samuel

On March 25th, a very strange event happened in St. Petersburg. The barber Ivàn Jakovlèviè, resident on Voznesènskij Prospect (his surname has been lost and nothing else remains from his sign, where a gentleman with a soaped cheek is depicted along with the inscription: «It also takes blood»), the barber Ivàn Jakovlèviè, woke up quite early and smelled the scent of fresh hot rolls. Sitting up a little in bed, he saw that his wife, a quite respectable lady who loved to drink coffee, was baking freshly baked rolls. "Today, Praskòvija Osìpovna, I will not have coffee," said Ivàn Jakovlèviè, "I would prefer to eat some hot bread with onions." (That is, Ivàn Jakovlèviè would have liked both, but he knew it was absolutely impossible to demand two things at once, because Praskòvija Osìpovna did not like such whims at all.) "Let this fool eat bread; it's better for me," thought his wife privately, "so there will be an extra portion of coffee." And she threw a roll onto the table. Out of decency, Ivàn Jakovlèviè put on his tailcoat over his shirt and, sitting at the table, took some salt, prepared two heads of onion, grasped his knife, and, assuming an inspired expression, prepared to cut the bread. After slicing the bread in half, he looked into the middle and, to his surprise, saw something whitish. Ivàn Jakovlèviè carefully pried at it with his knife and touched it with his finger: "Solid?" he wondered, "what could it be?" He stuck his fingers inside and pulled out a nose... Ivan Jakovlèviè felt his arms go numb; he began to rub his eyes and then felt again: a nose, a nose! And, moreover, it seemed somehow familiar. A look of fright appeared on Ivàn Jakovlèviè's face. But this fear was nothing compared to the outrage that seized his wife. "Where did you cut this nose, beastly thing!" she began shouting with anger. "Bastard! Drunkard! I will myself report you to the police. Some kind of brigand! I already heard three people say that when you shave, you maltreat noses to such a degree that no one can understand how they still stay attached." But Ivàn Jakovlèviè was more dead than alive. He had realized that nose belonged not to him but to the college assessor Kovalèv, whom he shaved every Wednesday and every Sunday. "Stop, Praskòvija Osìpovna! I will wrap it in a rag and put it in a corner; stay there now, and then I will take it away." "I don’t even want to hear about it! Do you think I’ll allow a severed nose to stay with me in the room? Dried biscuit! It only knows how to pass the razor over the strap, and soon it won’t even be able to do its duty anymore—loafer, scoundrel! Shall I then have to answer to the police for you?... Clumsy fool! Out of here! Out! Take it wherever you like! I don't want to even smell it!” Ivàn Jakovlèviè stood there like a dead man. He thought, pondered, and didn’t know what to think. "God knows how it happened," he finally said, scratching behind his ear. "I can't say for sure whether I came home drunk yesterday or not. But all signs indicate that this is a terrible warning, because bread is baked in an oven, whereas a nose is not at all such. I don’t understand anything!...” Ivàn Jakovlèviè fell silent. The thought that the police would find the nose in his house and accuse him plunged him into complete despair. He imagined the embroidered red collar with silver, the sword... and trembled all over. Finally, he put on his clothes and boots, dressed himself in that stuff, and, accompanied by his wife’s heavy exhortations, wrapped the nose in a rag and went out onto the street. He wanted to hide it somewhere: behind a car, under a porch, or perhaps accidentally lose it and immediately turn into an alley. But, unfortunately, he ran into acquaintances who immediately began questioning him: “Where are you going?” or “Who are you going to shave so early?” so Ivàn Jakovlèviè could never catch the right moment. Once he had already let it drop when a guard from afar pointed at him with his halberd and shouted: “Pick it up! Don’t you see you dropped something?” And Ivàn Jakovlèviè had to pick up the nose and hide it in his pocket. Thus he succumbed to despair, especially as the street crowd kept increasing as shops and stalls opened. He decided to go to the Isakièvskij Bridge: could he not somehow toss it into the Neva?... But he felt guilty, because until now I haven't said anything about Ivàn Jakovlèviè, a respectable person in many respects. Like any proper Russian tradesman, Ivàn Jakovlèviè was a terrible drunkard. And, although he shaved