Текст книги "The Collected tales of Nikolai Gogol"
Автор книги: Николай Гоголь
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Finally, however, he came to his senses and got down to his usual affairs. He had a late dinner, and it was nearly evening when he lay down to rest on the gallery. A good borscht with squab, made by Gapka, drove the morning's incident away completely. Ivan Ivanovich again began to survey his domain with pleasure. Finally his gaze rested on his neighbor's yard and he said to himself: "I haven't been to Ivan Nikiforovich's today; I must go and see him." Having said that, Ivan Ivanovich took his hat and stick and went outside; but as soon as he passed through the gate, he remembered the quarrel, spat, and turned back. Almost the same movement occurred in Ivan Nikiforovich's yard. Ivan Ivanovich saw the woman already setting her foot on the wattle fence, intending to climb into his yard, when Ivan Nikiforovich's voice suddenly rang out: "Come back! come back! never mind!" However, Ivan Ivanovich got very bored. It was quite possible that the two worthy men would have made peace the very next day if a certain event in Ivan Nikiforovich's house hadn't dashed all hopes and poured oil on the flames of enmity that were ready to die out.
In the evening of the same day, Agafya Fedoseevna arrived at Ivan Nikiforovich's. Agafya Fedoseevna was neither a relation nor an in-law, nor even a kuma 4 of Ivan Nikiforovich. It would seem she had absolutely no reason for coming to visit him, and he himself was not very glad to have her; nevertheless she would come and stay for whole weeks and sometimes longer. Then she would take the keys, and the entire household would be in her hands. This was very unpleasant for Ivan Nikiforovich, and yet, to his own surprise, he obeyed her like a child, and though he sometimes tried to object, Agafya Fedoseevna always came out on top.
I confess I don't understand why it's so arranged that women grab us by the nose as deftly as if it were a teapot handle. Either their hands are made for it, or our noses are no longer good for anything. And despite the fact that Ivan Nikiforovich's nose somewhat resembled a plum, she still grabbed him by that nose and led him around with her like a little dog. In her presence he even changed, involuntarily, his usual way of life: he did not spend so long lying in the sun, and if he did, it was not in his natural state but always in a shirt and trousers, though Agafya Fedoseevna by no means demanded it. She was not a lover of ceremony, and when Ivan Nikiforovich had a fever, she herself, with her own hands, rubbed him from head to foot with turpentine and vinegar. Agafya Fedoseevna wore a cap on her head, three warts on her nose, and a coffee-colored housecoat with little yellow flowers. Her whole body resembled a barrel, and therefore it was as hard to find her waist as to see your own nose without a mirror. Her legs were short, formed after the pattern of two pillows. She gossiped, ate boiled beets in the mornings, and cursed exceedingly well-her face never once changing its expression during all these diverse occupations, a thing which only women are customarily able to display.
As soon as she came, everything turned inside out.
"Don't make peace with him, Ivan Nikiforovich, and don't apologize: he wants to ruin you, that's the sort of man he is! You don't know him yet."
The accursed woman muttered and muttered and made it so that Ivan Nikiforovich didn't even want to hear about Ivan Ivanovich.
Everything looked different now: if a neighboring dog happened to get into the yard, it was beaten with whatever came to hand; the children who climbed over the fence came back screaming, their shirts tucked up, with traces of a birching on their backsides. Even the woman herself, when Ivan Ivanovich wished to ask her about something, performed such an indecency that Ivan Ivanovich, as a man of extreme delicacy, spat and said only, "What a nasty woman! Worse than her master!"
Finally, to crown all the insults, his hateful neighbor had a goose pen built directly facing him, where they used to climb over the wattle fence, as if with the special purpose of aggravating the insult. This pen, repulsive to Ivan Ivanovich, was built with devilish speed-in a single day.
This aroused anger and a desire for revenge in Ivan Ivanovich. He did not, however, show any sign of irritation, despite the fact that the pen even occupied a portion of his land; but his heart beat so hard that it was extremely difficult for him to maintain this external calm.
