ARTEMY. Then Luka Lukich, as the enlightener of
youth, should go first.

LUKA. I can't, I can't, gentlemen. I confess I am
so educated that the moment an official a single degree
higher than myself speaks to me, my heart stands still
and I get as tongue-tied as though my tongue were
caught in the mud. No, gentlemen, excuse me. Please
let me off.

ARTEMY. It's you who have got to do it, Ammos
Fiodorovich. There's no one else. Why, every word
you utter seems to be issuing from Cicero's mouth.

AMMOS. What are you talking about! Cicero!
The idea! Just because a man sometimes waxes enthusiastic
over house dogs or hunting hounds.

ALL [pressing him]. No, not over dogs, but the
Tower of Babel, too. Don't forsake us, Ammos Fiodorovich,
help us. Be our Saviour!

AMMOS. Let go of me, gentlemen.

Footsteps and coughing are heard in Khlestakov's
room. All hurry to the door, crowding and jostling in
their struggle to get out. Some are uncomfortably
squeezed, and half-suppressed cries are heard.

BOBCHINSKY'S VOICE. Oh, Piotr Ivanovich, you