others’ beards every day, his own was forever unshaven. Ivàn Jakovlèviè’s tailcoat (Ivàn Jakovlèviè never goes around in a coat) was patchy, black but covered with brown-yellowish and gray spots; the collar was smooth, and instead of three buttons, only threads hung. Ivàn Jakovlèviè was quite brazen, and when the college assessor Kovalèv told him, as usual, during a shave: “Ivàn Jakovlèviè, your hands always smell of something foul!” Ivàn Jakovlèviè replied with a question: “And why should they smell bad?” “I don’t know, friend, I only know that they smell,” said the college assessor, and Ivàn Jakovlèviè, catching a pinch of tobacco, rebarbatively rubbed it onto his cheeks, under his nose, behind his ears, and under his beard — everywhere he pleased. This respectable citizen was thus already standing on the Isakièvskij Bridge. First, he looked around; then leaned over the parapet as if to check if any fish could be seen under the bridge; then, carefully, he threw the rag containing the nose. Suddenly, he felt as though ten pounds had been lifted from his shoulders. He even smirked. Instead of going to shave officials’ beards, he headed into a place with a sign “Food and Tea” to ask for a glass of punch, when suddenly he saw at the end of the bridge a noble-looking street guard with broad mustaches, tricorne, and sword. He felt faint as the guard gestured with his finger and said: “Come here, my dear!” Since he was respectful of form, Ivàn Jakovlèviè took his hat off from afar and, quickly approaching, said: “I wish you good health, sir!” “No, no, my good fellow, no 'sir': just tell me, what were you doing on the bridge?” “God, sir, I was going to shave, and I was only watching how the river flowed.” “Nonsense! That won’t get you anywhere. Kindly answer.” “I’m ready to shave your honor twice a week, or even three, without objection,” replied Ivàn Jakovlèviè. “No, my friend, that’s nonsense! Already three barbers shave me, and they even consider it an honor. Now, do me a favor and tell me what you were doing there!” Ivàn Jakovlèviè turned pale... But the story dissolves here, swallowed up by a fog, and nobody knows what happened afterwards. --- The college assessor Kovalèv woke quite early and made a "Brr..." sound with his lips, which he always did when waking up, although even he couldn’t explain why. Kovalèv stretched, ordered to bring him a small mirror that was on the table. He wanted to look at a pimple that had appeared on his nose the night before; but, to his utmost surprise, he saw that the space where his nose had been was perfectly smooth! Frightened, Kovalèv ordered some water and wiped his eyes with a towel: exactly that, no nose! He began to feel with his hand to see if he was still asleep. No, apparently he was not. The college assessor Kovalèv jumped out of bed, gave himself a shake: no nose!... Immediately, he ordered his clothes and boots, dressed himself fully, and ran straight to the police chief’s office. But in the meantime, it’s necessary to say something about Kovalèv so the reader can understand what kind of person this college assessor was. The assessors of the college who receive this title thanks to diplomas cannot be compared at all to those assessors who once came from the Caucasus. They are two completely different kinds. The assessors who studied... But Russia is such a curious land that if you speak of a certain college assessor, all assessors from Riga to Kamchatka automatically think it’s about them. And the same applies to all titles and ranks. Kovalèv was a college assessor from the Caucasus. He had held this title only two years, and so he never forgot it; and to give himself more nobility and more weight, he never called himself "assessor of the college," but always simply "greater." “Listen, little dove,” he usually said when meeting a lady selling shirts with sewed patches, “come to my place; my apartment is on Sadòvaja. Just ask: Does Major Kovalèv live here? and anyone will direct you.” If he encountered a pretty girl, besides this he would give a secret order, adding: “You must ask, my dear, about the apartment of Major Kovalèv.” So from now on, we will also call this assessor of the college “Major.” Major Kovalèv had the habit of taking a walk every day on Nevsky Prospect. The collar of his shirt was always extraordinarily clean and starched. His mustaches were of the kind that can still be seen today among provincial surveyors and district engineers, architects, regimental doctors, and among those who perform various