'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.
'Greetings, Pyotr Fyodorovich!' cried Ivan Ivanovich, who, as has already been said, was very inquisitive and was simply unable to restrain his impatience at the sight of the police chief storming the porch steps, but still not raising his eyes and quarreling with his infantry, which was in no way capable of taking a step at a single try.
'I wish good day to my gentle friend and benefactor, Ivan Ivanovich!' replied the police chief.
'I ask you kindly to sit down. I see you're tired, because your wounded leg hinders…'
'My leg!' cried the police chief, casting one of those looks at Ivan Ivanovich that a giant casts at a pigmy or a learned pedant at a dancing master. With that he raised his leg and stamped on the floor. This brave act cost him dearly, however, because his whole body lurched and his nose pecked the railing; but the wise guardian of order didn't bat an eye, straightened himself up at once, and went to his pocket as if in order to produce his snuffbox. 'About myself I may inform you, my gentle friend and benefactor, Ivan Ivanovich, that in my lifetime I've taken part in all sorts of campaigns. Yes, seriously, I have. For instance, during the campaign of eighteen-oh-seven… Ah, let me tell you how I once climbed a fence after a pretty little German girl.' At this the police chief screwed up one eye and gave a devilishly sly smile.
'And where have you been today?' asked Ivan Ivanovich, wishing to interrupt the police chief, the sooner to bring him to the reason for his visit; he would have liked very much to ask what it was that the police chief intended to tell him; but a refined knowledge of the world presented to him all the indecency of such a question, and Ivan Ivanovich had to restrain himself and wait for the answer, his heart meanwhile pounding with extraordinary force.
'If you please, I'll tell you where I've been,' answered the police chief. 'First of all, I must inform you that the weather today is excellent…'
At these last words Ivan Ivanovich nearly died.
'But, if you please,' the police chief went on. 'I've come to you today on a rather important matter.' Here the police chief's face and bearing adopted the same preoccupied attitude with which he had stormed the porch.
Ivan Ivanovich revived and trembled as in a fever, being prompt, as usual, to ask a question:
'What's important about it? Is it really important?'
'Only consider, if you please: first of all, I venture to inform you, my gentle friend and benefactor, Ivan Ivanovich, that you… for my part, I… please consider, it's nothing to me; but governmental considerations, governmental considerations require it: you have violated the rules of proper order!…'
'What are you saying, Pyotr Fyodorovich? I don't understand a thing.'
'Good gracious, Ivan Ivanovich! How is it you don't understand a thing? Your own animal stole a very important official document, and after that you say you don't understand a thing!'
'What animal?'
'Your own brown sow, if you please.'
