospital gowns, my eye! The regulations call for a diet of porridge, and there’s such a stench of cabbage in the wards it turns your stomach.
                                                                                 JUDGE
Well, at least I have no cause for concern. Who would show any interest in a county courthouse? And no one could make sense of the records anyhow: I’ve been sitting on the bench for fifteen years and damned if I can sort out the merits of a case. Solomon himself would throw up his hands.
(JUDGE, SUPERINTENDENT OF SCHOOLS, COMMISSIONER OF CHARITIES and POSTMASTER go out, the LATTER running headlong into the POLICEMAN on his way back in)
                                                                               MAYOR
Is the carriage ready?
                                                                          POLICEMAN
Ready.
                                                                               MAYOR
Go out and get … no, wait. Go get me… But where are the others? You can’t be the only one. Didn’t I send for Prokhorov? Where is Prokhorov?
                                                                          POLICEMAN
At the station house. But he’s indisposed.
                                                                               MAYOR
Indisposed? What does indisposed mean?
                                                                          POLICEMAN
It means indisposed. He was carried in this morning dead drunk. We’ve poured two tubs of water over him, but he’s still out cold.
                                                                               MAYOR
                                                           (Clutching his head)
Oh, my God, my God! Quick, go and ‑ no! Run upstairs and get me my sword and new hat. Come on, Peter Ivanovich, let’s go.
                                                                         BOBCHINSKY
Me too, me too. Take me too, please, Anton Antonovich!
                                                                               MAYOR
No, no, Peter Ivanovich. It’s out of the question. It wouldn’t look right, and besides, there’s not enough room.
                                                                         BOBCHINSKY
That’s all right. I don’t care. I don’t have to ride in the carriage. I can run along behind like a little chickadee. I just want to take a peak, one eentsy little peak through a crack in the door. To see what he’s like.
                                                                                 MAYOR
                          (To the POLICEMAN as HE takes his sword)
Go get me a dozen men and ‑ why is this sword dented? That damned merchant Abdulin! He sees perfectly well the Mayor needs a new sword, and does he do anything about it? Cheapskates! Skinflints! I bet they’ve already drawn up a list of grievances. Get each one to take a broom and leap the street ‑ oh, hell! – sweep the street leading to the inn ‑ and sweep it clean, you hear? And furthermore, you! Yes, you. I’ve heard about you. You suck up to certain parties and then slip their silver spoons in your boots. You’d better watch out. I’ve got eyes in my head. What’s this about you and Chernayev, huh? He gave you two yards of cloth for a new uniform, and you swiped the entire bolt. You look out, sir! You’re taking bribes above your pay grade.
                                               (Enter CHIEF OF POLICE)
Oh, there you are, Stepan Ilyich. Where have you been hiding? What do you think it looks like at a time like this?
                                                                     CHIEF OF POLICE
I’ve been standing outside all along.
                                                                               MAYOR
Now, listen, Stepan Ilyich, that official from Petersburg has arrived. What measures have you taken?
                                                                     CHIEF OF POLICE
Why, just as you said. I sent Pugavitsin with a squad of men to clean the streets.
                                                                               MAYOR
And Dyerzhimorda? Where is he?
                                                                     CHIEF OF POLICE
Dyerzhimorda went off with the firetruck to hose down the gutters.
                                                                               MAYOR
And Prokhorov’s drunk?
                                                                     CHIEF OF POLICE
Drunk.
                                                                               MAYOR
How did that happen?
                                                                     CHIEF OF POLICE
God knows. Yesterday there was a riot on the outskirts of town. He went to restore order and came back drunk.
                                                                               MAYOR
Listen, here’s what we do: Pugavitsin must be all of seven feet, so post him by the bridge where he can’t be missed. Then break up that old fence by the shoemaker’s and drive in some stakes so it looks like a construction site. The more signs of demolition, the more it looks like we have a civic works program. Oh, my God, I almost forgot. About forty cartloads of rubbish was dumped in back of that fence. What a filthy town this is! The minute some kind of monument is put up, or even a fence, it’s turned into a public dump. Where do they get so much trash?
                                                                                 (Sighs)
Oh, yes, and if this official asks anyone on the public payroll if he has a complaint, the answer better be: No, Your Excellency, or by God I’ll see to it that he does. Oh, oh, oh, what I don’t regret.
                                                         (Picks up hatbox instead of hat)
God get me out of this and I’ll put up a candle a mile high: I’ll get every last merchant in this town to cough up a hundred pounds of wax. Oh, God, oh, God, let’s go, Peter Ivanovich.
                            (Tries to put on the hatbox instead of the hat)
                                                                     CHIEF OF POLICE
Anton Antonovich, that’s the box, not the hat!
                                                                               MAYOR
                                                    (Throwing away the box)
I don’t care what it is, to hell with it! Oh, and don’t forget to say, if someone happens to ask, that the chapel we took up a subscription for five years ago, burned down. I even wrote out a report to that effect. Some blabbermouth might just let slip that construction was never begun. And tell Dyerzhimorda to watch his temper. He’s so zealous for law and order he won’t let innocence stand in the way of a black eye. Come on, Peter Ivanovich, let’s go.
                                                        (Leaving and coming back)
And another thing, don’t let the men out of the barracks without an inspection. That garrison is so filthy they’ll put on their shirts and jackets and go out with nothing on below.
                (ANNA ANDREYEVNA and MARYA ANTONOVNA fly into the room)
                                                                ANNA ANDREYEVNA
Where are they? Where have they gone? Oh, dear God.
                                                               (Opening the door)
Has anyone seen my husband? Anton! Antosha!
                                                            (speaking quickly)
It’s all because of you, it’s all your fault. You can never be ready on time. Let me fix my pin, let me fix my collar.
                                (Running to the window and screaming out)
Anton! Where are you going? Has he arrived? The Inspector General! He has a moustache? What kind of moustache?
                                                                      MAYOR’s VOICE
Later, dear. I’ll tell you everything later.
                                                                ANNA ANDREYEVNA
Later? Later indeed! I want to know now! Just tell me one thing: Is he a Colonel? What?
                                                                            (Scornfully)
He’s gone. You’ll be sorry for this, Miss. You and your, Just a minute, Mama, I’ll be ready in a minute, Mama. Just let me fix my collar. I’ll collar you. We haven’t found out a thing. And all because of you and your endless primping. She hears the postmaster is here, so she has to go pose in the mirror: which profile is better, the left or the right? She thinks he’s dying for love and all the time he’s laughing behind her back.
                                                               MARYA ANTONOVNA
What difference does it make, Mama? We’ll find out everything in a couple of hours.
                                                                ANNA ANDREYEVNA
In a couple of hours. Thank you very much. I’m very much obliged for the information. Why don’t you say we’ll find out even more in a couple of months? Avdotya! Have you heard if anyone new is in town? You haven’t? What a dumbbell! But why didn’t you ask him? What? He waved you off? Well, let him, but find out anyway! You couldn’t? What a scatterbrain. Always thinking about men. What’s that? They rode off too quickly? Well, why don’t you run after them? Go on! Hurry! Find out where they went; and who he is and what he looks like, do you hear? Look through the keyhole and find out everything: what color eyes he has, are they dark or not, and come back immediately. You hear? Hurry, hurry, hurry, hurry!
        (SHE keeps calling until the curtain falls on them BOTH standing at the window)
This translation was produced at Circle in the Square, directed by Liviu Chulei in 1979. To read the entire script, please contact me.