police duties — generally among all men who have full red cheeks and are excellent at playing Boston: they are mustaches that cross half the cheek and reach down to the nose. Major Kovalèv wore a lot of coral pendants, both with coats of arms and with inscribed words such as: Wednesday, Thursday, Monday, and so forth. He had come to St. Petersburg with the aim of finding a suitable position for his rank: preferably vice-governor; otherwise, a clerk in some important ministry. The major was not even opposed to marrying, but only if his bride had at least two hundred thousand rubles dower. Now, therefore, the reader can judge himself what his mood was when he saw a very silly, flat, and smooth space instead of a proper and well-proportioned nose. By coincidence, on that street, not a single coachman was seen, and he had to go on foot, wrapping himself in his cloak and hiding his face with a handkerchief so as to make it appear he was losing blood from his nose. “But perhaps it’s only my impression: it can’t be that the nose disappeared so foolishly,” he thought and entered a confectionery specially to look at himself in a mirror. Luckily, there was no one in the confectionery: the apprentices were sweeping the rooms and arranging the chairs; some, with sleepy eyes, were placing warm pastries on trays; on the tables and chairs, there were still the newspapers from the day before, stained with coffee. “Well, thank God, no one’s here,” he said to himself, “now I can take a look.” He timidly approached a mirror and looked. “To hell with this stuff!” he exclaimed, spitting on the floor. “If only there was at least something where the nose should be, but no!...” Bit his lips in frustration, left the confectionery, and, contrary to his usual habits, decided not to look at anyone and not to smile at anyone. Suddenly, he stopped as if nailed to the door of a house; before his eyes, an inexplicable phenomenon was taking place. In front of the entrance, a carriage had stopped: the doors opened; bending down, a man in uniform jumped out and ran up the stairs. What fear and surprise Kovalèv experienced when he recognized his own nose in that man! Seeing this unusual sight — at least it seemed so — his vision blurred; he felt barely able to stand, but decided at all costs to wait for the nose to return in the carriage, even though he trembled as if mad. Two minutes later, indeed, the nose came out. He wore an ornate golden embroidery uniform with a large stiff collar; had suede trousers and a sword at his side. From his feathered hat, it could be inferred he considered himself a state counselor. He looked both ways, shouted to the coachman “Let’s go!” and climbed into the carriage to leave. Poor Kovalèv almost lost his senses. He didn’t even know what to think of such a strange fact. How could it be, in fact, that the nose that until the day before was on his face, which couldn’t walk or ride in a carriage, now was even in uniform? He ran after the carriage, which fortunately did not go far, and stopped in front of the Kazan Cathedral. He hurried to the cathedral steps, made his way through a line of old beggar women whose bandaged faces, with only eye sockets visible, usually made him laugh, and entered the church. Inside, there weren’t many people praying, and almost everyone stood near the entrance. Kovalèv felt so disturbed that he had no strength to pray and looked with his eyes for that gentleman in uniform in all corners. Finally, he spotted him standing apart. The nose completely covered his face with its stiff collar and was praying with a very devout expression. “How can I approach?” Kovalèv thought. “It’s obvious from the uniform, from the hat, that he’s a state counselor. God knows how I can do it!” He began to cough nearby, but the nose didn’t abandon its devout attitude for even a moment and started making deep bowings. “Honorable sir...” Kovalèv said, forcing himself to be brave inwardly, “Honorable sir...” “What do you want?” the nose responded, turning around. “I find it strange, honorable sir... I have the impression... you should know what your place is. And suddenly I find you — where? — in a church! You see, it’s obvious that…” “Excuse me, but I can’t understand what you mean… Please explain.” “How can I explain?” thought Kovalèv, gathering his courage, and began: “Of course, I... after all, I am a major. Going around without a nose, you’ll agree, is inappropriate. Any fruit seller, who sells peeled oranges on Voskresènskij Bridge, can go without a nose: but