So he spent the day. Night came… Oh, if I were a painter, I would wondrously portray all the loveliness of the night! I would portray how all Mirgorod lies sleeping; how countless stars gaze motionlessly down on it; how the visible silence resounds with the near and far-off barking of dogs; how the amorous beadle races past them and climbs over the fence with chivalrous fearlessness; how the white walls of houses enveloped in moonlight turn still whiter, the trees above them turn darker, the shadow of the trees falls blacker, the flowers and hushed grass grow more fragrant, and the crickets, indefatigable cavaliers of the night, with one accord begin their chirping songs in all corners. I would portray how, in one of these low clay cottages, a dark-browed town girl with quivering young breasts tosses on her solitary bed dreaming of a hussar's mustache and spurs while moonlight laughs on her cheeks. I would portray how the black shadow of a bat flits over the white road and settles on the white chimneys of the houses… But I would scarcely be able to portray Ivan Ivanovich going out that night with a saw in his hand. So many different feelings were written on his face! Softly, softly he crept close and got under the goose pen. Ivan Nikiforovich's dogs still knew nothing of the quarrel between them and therefore allowed him, as an old friend, to approach the pen, which rested entirely on four oak posts. Coming to the nearest post, he put his saw to it and began sawing. The noise produced by the saw made him look around every moment, but the thought of the offense restored his courage. The first post was sawn through; Ivan Ivanovich went on to the next. His eyes glowed and saw nothing from fear. Suddenly Ivan Ivanovich cried out and went numb: a dead man appeared to him; but he quickly recovered, seeing it was a goose stretching out its neck toward him. Ivan Ivanovich spat in indignation and began to go on with his work. The second post was sawn through: the building lurched. Ivan Ivanovich's heart began to pound so terribly when he started on the third that he interrupted his work several times; it was already more than half sawn through when the unsteady building suddenly lurched badly… Ivan Ivanovich barely managed to jump clear as it collapsed with a crash. Grabbing his saw, terribly frightened, he went running home and threw himself on his bed, not having the courage even to look out the window at the consequences of his dreadful deed. He fancied that Ivan Nikiforovich's entire household had gathered: the old woman, Ivan Nikiforovich, the boy in the endless frock coat-armed with pikestaffs, Agafya Fedoseevna at their head, they were all coming to devastate and destroy his house.
The whole of the next day Ivan Ivanovich spent as if in a fever. He kept imagining that in revenge for it his hateful neighbor would at the very least set fire to his house. And he therefore gave Gapka orders to keep an eye out at all times everywhere for dry straw stuck someplace or other. Finally, in order to forestall Ivan
Nikiforovich, he decided to run ahead hare-like and make a claim against him in the Mirgorod local court. What it consisted of can be found out in the next chapter.
Chapter IV
About What Happened in the Office of the Mirgorod Local Court
A wonderful town, Mirgorod! What buildings it has! And with thatch, or rush, or even wooden roofs; a street to the right, a street to the left, excellent watde fences everywhere; hops twine over them, pots hang on them, from behind them the sunflower shows it sunlike head, poppies redden, fat pumpkins flash… Magnificent! A wattle fence is always adorned with objects that make it still more picturesque: a hanging apron, or a shift, or balloon trousers. In Mirgorod there is neither thievery nor crookery, and therefore everybody hangs up whatever he likes. When you get to the square, you're sure to stop for a while and admire the view: there is a puddle in it, an astonishing puddle! the only one like it you'll ever chance to see! It takes up almost the whole square. A beautiful puddle! The houses, big and small, which from afar might be taken for haystacks, stand around marveling at its beauty.
But to my mind there's no house better than the local courthouse. Whether it's made of oak or birch is not my affair; but it has eight windows, my dear sirs! eight windows in a row, looking right onto the square and that expanse of water of which I've already spoken and which the police chief calls a lake! It alone is painted a granite color: the rest of the houses of Mirgorod are simply whitewashed. Its roof is entirely of wood, and would even have been painted with red paint, if the oil prepared for that purpose had not been eaten, garnished with onion, by the clerks, which happened, as if by design, during a fast period, and so the roof went un-painted. The porch juts out into the square, and chickens often run about on it, because there's almost always grain or something else edible spilled on the porch, though that is not done on purpose but solely through the carelessness of the petitioners. It is divided into two halves: in one is the office, in the other the jail-house. In the half where the office is, there are two clean, whitewashed rooms: one, the anteroom, is for petitioners; in the other, there's a desk adorned with ink blots, and on it a zertsalo. 5 Four oak chairs with high backs; against the walls, ironbound chests containing piles of regional calumny. On one of these chests there then stood a boot polished with wax. The office had been open since morning. The judge, a rather plump man, though somewhat thinner than Ivan Nikiforovich, with a kindly mien, in a greasy housecoat, holding a pipe and a cup of tea, was talking with the court clerk. The judge's lips were right under his nose, and he could therefore sniff his upper lip to his heart's content. This lip served him as a snuffbox, because the snuff addressed to his nose almost always spilled on it. And so, the judge was talking with the court clerk. To one side stood a barefoot girl holding a tray with teacups.
