Comedy plays; Russia -- Social life and customs -- Drama; Russian drama -- Translations into English
GOVERNOR. Then, too, it isn't right to have the courtroom littered up
with all sorts of rubbish--to have a hunting-crop lying right among the
papers on your desk. You're fond of sport, I know, still it's better to
have the crop removed for the present. When the Inspector is gone, you
may put it back again. As for your assessor, he's an educated man, to
be sure, but he reeks of spirits, as if he had just emerged from a
distillery. That's not right either. I had meant to tell you so long
ago, but something or other drove the thing out of my mind. If his
odor is really a congenital defect, as he says, then there are ways of
remedying it. You might advise him to eat onion or garlic, or something
of the sort. Christian Ivanovich can help him out with some of his
nostrums.
The Doctor makes the same sound as before.
AMMOS. No, there's no cure for it. He says his nurse struck him when he
was a child, and ever since he has smelt of vodka.
GOVERNOR. Well, I just wanted to call your attention to it. As regards
the internal administration and what Andrey Ivanovich in his letter
calls "little peccadilloes," I have nothing to say. Why, of course,
there isn't a man living who hasn't some sins to answer for. That's the
way God made the world, and the Voltairean freethinkers can talk against
it all they like, it won't do any good.
AMMOS. What do you mean by sins? Anton Antonovich? There are sins and
sins. I tell everyone plainly that I take bribes. I make no bones about
it. But what kind of bribes? White greyhound puppies. That's quite a
different matter.
GOVERNOR. H'm. Bribes are bribes, whether puppies or anything else.
AMMOS. Oh, no, Anton Antonovich. But if one has a fur overcoat worth
five hundred rubles, and one's wife a shawl--
GOVERNOR. [testily]. And supposing greyhound puppies are the only bribes
you take? You're an atheist, you never go to church, while I at least am
a firm believer and go to church every Sunday. You--oh, I know you. When
you begin to talk about the Creation it makes my flesh creep.
AMMOS. Well, it's a conclusion I've reasoned out with my own brain.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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