Read The Inspector-General for Free Online Page A

sauce?
    SERVANT. There is none.
    KHLESTAKOV. Why not? I saw them preparing a whole lot when I passed
through the kitchen. And in the dining-room this morning two short
little men were eating salmon and lots of other things.
    SERVANT. Well, you see, there is some and there isn't.
    KHLESTAKOV. Why "isn't"?
    SERVANT. Because there isn't any.
    KHLESTAKOV. What, no salmon, no fish, no cutlets?
    SERVANT. Only for the better kind of folk.
    KHLESTAKOV. You're a fool.
    SERVANT. Yes, sir.
    KHLESTAKOV. You measly suckling pig. Why can they eat and I not? Why the
devil can't I eat, too? Am I not a guest the same as they?
    SERVANT. No, not the same. That's plain.
    KHLESTAKOV. How so?
    SERVANT. That's easy. THEY pay, that's it.
    KHLESTAKOV. I'm not going to argue with you, simpleton!
(Ladles out
the soup and begins to eat.)
What, you call that soup? Simply hot water
poured into a cup. No taste to it at all. It only stinks. I don't want
it. Bring me some other soup.
    SERVANT. All right. I'll take it away. The boss said if you didn't want
it, you needn't take it.
    KHLESTAKOV
(putting his hand over the dishes)
. Well, well, leave it
alone, you fool. You may be used to treat other people this way, but
I'm not that sort. I advise you not to try it on me. My God! What soup!
(Goes on eating.)
I don't think anybody in the world tasted such soup.
Feathers floating on the top instead of butter.
(Cuts the piece of
chicken in the soup.)
Oh, oh, oh! What a bird!—Give me the roast beef.
There's a little soup left, Osip. Take it.
(Cuts the meat.)
What sort of
roast beef is this? This isn't roast beef.
    SERVANT. What else is it?
    KHLESTAKOV. The devil knows, but it isn't roast beef. It's roast iron,
not roast beef.
(Eats.)
Scoundrels! Crooks! The stuff they give you to
eat! It makes your jaws ache to chew one piece of it.
(Picks his teeth
with his fingers.)
Villains! It's as tough as the bark of a tree. I
can't pull it out no matter how hard I try. Such meat is enough to ruin
one's teeth. Crooks!
(Wipes his mouth with the napkin.)
Is there nothing
else?
    SERVANT. No.
    KHLESTAKOV. Scoundrels! Blackguards! They might have given some decent
pastry, or something, the lazy good-for-nothings! Fleecing their guests!
That's all they're good for.
    (The Servant takes the dishes and carries them out accompanied by Osip.)
Scene VII
    Khlestakov alone.
    KHLESTAKOV. It's just as if I had eaten nothing at all, upon my word. It
has only whetted my appetite. If I only had some change to send to the
market and buy some bread.
    OSIP
(entering)
. The Governor has come, I don't know what for. He's
inquiring about you.
    KHLESTAKOV
(in alarm)
. There now! That inn-keeper has gone and made a
complaint against me. Suppose he really claps me into jail? Well! If he
does it in a gentlemanly way, I may—No, no, I won't. The officers and
the people are all out on the street and I set the fashion for them and
the merchant's daughter and I flirted. No, I won't. And pray, who is he?
How dare he, actually? What does he take me for? A tradesman? I'll tell
him straight out, "How dare you? How—"
    (The door knob turns and Khlestakov goes pale and shrinks back.)
Scene VIII
    Khlestakov, the Governor, and Dobchinsky.
    The Governor advances a few steps and stops. They stare at each other a
few moments wide-eyed and frightened.
    GOVERNOR
(recovering himself a little and saluting military fashion)
. I
have come to present my compliments, sir.
    KHLESTAKOV
(bows)
. How do you do, sir?
    GOVERNOR. Excuse my intruding.
    KHLESTAKOV. Pray don't mention it.
    GOVERNOR. It's my duty as chief magistrate of this town to see that
visitors and persons of rank should suffer no inconveniences.
    KHLESTAKOV
(a little halting at first, but toward the end in a
loud, firm voice)
. Well—what was—to be—done? It's not—my fault.
I'm—really going to pay. They will send me money from home.
(Bobchinsky
peeps in at the door.)
He's most to blame. He gives me beef as hard as a
board and the soup—the devil knows