I, aiming to get a governorship... and also being a friend in many houses of ladies like Èechtàreva, state counselor, and others... Judge for yourself... I don’t know, honorable sir...” Saying this, Kovalèv shrugged his shoulders, “... Sorry... if this is considered a matter of duty and honor... you will understand yourself...” “The nose looked at the major and his eyebrows furrowed slightly. “You are mistaken, honorable sir. I act on my own. Furthermore, between us, there can be no close connection. Judging by the buttons on your uniform, you serve in another department.” Saying this, the nose turned back and continued praying. Not knowing what to do or think, Kovalèv was completely confused. At that moment, a pleasant rustling of a woman's dress was heard: an elderly lady, entirely adorned with lace, approached along with another slender lady, wearing a very tastefully draped white dress on her slim waist, and a light straw hat like a small cake. Behind them, a tall aid with large sideburns and a big box of cigars stopped and opened his snuffbox. Kovalèv stepped forward, adjusted his collar, hooked his pendants on a gold chain, and, smiling here and there, directed his attention to the slender lady who was slightly leaning forward, like a spring flower, and who was bringing her white hand with diaphanous fingers to her forehead. Kovalèv’s smile widened even more when under the hat, he caught sight of her rounded chin, strikingly white, and part of her faintly pale cheek flushed with the tint of the first spring rose. But suddenly, he took a step back as if burned. He remembered that he had absolutely no nose, and his eyes filled with tears. He turned sharply to tell that gentleman in uniform, pretending to be a state counselor, that he was a deceiver and a scoundrel, and nothing but his nose... but the nose was no longer there: it had slipped away somehow, probably in visit to someone else. This threw Kovalèv into despair. He turned back and paused for a moment under the porticoes, carefully looking all around to see if he could spot the nose. He clearly remembered he had a hat with feathers and a uniform embroidered in gold, but he had not observed the coat or the color of his carriage, nor the horses, nor whether he had any servants behind him and what livery they had. He watched the carriages passing by at such speed it was impossible to distinguish them; even if he recognized one, he wouldn’t be able to stop it. The day was splendid and sunny. On Nevsky Prospect, an infinite crowd was present; a veritable cascade of ladies spread out along the sidewalk from the Police Bridge to Anìèkin. There he saw a court counselor he knew, whom he called colonel, especially when in front of strangers. There was also Jarykìn, the head clerk of the Senate, a good friend, who always lost at Boston when he played lotto. And another major who had been an assessor in the Caucasus; he gestured to him to come over... “Damn it!” said Kovalèv. “Hey, coachman! Take me straight to the police chief!” He got into the carriage and kept shouting at the coachman: “Go! Go!” “Is the police chief at home?” he shouted as he entered the vestibule. “No, sir,” said the porter, “he just left.” “Just my luck!” “Yes,” added the porter, “it’s not much, but he’s gone out. If you’d arrived a moment earlier, maybe you’d have found him at home.” Without even removing his handkerchief from his face, Kovalèv got into the carriage and shouted desperately: “Go!” “Where?” asked the coachman. “Straight ahead!” “Straight? There’s a turn — to the right or to the left?” This question made Kovalèv stop and think again. In his situation, the first thing was to contact the Office of Good Customs, not because it had direct relation to the police, but because its orders could be executed much faster than other offices; it would be unreasonable to seek satisfaction from the heads of the administration where his nose had declared himself employed, because the very answers from the nose had already shown that nothing sacred existed for him, and it was probable he would lie even now, as he had lied when he claimed never to have met him. So Kovalèv was about to order to go to the Office of Good Customs when suddenly he thought that that scoundrel and rascal, who had behaved so shamefully from their first meeting, could now easily run away from the city by taking advantage of the time gained, and then all searches would be futile or could last, God forbid, an entire month. Finally, it seemed as if the very sky itself illuminated