The Collected Tales of Nikolai Gogol (Vintage Classics) by Nikolai Gogol & Richard Pevear & Larissa Volokhonsky

Author:Nikolai Gogol & Richard Pevear & Larissa Volokhonsky
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Tags: Anthologies, Regional & Cultural, History & Criticism, Short Stories, Translations, Single Authors, Literary, Anthologies & Collections, Literary Fiction, Literature & Fiction, Russian, Classics, Criticism & Theory, Short Stories & Anthologies
ISBN: 0375706151
Publisher: Vintage
Published: 2011-08-16T22:00:00+00:00

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

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