The Collected Tales of Nikolai Gogol (35 page)

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
A
BOUT
W
HAT
H
APPENED IN THE
O
FFICE OF THE
M
IRGOROD
L
OCAL
C
OURT

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 wattle 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
jailhouse.
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!”