him, and he decided to go directly to a newspaper’s editorial office and publish a timely advertisement with a detailed description of all its features, so that anyone who met him could at once bring him or at least tell him where he was. Having decided that, he ordered the coachman to go to the newspaper’s editorial office and throughout the whole road he kept pounding his back with his fist, repeating: “Faster, scoundrel! Faster, rascal!” “Hey, sir!” said the coachman, shaking his head and whipping the horse, which had a long coat like a Spanish dog. Finally, the carriage stopped, and a panting Kovalèv hurried into a small ante-room where a grey-haired clerk, in an old tailcoat and glasses, was sitting at a desk, counting copper coins he had received, holding a pen between his teeth. “Who handles announcements here?” Kovalèv began to shout. “Ah, good morning!” “Respectable, sir,” said the grey-haired clerk, raising his eyes momentarily and then lowering them again over the piles of coins before him. “I want to publish...” “Please wait a moment,” said the clerk, putting a figure on the paper with his right hand and shifting two balls of the abacus with two fingers of his left. Standing beside the desk, holding a note, was a servant with epaulets and an appearance that revealed his belonging to an aristocratic house; he evidently wanted to appear sociable. “Believe me, sir, the little dog isn’t worth eight grivny, that is I wouldn’t give even eight groschen for him, but the countess loves him, by God, loves him; and she’ll give a hundred rubles to whoever finds him! Honestly, as for us two here, people’s tastes are not at all the same: if someone is a hunter, he keeps a spaniel or a terrier; he doesn’t stint five hundred rubles, he even gives a thousand, as long as the dog is good.” The respectable clerk listened with an understanding face, counting the words in the note he was given. On both sides, there was a great number of old men, merchant clerks, and porters with notes. One advertised for a sober coachman; another, a nearly new carriage imported from Paris in 1814; another offered a nineteen-year-old maid ready for laundry and other work; another offered a sturdy carriage without a spring, a fiery young horse, grey-speckled, seventeen years old; new seeds of turnips and radishes received from London; a cortège with all conveniences: two stalls for horses and a plot of land where a beautiful park of birch or firs could be planted; also an invitation to those wishing to buy old soles, with instructions to present themselves at the dealer daily, from eight to three. The room where all these people gathered was small and exuded an extraordinarily heavy atmosphere, but the college assessor Kovalèv could not smell anything because he had hidden himself in his handkerchief and because his nose was, God knows where. “Dear sir, permit me to ask... I am in urgent need,” he finally said impatiently. “Right away, right away! Two rubles and forty kopecks! Immediately! One ruble and sixty kopecks!” said the grey-haired man, tossing the notes in front of the old women and porters. “What do you desire?” he finally asked Kovalèv. “I beg... there was a scoundrel, or a cheat, I don’t even know yet. I just ask to publish that whoever presents that rascal will receive proper compensation.” “May I ask your name?” “No, why? What’s my name? I cannot say. I have many acquaintances: Èechtàreva, state counselor, Palagèja Grigòrievna Podtòèina, staff officer... if they happen to find out, God forbid! You can just write: college assessor, or even better, a person of the rank of major.” “And the one who ran away was your servant?” “Come, servant? That wouldn’t even be such a big scoundrel! My nose ran away...” “Hm! that’s a strange surname. And this Mr. Nasov robbed you of a large sum?” “Nose... that is... no, you don’t understand! The nose, my nose, has vanished to who knows where. The devil has mocked me!” “But how did it disappear? There’s something I can’t get through, here.” “And I can’t tell you how, but the main point is that now he walks around the city and claims to be a state counselor. So I ask you to publish that whoever catches him should return him to me immediately, as quickly as possible. Judge yourself, how I can survive without such a visible part of the body? It’s not the same as a little toe in a shoe that no one would notice if it’s there or not. Every Thursday, I go to the countess Èechtàreva; Podtòèina, Palagèja Grigòrievna, staff officer, who also has a very