_Beastly._ No, it is not the girl I like. _Uncouth._ Then it is her adjoining villages? _Beastly._ Not even her villages; but that which is to be found in her villages, and for which I have a great passion. _Mrs. Uncouth._ What is it, brother? _Beastly._ I like the pigs, sister. Down our way there are some very big pigs: why, there is not one among them that if it stood up on its hind legs would not be a head taller than any of us. _Uncouth._ Now, brother, this is a wonderful family resemblance. Our dear Mitrofán is just like his uncle: he has had the same passion for pigs ever since babyhood. He was only three years old when he would tremble with joy every time he saw a pig. _Beastly._ Truly wonderful! All right: Mitrofán loves pigs because he is my nephew. There is some resemblance there. But why have I such a passion for pigs? _Uncouth._ There must be some resemblance there too, that’s what I think. SCENE 6. THE SAME AND SOPHIA (_Sophia enters holding a letter in her hand and looking cheerful._) _Mrs. Uncouth_ (_to Sophia_). Why so merry, dear? What has made you so happy? _Sophia._ I have just received some joyful news. My uncle, of whom we have not heard for a long time, whom I love and honour like my father, arrived in Moscow a few days ago. This is the letter I have just received from him. _Mrs. Uncouth_ (_frightened, angrily_). What, Conservative, your uncle, is alive? And you think it right to jest about his resurrection? A fine story you have invented! _Sophia._ Why, he never was dead. _Mrs. Uncouth._ He did not die! Why could he not have died? No, madam, that is your invention. You are trying to frighten us with your uncle, that we might give you your liberty. You judge like this: “My uncle is a clever man; he seeing me in other people’s hands, will find a way of rescuing me.” That’s what you are happy about, madam. But your joy is all in vain: of course, your uncle has never thought of rising from the dead. _Beastly._ Sister, but if he never died? _Uncouth._ God be merciful to us, if he did not die. _Mrs. Uncouth_ (_to her husband_). How not dead? You are talking nonsense. Don’t you know that I have had people remember him in their prayers for the rest of his soul? Is it possible my humble prayers have never reached heaven? (_To Sophia._) You let me have that letter! (_Almost tears it out of her hand._) I will wager anything that it is some love letter, and I can guess from whom. It’s from that officer that was trying to marry you, and whom you were ready to marry yourself. Who is that rascal that dares hand you letters without telling me first about them? I’ll get at him! That’s what we have come to: they write letters to girls! And girls know how to read! _Sophia._ Read it yourself, madam: you will see that there can be nothing more harmless than that letter.