At the end of the table, the secretary was reading the decision of a case, but in such a monotonous and mournful voice that the accused himself might have fallen asleep listening to it. The judge would undoubtedly have done so before anyone else, if he hadn't entered, meanwhile, into an amusing conversation.
"I purposely tried to find out," the judge said, sipping tea from the already cold cup, "how they turn out to sing so well. I had a fine blackbird some two years ago. What then? Suddenly he went off completely. Started singing God knows what. As it continued, he got worse, turned guttural, hoarse-fit for the trash heap. And owing to a mere trifle! Here's how it happens: they get a lump under the throat, smaller than a pea. You need only prick this lump with a needle. Zakhar Prokofievich taught me that, and I'll tell you precisely how: I come to see him…"
"Shall I read another one, Demyan Demyanovich?" interrupted the secretary, who had already finished reading several minutes earlier.
"You read all of it? Imagine, so quickly! I didn't hear a thing! Where is it? Give it to me, I'll sign it. What else have you got?"
"The Cossack Bokitko's case concerning the stolen cow."
"Very well, read it! So, I come to see him… I can even tell you in detail what he treated me to. The vodka was served with a balyk 6 -one of a kind! Yes, not like our balyk, which"-here the judge clucked his tongue and smiled, while his nose sniffed from his usual snuffbox-"which our Mirgorod grocery treats us to. I didn't eat any pickled herring, because, as you yourself know, it gives me heartburn. But I did try the caviar-wonderful caviar! not to say excellent! Then I drank some peach vodka flavored with centaury. There was also saffron vodka, but, as you yourself know, I don't drink saffron vodka. It's very nice, you see: first to arouse the appetite, as they say, and then to finish… Ah! it's been ages, ages…" the judge suddenly cried out, seeing Ivan Ivanovich come in.
"God be with you! I wish you good day!" said Ivan Ivanovich, bowing to all sides with a pleasantness proper only to himself. My God, how he's able to charm everyone with his manners! Such refinement I've never seen anywhere. He knew his own worth very well, and therefore regarded general respect as his due. The judge himself offered Ivan Ivanovich a chair, and his nose drew all the snuff from his upper lip, which with him was always a sign of great pleasure.
"What may we offer you, Ivan Ivanovich?" he asked. "Would you care for a cup of tea?"
"No, thank you very much," replied Ivan Ivanovich, bowing and sitting down.
"If you please, just one little cup!" repeated the judge.
"No, thank you. You are most hospitable," Ivan Ivanovich replied, bowing and sitting down.
"One cup," repeated the judge.
"No, don't trouble yourself, Demyan Demyanovich."
With that, Ivan Ivanovich bowed and sat down.
"One little cup?"
"Oh, very well, one little cup," said Ivan Ivanovich, reaching toward the tray.
Lord God! such bottomless refinement some people have! It's impossible to describe what a pleasant impression such behavior makes!
"Wouldn't you care for another cup?"
"I humbly thank you," replied Ivan Ivanovich, placing the cup upside down on the tray and bowing.
"Be so kind, Ivan Ivanovich!"
"I can't. Thank you very much." With that, Ivan Ivanovich bowed and sat down.
"Ivan Ivanovich! be a friend, one little cup!"
"No, much obliged."
Having said this, Ivan Ivanovich bowed and sat down.
"Just one cup! one little cup!"
Ivan Ivanovich reached toward the tray and took a cup.
Pah! damnation! How some people are able, how they manage to maintain their dignity!
"Demyan Demyanovich," Ivan Ivanovich said as he finished the last sip, "I've come to you on some necessary business. I'm putting in a claim." With that, Ivan Ivanovich set down his cup and took from his pocket a sheet of official stamped paper with writing on it. "A claim against an enemy of mine, a sworn enemy."
"Who might that be?"
"Ivan Nikiforovich Dovgochkhun."
At these words the judge nearly fell off his chair.
"What are you saying!" he uttered, clasping his hands. "Ivan Ivanovich, is this you?"
"You can see for yourself it is."
"The Lord God and all his saints be with you! What! you, Ivan Ivanovich, have become enemies with Ivan Nikiforovich? Is it your lips saying so? Repeat it again! Someone must be hiding behind you and talking in your place!…"
"What's so incredible about it? I can't bear the sight of him; he has mortally offended me, insulted my honor."