pretty daughter, and you yourself can judge what kind of situation I’m in now... I can’t go to them anymore.” The clerk was pondering, as shown by his tightly pressed lips. “No, I cannot publish such an advertisement in the paper,” he finally said after a long silence. “How come? Why not?” “Because the paper might lose its reputation. If everyone started writing that their nose has run away... There are already many foolish and false stories published.” “But how can this be foolish? It seems to me there’s nothing like it here.” “It might seem to you that there’s nothing, but last week, for example, there was already a similar case. An employee came, like you have come now, brought a note, the bill totaled two rubles seventy-three kopecks, and the entire advertisement was just that a black poodle had run away. What’s strange about it, you might ask? But it turned out to be a prank: the poodle was a cashier, I don’t remember of which institution.” “But I don’t want to advertise about a poodle, but about my own nose; so, it’s almost like advertising about myself.” “No, I cannot publish such an advertisement.” “But my nose really is gone!” “If it’s gone, that’s a matter for the doctor. There are people who can attach any nose. Still, I notice you’re a cheerful person and like joking in society.” “I swear to God! Besides, since we’re at it, I’ll show you...” “Why bother you?” continued the clerk, sniffing tobacco. “But if it’s not a bother,” he added curiously, “I’d like to take a look.” The college assessor removed the handkerchief from his face. “It’s really very strange!” said the clerk. “This spot is perfectly smooth, like a freshly baked pancake. Yes, so smooth that it’s hard to believe!” “Well, do you still want to argue? You see clearly that you must publish the ad. I’ll be especially grateful, and I’m very glad this case gave me the pleasure of making your acquaintance...” The major, as it appears, decided for this time to lower himself a little. “Publishing it isn’t hard,” said the clerk, “but I don’t expect you’ll get any benefit from it. If you really want, you can pass the matter to someone skilled in writing so as to treat it like a rare natural phenomenon and print a little article in the North Bee,” he sniffed the tobacco again, “for the education of youth,” he blew his nose, “or just for everyone’s curiosity.” The college assessor was completely discouraged. He lowered his eyes to the lower part of a newspaper showing a program of performances; already his face was set to a smile when he saw the name of a rather nice actress, and his hand reached into his pocket to check if he had a blue banknote because, in Kovalèv’s opinion, senior officers couldn’t go anywhere without a chair, when the thought of the nose spoiled everything! Even the clerk seemed moved by Kovalèv’s difficult situation. Wanting to comfort him somehow, he thought it polite to say something to express his sympathy. “Really, I’m very sorry such a story happened to you. Would you like to smell some tobacco? It relieves headaches and bad moods; it’s also good for hemorrhoids.” Saying this, the clerk presented the snuffbox to Kovalèv, deftly lifting the lid with a picture of a lady in a hat. This impulsive gesture made Kovalèv jump out of his composure. “I don’t understand how you can joke,” he said angrily, “don’t you see that I am missing exactly what’s needed to smell? Damn your tobacco! I can’t even bear to look at it now, not your disgusting birch tobacco, but even if you offered me real râpé.” Having said this, he stormed out of the newspaper’s office, deeply annoyed, and headed to the district police officer, who was very fond of sugar. In his house, the entire antechamber and even the dining room were piled with sugar cakes that merchants brought as a sign of friendship. At that moment, the cook was taking off the police chief’s service boots; his sword and all military gear hung peacefully in the corners, and his three-year-old son was playing with a menacing tricorn, while he, after a day of insults and battles, was preparing to enjoy the pleasures of domestic peace. Kovalèv entered just as he was stretching, grumbling, and saying: “Eh, I’ll sleep peacefully for a couple of hours!” It’s easy to see how the arrival of the college assessor was completely untimely. I don’t know — but even if he brought several pounds of tea or cloth, the reception wouldn’t have been too warm. The police chief was a great supporter of arts and industries but preferred state banknotes above all else. “It’s