from here the better. Father, don't scorn to accept our
bread and salt. We pay our respects to you with sugar and a basket of
wine.

KHLESTAKOV. No, no. Don't think of it. I don't take bribes. Oh, if, for
example, you would offer me a loan of three hundred rubles, that's quite
different. I am willing to take a loan.

MERCHANTS. If you please, father. [They take out money.] But what is
three hundred? Better take five hundred. Only help us.

KHLESTAKOV. Very well. About a loan I won't say a word. I'll take it.

MERCHANTS [proffering him the money on a silver tray]. Do please take
the tray, too.

KHLESTAKOV. Very well. I can take the tray, too.

MERCHANTS [bowing]. Then take the sugar at the same time.

KHLESTAKOV. Oh, no. I take no bribes.

OSIP. Why don't you take the sugar, your Highness? Take it. Everything
will come in handy on the road. Give here the sugar and that case. Give
them here. It'll all be of use. What have you got there--a string?
Give it here. A string will be handy on the road, too, if the coach or
something else should break--for tying it up.

MERCHANTS. Do us this great favor, your illustrious Highness. Why, if
you don't help us in our appeal to you, then we simply don't know how we
are to exist. We might as well put our necks in a noose.

KHLESTAKOV. Positively, positively. I shall exert my efforts in your
behalf.

[The Merchants leave. A woman's voice is heard saying:]

"Don't you dare not to let me in. I'll make a complaint against you to
him himself. Don't push me that way. It hurts."

KHLESTAKOV. Who is there? [Goes to the window.] What is it, mother?

[Two women's voices are heard:] "We beseech your grace, father. Give
orders, your Lordship, for us to be heard."

KHLESTAKOV. Let her in.

SCENE XI

Khlestakov, the Locksmith's Wife, and the non-commissioned Officer's
Widow.

LOCK.'S WIFE [kneeling]. I beseech your grace.

WIDOW. I beseech your grace.

KHLESTAKOV. Who are you?

WIDOW. Ivanova, widow of a non-commissioned officer.

LOCK.'S WIFE. Fevronya Petrova Poshliopkina, the wife of a locksmith, a
burgess of this town. My father--

KHLESTAKOV. Stop! One at a time. What do you want?

LOCK.'S WIFE. I beg for your grace. I beseech your aid against the
governor. May God send all evil upon him. May neither he nor his
children nor his uncles nor his aunts ever prosper in any of their
undertakings.

KHLESTAKOV. What's the matter?

LOCK.'S WIFE. He ordered my hus