Act one
Phenomenon I
Mrs. Prostakova, Mitrofan, Eremeevna.
Mrs. Prostakova
(examining the caftan on Mitrofan)
.
The caftan is all ruined. Eremeevna, bring the swindler Trishka here. (Eremeevna moves away.)
He, the thief, has burdened him everywhere. Mitrofanushka, my friend! I'm guessing you're dying. Call your father here.
Mitrofan leaves.
Phenomenon II
Mrs. Prostakova, Eremeevna, Trishka.
Mrs. Prostakova
(Trishke)
. And you, brute, come closer. Didn’t I tell you, you thieving mug, that you should make your caftan wider? The first child grows; another, a child and without a narrow caftan of delicate build. Tell me, idiot, what is your excuse?
Trishka.
But, madam, I was self-taught. I reported to you at the same time: well, if you please, give it to the tailor.
Mrs. Prostakova.
So is it really necessary to be a tailor to be able to sew a caftan well? What bestial reasoning!
Trishka.
Yes, I studied to be a tailor, madam, but I didn’t.
Mrs. Prostakova.
While searching, he argues. A tailor learned from another, another from a third, but who did the first tailor learn from? Speak up, beast.
Trishka.
Yes, the first tailor, perhaps, sewed worse than mine.
Mitrofan
(runs in)
. I called my father. I deigned to say: immediately.
Mrs. Prostakova.
So go and get him out if you don’t get the good stuff.
Mitrofan.
Yes, here comes the father.
Scene III
Same with Prostakov.
Mrs. Prostakova.
What, why do you want to hide from me? This, sir, is how far I have lived with your indulgence. What's a new thing for a son to do with his uncle's agreement? What kind of caftan did Trishka deign to sew?
Prostakov
(stammering out of timidity)
. Me... a little baggy.
Mrs. Prostakova.
You yourself are baggy, smart head.
Prostakov.
Yes, I thought, mother, that it seemed so to you.
Mrs. Prostakova.
Are you blind yourself?
Prostakov.
With your eyes, mine see nothing.
Mrs. Prostakova.
This is the kind of hubby the Lord gave me: he doesn’t know how to figure out what’s wide and what’s narrow.
Prostakov.
In this, mother, I believed and believe you.
Mrs. Prostakova.
So believe also that I do not intend to indulge the slaves. Go, sir, and punish now...
Phenomenon IV
Same with Skotinin.
Skotinin.
Whom? For what? On the day of my conspiracy! I ask you, sister, for such a holiday to postpone the punishment until tomorrow; and tomorrow, if you please, I myself will willingly help. If I weren’t Taras Skotinin, if not every fault is my fault. In this, sister, I have the same custom as you. Why are you so angry?
Mrs. Prostakova.
Well, brother, I’ll go crazy on your eyes. Mitrofanushka, come here. Is this caftan baggy?
Skotinin.
No.
Prostakov.
Yes, I can already see, mother, that it is narrow.
Skotinin.
I don't see that either. The caftan, brother, is well made.
Mrs. Prostakova
(Trishke)
.
Get out, you bastard. (Eremeevna.)
Come on, Eremeevna, let the child have breakfast. Vit, I’m having tea, the teachers will come soon.
Eremeevna.
He already, mother, deigned to eat five buns.
Mrs. Prostakova.
So you feel sorry for the sixth one, beast? What zeal! Please take a look.
Eremeevna.
Cheers, mother. I said this for Mitrofan Terentyevich. I grieved until the morning.
Mrs. Prostakova.
Ah, Mother of God! What happened to you, Mitrofanushka?
Mitrofan.
Yes, mother. Yesterday after dinner it hit me.
Skotinin.
Yes, it’s clear, brother, you had a hearty dinner.
Mitrofan.
And I, uncle, almost didn’t have dinner at all.
Prostakov.
I remember, my friend, you wanted to eat something.
Mitrofan.
What! Three slices of corned beef, and hearth slices, I don’t remember, five, I don’t remember, six.
Eremeevna.
Every now and then he asked for a drink at night. I deigned to eat a whole jug of kvass.
Mitrofan.
And now I’m walking around like crazy. All night such rubbish was in my eyes.
Mrs. Prostakova.
What rubbish, Mitrofanushka?
Mitrofan.
Yes, either you, mother, or father.
Mrs. Prostakova.
How is this possible?
Mitrofan.
As soon as I start to fall asleep, I see that you, mother, deign to beat father.
Prostakov
(to the side)
. Well, my bad! Sleep in hand!
Mitrofan
(softened up)
. So I felt sorry.
Mrs. Prostakova
(with annoyance)
. Who, Mitrofanushka?
Mitrofan.
You, mother: you are so tired, beating your father.
Mrs. Prostakova.
Surround me, my dear friend! Here, son, is my only consolation.
Skotinin.
Well, Mitrofanushka, I see you are a mother’s son, not a father’s son!
Prostakov.
At least I love him, as a parent should, he’s a smart child, he’s a sensible child, he’s funny, he’s an entertainer; sometimes I am beside myself with him and with joy I truly do not believe that he is my son.
Skotinin.
Only now our funny man is standing there, frowning.
Mrs. Prostakova.
Shouldn't we send for a doctor to the city?
Mitrofan.
No, no, mother. I'd rather get better on my own. Now I’ll run to the dovecote, maybe…
Mrs. Prostakova.
So maybe the Lord is merciful. Go and have some fun, Mitrofanushka.
Mitrofan and Eremeevna leave.
Phenomenon V
Ms. Prostakova, Prostakov, Skotinin.
Skotinin.
Why can't I see my bride? Where is she? There will be an agreement in the evening, so isn’t it time to tell her that they are marrying her off?
Mrs. Prostakova.