a thing,” he would usually say, “there’s really no better: it’s eaten without asking for anything, takes up little space, always fits in a pocket, and if you drop it, it doesn’t break.” The police chief greeted Kovalèv coldly and said that after lunch, it wasn’t a good time to start an investigation; that nature itself has decreed that after filling oneself, one should rest a little (from which the assessor understood that the judicial sentences of the ancient sages were not unfamiliar to the chief); that a decent man doesn’t lose his nose and there are many higher-ups in the world who don’t even keep their linen in order and go around in all kinds of unworthy places. In other words, not by mandate but face to face! It’s noteworthy that Kovalèv was quite touchy. Not only could he not forgive what was said about him as a man, but he also would not admit under any circumstances that someone referred to his title or rank. He even thought that in theatrical representations, all that concerned non-commissioned officers could be overlooked, but officers must never be attacked. The police chief’s reception confused him so much that he started shaking his head and, with a strong sense of dignity, spreading his arms: “I admit that, after such insulting remarks from you, I can add nothing...” and he left. He got home feeling barely able to stand. It was already dusk. After all those fruitless searches, his apartment seemed sad and gloomy. Entering the antechamber, he saw his servant Ivàn lying on a dirty leather sofa, spitting at the ceiling and skillfully hitting the same spot every time. Such indifference on the servant’s part drove him mad; he struck him on the forehead with his hat and said: “You darn fool, always bothering with nonsense!” Ivàn immediately jumped up from his place and hurried to take off his cloak. Entering his room, the major, tired and sad, slumped into an armchair, and after a few sighs, said: “God! God! Why such a terrible misfortune?” He would prefer to be without an arm or a leg; if he were deaf-mute, it would be ugly but still more bearable; but without a nose — who knows what it is, a devil’s work: a man — it’s not an animal, not even a citizen, just something to grab and toss out of the window! Perhaps it had been cut off in war or a duel or I myself caused it, but it disappeared without reason, it vanished without a why, just like that!... But no, it can’t be!” he added after some reflection. “It’s incredible that a nose disappears; it’s impossible from every point of view. Surely I’m dreaming or having hallucinations; perhaps, by some mistake, instead of water I drank the vodka I use to massage my chin after shaving. That stupid Ivàn didn’t put it away, and I probably drank it.” To be sure he wasn’t drunk, the major pinched himself so painfully he cried out. The pain finally convinced him that he was acting and living in full clarity. He quietly approached the mirror and first squeezed his eyes tightly, thinking that maybe the nose would appear again; but then immediately jumped back exclaiming: “What a clown’s face!” And truly, it was incomprehensible. If a button or a silver teaspoon or something similar had gone missing... but disappearing a nose, and moreover, to whom? And in his very own apartment!... Major Kovalèv, considering all circumstances, concluded that probably the fault was of the senior official Podtòèina, who wanted him to marry her daughter. He also liked to flirt a little with the girl but avoided a definitive commitment. When, in fact, that official openly told him she intended to give her in marriage, he gradually retreated with his compliments, saying she was still young, and he needed to serve at least five more years to reach, just, forty-two. So the official, probably out of revenge, decided to ruin him, and for that she hired some witch, because it could not in any way be that the nose was cut off: no one entered his room; as for Ivàn the barber, he shaved him on Wednesday, and his nose remained intact all Wednesday and Thursday — he remembered well; moreover, he would have felt pain, and surely the wound would not have healed so quickly and become as smooth as a pancake. He made plans in his head: suing the official officially, or confronting her personally and exposing her? His reflections were interrupted by a light shining through all the cracks in the door, indicating that Ivàn had already lit the candle in the antechamber. Soon, Ivàn himself appeared, carrying the candle, illuminating the whole room. The