"Most holy Trinity! how will I ever make my mother believe it now? And she, the old lady, says to me every day, when I quarrel with my sister, 'You children live like cat and dog together. Why don't you take example from Ivan Ivanovich and Ivan Nikiforovich? There are two real friends! Such friends! Such worthy people!' That's friends for you! Tell me, what was it? how?"
"It's a delicate matter, Demyan Demyanovich! impossible to put into words. Better order my petition to be read. Here, take it from this side, it's more fitting."
"Read it, Taras Tikhonovich!" said the judge, turning to the secretary.
Taras Tikhonovich took the petition and, having blown his nose with the aid of two fingers, as all court secretaries do, began to read:
"From Ivan, son of Ivan, Pererepenko, gentleman of the Mirgorod region and landowner, a petition; and on what, the points follow herewith:
"1. Known to the whole world for his iniquitous, loathsome, and beyond-all-measure law-breaking actions, the gentleman, Ivan, son of Nikifor, Dovgochkhun, on the 7th of July of the year 1810 instant, did occasion me a mortal offense, as much in reference to my personal honor as in equal measure to the humiliation and embarrassment of my rank and name. This gentleman, being of vile appearance, is likewise of an abusive character and filled with all sorts of blasphemy and abuse…"
Here the reader paused briefly in order to blow his nose again, and the judge pressed his hands together in awe and only kept saying to himself:
"What a glib pen! Lord God! how the man can write!"
Ivan Ivanovich asked for the reading to proceed, and Taras Tikhonovich went on:
"This gentleman, Ivan, son of Nikifor, Dovgochkhun, when I came to him with friendly offers, publicly called me by a name offensive to me and defaming to my honor, namely: goose, whereas it is known to the whole Mirgorod region that I have hitherto in no way ever been called, and have no intention of being called, this vile animal. And the proof of my noble origin is that the day of my birth, and equally well the baptism I received, have been recorded in the register of the Church of the Three Hierarchs. 7 A goose, as is known to all who are at least somewhat versed in science, cannot be recorded in a register, for a goose is not a person but a bird, which fact is positively known to everyone, even if they have not gone to school. But the said malignant gentleman, being informed of all this, with no other purpose than that of occasioning me an offense mortifying to my rank and estate, did abuse me with the said vile word.
"2. This same improper and indecent gentleman also encroached upon my familial property, received by me from my parent, of the clerical estate, Ivan, of blessed memory, son of Onisy, Pererepenko, by transposing, contrary to all law, a goose pen directly opposite my porch, doing so with no other intention than that of aggravating the offense already inflicted upon me, for the said pen had hitherto been standing in a suitable place and was still quite sturdy. But the loathsome intent of the above-mentioned gentleman consisted solely in turning me into a witness of indecent goings-on, for it is known that no one goes to a pen, still less to a goose pen, on decent business. In this illegal act, the two front posts intruded upon my own land, which I received while my parent Ivan, of blessed memory, son of Onisy, Pererepenko, was still alive, and which, starting from the barn, went in a straight line all the way to where the women wash their pots.
"3. The above-depicted gentleman, whose very name and surname inspire all possible loathing, nurses in his heart the wicked intention of setting fire to me in my own house. Indubitable tokens of which are manifest in the following: 1st, the said malignant gentleman has begun to emerge from his rooms frequently, something he never undertook before, on account of his laziness and the vile corpulence of his body; 2nd, in his servant's quarters, which are adjacent to the fence surrounding my land, received by me from my late parent, Ivan, of blessed memory, son of Onisy, Pererepenko, a light burns every day and for an extraordinary length of time, which is already manifest evidence, for hitherto, in his miserly avarice, not only the tallow candle but even the night lamp was always put out.
"And therefore I request that the said gentleman, Ivan, son of Nikifor, Dovgochkhun, being guilty of arson, of insult to my rank, name, and family, and of the thievish appropriation of property, and above all of the base and reprehensible appending to my family name of the appellation goose, have a penalty imposed on him, with payment of expenses and losses, and be condemned himself as a trespasser, put in chains, and taken to jail, which decision with respect to my petition should be handed down at once and without fail.
"Written and composed by Mirgorod landowner Ivan, son of Ivan, Pererepenko, gentleman."
After the reading of the petition, the judge went up to Ivan Ivanovich, took him by the button, and began speaking to him almost like this:
"What are you doing, Ivan Ivanovich! For fear of God, drop this petition, let it perish! (May Satan visit its dreams!) Better take Ivan Nikiforovich by the hands, and kiss each other, and buy a bottle of Santurin or Nikopolis, or else just make a little punch, and invite me! We'll drink together and forget the whole thing!"
