BEST MAN (shouts). To the health of the bride’s parents, Yevdokim Zakharych and Nastasya Timofeevna!
The band plays a fanfare. Cheers.
ZHIGALOV (moved, bows in all directions). I thank you! Dear guests! I’m most grateful to you for remembering us and showing up, and not being standoffish! . . . Now don’t think that this is a lot of hooey or monkeyshines on my part, for it’s strictly from the heart! From the very bottom of my heart! Nothing’s too good for decent people! My humble thanks! (Exchange of kisses.)
DASHENKA (to her mother). Mummy dear, why are you crying? I’m so happy!
APLOMBOV. Maman’s upset at the imminent parting. But I suggest that she’d better remember what we were talking about before.
YAT. Don’t cry, Nastasya Timofeevna! Don’t you realize what human tears are? A sign of feebleminded psychiatrics, that’s all!
ZHIGALOV. Have you got mushrooms in Greece?
DYMBA. We got. All ting we got dere.
ZHIGALOV. Well, I bet you haven’t got the creamy ones.
DYMBA. Krim we got. All ting we got.
MOZGOVOY. Kharlampy Spiridonych, it’s your turn to make a speech! Ladies and gentlemen, let him make a speech!
EVERYONE (to Dymba). Speech! Speech! Your turn!
DYMBA. Pliss? Not to understanding . . . How is what?
ZMEYUKINA. No, no! Don’t you dare turn us down! It’s your turn! Stand up!
DYMBA (rises, bashful). I talk sometings . . . Is Russia and is Griss. Now in Russia is such a pipples, and in Griss is such a pipples . . . And pipples on ocean is sailing karávia, in Russian means sheeps, but on land is all sorts which is railroad trains. I understanding good . . . We Griks, you Russians, and I not needing nottings . . . I can talk also dis . . . Is Russia and is Griss.
NYUNIN enters.
NYUNIN. Wait a minute, ladies and gentlemen, stop eating! Hold on! Nastasya Timofeevna, step over here a minute! (Takes Nastasya Timofeevna aside; out of breath.) Listen . . . The General’s on his way . . . I finally got hold of one . . . Had a perfectly awful time of it . . . The General’s genuine, highly respectable, old, must be about eighty, then again maybe ninety . . . .
NASTASYA TIMOFEEVNA. When will he get here?
NYUNIN. Any minute now. You’re going to thank me for the rest of your life. Not a general, but a rose garden, a Napoleon!12 Not an ordinary foot soldier, not infantry, but navy! In rank he’s a captain second class, but in their lingo, the navy’s, that’s the same as a Major-General or in the civil service an actual State Councilor. Absolutely the same. Even higher.
NASTASYA TIMOFEEVNA. You’re not trying to finagle me, are you, Andryu-sha sweetie?
NYUNIN. What’s that, you think I’m a four-flusher? Don’t you worry!
NASTASYA TIMOFEEVNA (sighing). I wouldn’t want to throw our money down the drain, Andryusha sweetie . . .
NYUNIN. Don’t you worry! He’s not just a General, but an oil painting! (Raising his voice.) I says to him, “You’ve quite forgotten us,” I says, “Your Excellency! It’s not nice, Your Excellency, to forget your old friends! Nastasya Timofeevna,” I says, “thinks very highly of you!” (Goes to the table and sits down) Then he says, “Excuse me, my friend, how can I go when I don’t know the groom?”—”Oh, that’s enough of that, Your Excellency, don’t stand on ceremony! The groom,” I says, “is a splendid fellow, wears his heart on his sleeve. Works,” I says, “as an appraiser in a pawnshop, but don’t think, Your Excellency, that he’s some kind of puny little runt or a shifty conman either. Nowadays,” I says, “even highborn ladies work in pawnshops.” He claps me on the shoulder, we each smoke a panatela, and now he’s on his way . . . Wait a bit, ladies and gentlemen, stop eating . . .
APLOMBOV. But when will he get here?
NYUNIN. Any minute now. When I left him, he was putting on his galoshes. Hold on, ladies and gentlemen, don’t eat.
APLOMBOV. Then you’d better tell them to play a march . . .
NYUNIN (shouts). Hey, musicians! A march!
The band plays a march for a minute.
WAITER (announcing). Mister Revunov-Karaulov.
ZHIGALOV, NASTASYA TIMOFEEVNA, and NYUNIN run to meet him.
Enter REVUNOV-KARAULOV.
NASTASYA TIMOFEEVNA (bowing). Make yourself at home, Your Excellency! Pleased to meet you!
REVUNOV. Pleasure’s all mine!
ZHIGALOV. We’re just plain, simple, ordinary people, Your Excellency, but don’t suppose that for our part we’d go in for any monkeyshines. We put great stock in decent folks, nothing’s too good for ‘em. Make yourself at home!
REVUNOV. Pleasure’s all mine, delighted!
NYUNIN. May I introduce, Your Excellency! The bridegroom, Epaminond Maksimych Aplombov, and his newly born . . . I mean, his newly wedded wife! Ivan Mikhailych Yat, who works in the telegraph office! A foreigner of Greek persuasion in the catering line, Kharlampy Spiridonych Dymba! Osip Lukich Babelmandebsky! Et cetera, et cetera . . . All the rest are no account. Take a seat, Your Excellency!
REVUNOV. Pleasure’s all mine! Excuse me, ladies and gentlemen. I’d like to have a word with Andryusha. (Takes Nyunin aside.) I’m a little confused, my boy . . . Why do you call me Your Excellency? For I’m no General, after all! Captain second class — that’s even lower than a colonel.
NYUNIN (speaks in his ear as if he were deaf). I know, Fyodor Yakovlevich, but please allow us to call you Your Excellency! This here family, y’see, is very old-fashioned, they respect their elders and love to kowtow to people of rank . . .
REVUNOV. Oh, if that’s the way things are, all right . . . (Going to the table.) Pleasure’s all mine!
NASTASYA TIMOFEEVNA. Take a seat, Your Excellency! Be so kind! Eat a little something, Your Excellency! Only forgive us, you must be used to delicacies and we only got plain fare!
REVUNOV (not having heard). How’s that, ma’am? I see . . . Yes’m. (Pause.) Yes’m . . . In the olden times people always lived simply and were contented. I’m a man of rank, but even so I live simply . . . Today, Andryusha comes to me and asks me here to the wedding. “How can I go,” I ask, “when I don’t know ‘em? It’s awkward!” But he says, “They’re simple people, old-fashioned, enjoy entertaining guests . . .” Well, of course, if that’s the way things are . . . why not? Happy to oblige. At home, all by my lonesome, it’s boring, but if my presence at the wedding can give anybody pleasure, then, I say, let’s do ‘em a favor . . .
ZHIGALOV. You mean, it was from the heart, Your Excellency? I look up to you! I myself am a simple man, without any monkeyshines, and I look up to others like me. Have a bite, Your Excellency!
APLOMBOV. Have you been in retirement long, Your Excellency?
REVUNOV. Huh? Yes, yes . . . that’s right . . . Very true. Yessir . . . . but excuse me, what have we here? The herring’s bitter . . . and so’s the bread. Have to sweeten it up!