We'll make it, brother. If we tell her this ahead of time, she may still think that we are reporting to her. Although by marriage, however, I am related to her; and I love that strangers listen to me.
Prostakov
(to Skotinin)
. To tell the truth, we treated Sophia like an orphan. After her father she remained a baby. About six months ago, her mother, and my in-law, had a stroke...
Mrs. Prostakova
(showing as if she is baptizing her heart)
. The power of the god is with us.
Prostakov.
From which she went to the next world. Her uncle, Mr. Starodum, went to Siberia; and since there has been no rumor or news of him for several years now, we consider him dead. We, seeing that she was left alone, took her to our village and look after her estate as if it were our own.
Mrs. Prostakova.
What, why have you gone so crazy today, my father? Looking for a brother, he might think that we took her to us out of interest.
Prostakov.
Well, mother, how should he think about this? After all, we can’t move Sofyushkino’s real estate estate to ourselves.
Skotinin.
And although the movable has been put forward, I am not a petitioner. I don’t like to bother, and I’m afraid. No matter how much my neighbors offended me, no matter how much loss they caused, I did not attack anyone, and any loss, rather than going after it, I would rip off from my own peasants, and the ends would go to waste.
Prostakov.
It’s true, brother: the whole neighborhood says that you are a master at collecting rent.
Mrs. Prostakova.
At least you taught us, brother father; but we just can’t do it. Since we took away everything the peasants had, we can’t take anything back. Such a disaster!
Skotinin.
Please, sister, I will teach you, I will teach you, just marry me to Sophia.
Mrs. Prostakova.
Did you really like this girl that much?
Skotinin.
No, it's not the girl I like.
Prostakov.
So next door to her village?
Skotinin.
And not the villages, but the fact that it is found in the villages and what my mortal desire is.
Mrs. Prostakova.
Until what, brother?
Skotinin.
I love pigs, sister, and in our neighborhood there are such large pigs that there is not a single one of them that, standing on its hind legs, would not be taller than each of us by a whole head.
Prostakov.
It’s a strange thing, brother, how family can resemble family. Mitrofanushka is our uncle. And he was a hunter of pigs, just like you. When I was still three years old, when I saw a pig, I used to tremble with joy.
Skotinin.
This is truly a curiosity! Well, brother, Mitrofan loves pigs because he is my nephew. There is some similarity here; Why am I so addicted to pigs?
Prostakov.
And there is some similarity here, I think so.
Scene VI
Same with Sophia.
Sophia entered holding a letter in her hand and looking cheerful.
Mrs. Prostakova
(Sofia)
. Why are you so happy, mother? What are you happy about?
Sophia.
I have now received good news. My uncle, about whom we knew nothing for so long, whom I love and honor as my father, recently arrived in Moscow. Here is the letter I have now received from him.
Mrs. Prostakova
(frightened, with anger)
. How! Starodum, your uncle, is alive! And you deign to say that he has risen! That's a fair amount of fiction!
Sophia.
Yes, he never died.
Mrs. Prostakova.
Didn't die! But shouldn't he die? No, madam, these are your inventions, in order to intimidate us with your uncle, so that we give you freedom. Uncle is a smart man; he, seeing me in the wrong hands, will find a way to help me out. That's what you're glad about, madam; However, perhaps, don’t be very happy: your uncle, of course, did not resurrect.
Skotinin.
Sister, what if he didn’t die?
Prostakov.
God forbid he didn't die!
Mrs. Prostakova
(to her husband)
.
How did you not die? Why are you confusing grandma? Don’t you know that for several years now he has been commemorated by me in memorials for his repose? Surely my sinful prayers didn’t reach me! (To Sophia.)
Perhaps a letter for me.
(Almost throws up.)
I bet it's some kind of amorous. And I can guess from whom. This is from the officer who was looking to marry you and whom you yourself wanted to marry. What a beast gives you letters without my asking! I'll get there. This is what we have come to. They write letters to the girls! The girls can read and write!
Sophia.
Read it yourself, madam. You will see that nothing could be more innocent.
Mrs. Prostakova.
Read it for yourself!
No, madam, thank God, I was not brought up like that. I can receive letters, but I always tell someone else to read them. (To my husband.)
Read.
Prostakov
(staring for a long time)
. It's tricky.
Mrs. Prostakova.
And you, my father, were apparently raised like a pretty girl. Brother, read it, work hard.
Skotinin.
I? I haven't read anything in my life, sister! God saved me from this boredom.
Sophia.
Let me read it.
Mrs. Prostakova.
Oh mother! I know that you are a craftswoman, but I don’t really believe you. Here, I’m having tea, teacher Mitrofanushkin will come soon. I tell him...
Skotinin.
Have you started teaching the youngster to read and write?
Mrs. Prostakova.
Oh, dear brother! I've been studying for four years now. There’s nothing, it’s a sin to say that we don’t try to educate Mitrofanushka. We pay three teachers. The sexton from Pokrov, Kuteikin, comes to him to read and write. One retired sergeant, Tsyfirkin, teaches him arithmetic, father. Both of them come here from the city. The city is three miles away from us, father. He is taught French and all sciences by the German Adam Adamych Vralman. This is three hundred rubles a year. We seat you at the table with us. Our women wash his linen. Where needed - a horse. There is a glass of wine at the table. At night there is a tallow candle, and our Fomka sends the wig for free. To tell the truth, we are happy with him, dear brother. He doesn't oppress the child. Vit, my father, while Mitrofanushka is still undergrowth, sweat and pamper him; and there, in ten years, when he enters, God forbid, into service, he will suffer everything. As for anyone, happiness is destined for them, brother. From our surname Prostakovs, look - the tissue, lying on its side, is flying to its ranks. Why is their Mitrofanushka worse? Bah! Yes, by the way, our dear guest came here.