"No, Demyan Demyanovich! it is not that sort of affair," Ivan Ivanovich said with that importance which was always so becoming to him. "Not the sort of affair that can be resolved in amicable agreement. Good-bye! Good-bye to you, too, gentlemen!" he went on with the same importance, addressing them all. "I hope my petition will produce the proper effect." And he walked out, leaving the whole office in amazement.
The judge sat without saying a word; the secretary took some snuff; the office boys overturned the broken piece of bottle they used as an inkstand; and the judge himself absentmindedly smeared the puddle of ink over the table with his finger.
"What do you say to that, Dorofei Trofimovich?" said the judge, turning to the court clerk after some silence.
"I say nothing," replied the court clerk.
"Such goings-on!" continued the judge.
Before he finished saying it, the door creaked and the front half of Ivan Nikiforovich heaved itself into the office, while the rest remained in the anteroom. The appearance of Ivan Nikiforovich-and, what's more, in court-seemed so extraordinary that the judge cried out; the secretary broke off his reading. One office boy in the frieze likeness of a half-tailcoat put a quill in his mouth; the other swallowed a fly. Even the invalid who fulfilled the functions of both messenger and watchman, who till then had been standing by the door scratching under his dirty shirt with stripes sewn to the shoulder, even this invalid gaped and stepped on somebody's foot.
"What fates bring you here? why and wherefore? How are you, Ivan Nikiforovich?"
But Ivan Nikiforovich was neither dead nor alive, because he had gotten mired in the doorway and could not make a step forward or back. In vain did the judge shout into the anteroom for someone there to shove Ivan Nikiforovich into the office from behind. There was only one petitioner in the anteroom, an old woman, who, despite all the efforts of her bony arms, could do nothing. Then one of the office boys, with fat lips, broad shoulders, a fat nose, and torn elbows, his eyes glancing about slyly and drunkenly, went up to the front part of Ivan Nikiforovich, folded his arms crosswise as if he were a child, and winked to the old invalid, who placed his knee against Ivan Nikiforovich's belly, and, despite his pitiful moans, squeezed him out into the anteroom. Then they slid back the bolts and opened the other half of the door. While they were at it, the office boy and his helper, the invalid, in their concerted efforts, spread such a strong smell with their breath that the office turned for a time into a public house.
"Did they hurt you, Ivan Nikiforovich? I'll tell my mother, she'll send you a tincture-just rub your shoulders and lower back, and it will all go away."
But Ivan Nikiforovich sank onto a chair and, apart from prolonged oh's, was unable to say anything. Finally, in a weak voice, barely audible from exhaustion, he uttered:
"Will you indulge?" and, taking the snuff bottle from his pocket, added, "here, help yourselves!"
"I'm very pleased to see you," answered the judge. "But, all the same, I can't imagine what made you undertake the effort and present us with such an agreeable unexpectedness."
"A petition…" was all Ivan Nikiforovich could utter.
"A petition? What sort?"
"A claim…" here breathlessness produced a long pause, "ohh!… a claim against a crook… Ivan Ivanovich Pererepenko."
"Lord! you too! Such rare friends! A claim against such a virtuous man!…"
"He's Satan in person!" Ivan Nikiforovich said curtly.
The judge crossed himself.
"Take the petition and read it."
"Nothing to do but read it, Taras Tikhonovich," said the judge, addressing the secretary with an air of displeasure, and his nose inadvertently sniffed his upper lip, which previously it used to do only from great pleasure. Such willfulness on the part of his nose vexed the judge still more. He took out his handkerchief and swept all the snuff from his upper lip in punishment for its insolence.
The secretary, having performed his usual start-up, which he always resorted to before beginning to read, that is, without the aid of a handkerchief, began in his usual voice, thus:
"A petition from Ivan, son of Nikifor, Dovgochkhun, gentleman of the Mirgorod region, and on what, the points follow herewith:
"1. From his hateful spite and obvious ill will, Ivan, son of Ivan, Pererepenko, who calls himself a gentleman, is causing me various losses, doing me dirt, and performing other devious and terrifying acts, and yesterday, like a robber and a thief, with axes, saws, chisels, and other metalworking tools, got into my yard during the night and with his very own hands and in blameworthy fashion did chop up my very own goose pen located therein. For which, on my part, I never gave any cause for such an illegal and marauding act.
"2. The said gendeman Pererepenko presumes upon my very life and, having kept this intention secret until the 7th day of the last month, came to me and in a friendly and cunning fashion started begging for my gun, which was in my room, offering me, with his particular niggardliness, a lot of worthless things-to wit: a brown sow and two measures of oats. But, divining his criminal intention even then, I made every effort to divert him from it; but the said crook and scoundrel, Ivan, son of Ivan, Pererepenko, did abuse me in a churlish manner, and since then has nursed an irreconcilable enmity toward me. Furthermore, the said oft-mentioned violent gentleman and robber, Ivan, son of Ivan, Pererepenko, is of quite blameworthy origin: his sister was a notorious strumpet who went off with a company of chasseurs that was quartered in Mirgorod five years ago; and she registered her husband as a peasant. His father and mother were also most lawless people, and both were unimaginable drunkards. Yet the above-mentioned gentleman and robber Pererepenko has exceeded all his relations in bestial and blameworthy acts and, in the guise of piety, does the most godless things: does not keep fasts, for on the eve of St. Philip's Day 8 this apostate bought a lamb and ordered his lawless wench Gapka to slaughter it the next day, explaining that he supposedly needed tallow just then for lamps and candles.
"Therefore I request that this gentleman, being a robber, a blasphemer, and a crook, already caught thieving and marauding, be put in irons and conveyed to prison, or to the state jail, and that there, on discretion, being stripped of his ranks and nobility, he be given a good basting with birch rods and be sent to hard labor in Siberia as necessary; that he be made to pay all expenses and losses, and that a decision be forthcoming on this my petition.
"Setting hand to which petition, I am Ivan, son of Nikifor, Dovgochkhun, gentleman of the Mirgorod region."
As soon as the secretary finished reading, Ivan Nikiforovich took his hat and bowed, with the intention of leaving.
"What's the hurry, Ivan Nikiforovich?" the judge called after him. "Stay a while! have some tea! Oryshko! Why are you standing there, stupid girl, winking at the office boys? Go and bring tea!"
But Ivan Nikiforovich, frightened to have gone so far from home and to have endured such a dangerous quarantine, had already managed to get through the door, saying:
"Don't trouble yourself, it's my pleasure…" and closed it behind him, leaving the whole office in amazement.
There was nothing to be done. Both petitions were accepted, and the affair was about to take a rather interesting turn when one unforeseen circumstance lent it still greater amusement. As the judge was leaving the office in the company of the court clerk and the secretary, while the office boys were filling a sack with the chickens, eggs, loaves of bread, pies, knishes, and other stuff brought by petitioners, just then a brown sow ran into the room and, to the astonishment of those present, snatched-not a pie or crust of bread, but Ivan Nikiforovich's petition, which lay at the end of the table with its pages hanging down. Having snatched the paper, the brown porker ran off so quickly that none of the officials could catch her, despite the hurling of rulers and ink bottles. This extraordinary incident caused terrible turmoil, because a copy had not even been made of it yet. The judge-that is, his secretary and the court clerk-discussed this unheard-of circumstance for a long time; the decision was finally taken to write a report about it to the police chief, since the investigation of this case belonged rather to the civil police. Report No. 389 was sent to him that same day, whereupon there took place a rather curious conversation, which readers may learn about in the next chapter.
Chapter V
Which Contains an Account of a
Meeting Between Two Distinguished
Persons of Mirgorod
Ivan Ivanovich had only just finished his household chores and gone out, as usual, to lie on the gallery, when, to his unutterable astonishment, he saw something red in the gateway. It was the police chief's cuff, which, along with his collar, had acquired a polish and turned at the edges into patent leather. Ivan Ivanovich thought to himself: "That's nice, Pyotr Fyodorovich is coming for a chat," but was very astonished to see the police chief come in extremely quickly and swinging his arms, which usually happened with him quite seldom. On the police chief's uniform sat eight buttons, the ninth having been torn off during the procession for the blessing of the church some two years earlier, so that the policemen were still unable to find it, though the police chief, while receiving the daily reports of the precinct officers, always asked whether the button had been found. These eight buttons sat on him the way peasant women plant beans, one to the left, another to the right. His left leg had been shot through in the last campaign, which caused him, as he limped, to throw it so far to the side that he thereby undid almost all the labor of the right leg. The more speedily the police chief sent his infantry into action, the less it advanced. And therefore, before the police chief reached the gallery, Ivan Ivanovich had plenty of time to lose himself in conjectures as to the reason why the police chief was swinging his arms so quickly He was the more interested as the matter seemed to be of extraordinary importance, for he even had a new sword on him.