first thing Kovalèv did was to grab the handkerchief and cover the spot where, the day before, the nose was still present, so that that stupid wouldn’t be left speechless upon seeing that his master had that strange thing. Ivàn hadn’t gone yet to his den when an unknown voice was heard in the antechamber: “What, the college assessor Kovalèv lives here?” “Come in. Major Kovalèv is here,” said Kovalèv, quickly jumping to his feet and opening the door. An handsome police officer, with rather light and not too dark mustaches, full cheeks — the very same who at the beginning of the story was at the end of the Isakièvskij Bridge — entered. “Excuse me, perhaps you’ve lost a nose?” “Exactly so.” “Was it found?” “What are you saying?” shouted Major Kovalèv. Joy took away his speech. He stared fixed into the eyes of the street guard standing before him, whose full lips and cheeks were brightly glowing from the flickering candlelight. “How?” “In a strange way: they stopped him just as he was almost on the move. He had gotten into a carriage and wanted to go to Riga. He’d had a passport with a certain employee’s name for a long time. And the strange thing is, I initially thought he was a gentleman. But fortunately, I had my glasses with me, and I saw immediately it was a nose. Because I am nearsighted, and when someone stands before me, I only see a face, but I don’t see the nose, nor the beard, nothing. Even my mother-in-law, that is, my wife’s mother, can’t see at all.” Kovalèv was beside himself. “Where? Where? I’ll go right away.” “Don’t worry. Knowing it was necessary, I took it with me. And the strange thing is, the main culprit in all this is a scoundrel barber from Voznesènskij Prospect, who is now in the detention room. I suspected him of drunkenness and theft long ago, and even the day before yesterday, he stole a string of buttons in a shop. Your nose is exactly as it was,” said the guard, improvising it, he rummaged in his pocket and pulled out the nose wrapped in a piece of paper. “That’s him!” shouted Kovalèv. “It’s exactly him! Today, you and I will have a cup of tea.” “To me, it would be a great pleasure, but I absolutely can’t; I have to go to the correctional house... There’s an enormous increase in all kinds of foodstuffs... My wife and my mother-in-law live at my house, plus children; especially the eldest shows great promise: he’s a very clever boy, but we lack the means to educate him.” Kovalèv swallowed hard, took a banknote from the table, and handed it to the guard who, bowing slightly, left the room. Immediately afterward, Kovalèv heard his voice outside, where the guard was giving a scolding to a stupid fool hauling his cart along the boulevard. When the guard left, the college assessor remained for a few minutes in a rather vague state of mind, only after some time recovering his ability to see and hear again: that sudden joy had overwhelmed him. Carefully, he took the nose with both hands, looked at it once more with attention. “It’s him, it’s really him!” murmured Major Kovalèv. “And here’s the pimple that appeared yesterday on the left side.” He nearly burst into tears for joy. But in the world, nothing is lasting, and even joy, in the next moment, is not so vivid; then it weakens even more and finally inadvertently blends into the usual mood, like a circle in water produced by a dropping stone, which eventually merges with the smooth surface. Kovalèv started to reflect and understood that the matter was not yet finished: the nose had been found, but now it had to be attached and put back in place. “What if it doesn’t stick?” Facing this question, the major turned pale. With an indescribable feeling of terror, he rushed to the table, placed the mirror nearby so as not to risk attaching the nose crooked, his hands trembling. Cautiously, he positioned the nose in its correct place. Oh horror! The nose did not stick!... Then he brought it close to his mouth, warmed it slightly with his breath, and placed it again on the smooth surface between his cheeks, but the nose simply would not stay. “Come on, behave yourself, you fool!” he said. But the nose was like wood and fell with a strange sound onto the table, as if it were a cork. The face of the major contorted into a convulsive grimace. “Can it really no longer grip?” he thought frightened. No matter how many times he tried to put it back, all efforts were in vain. Then he called Ivàn and sent him to a doctor occupying the best apartment on the noble floor of the same house. The doctor was a handsome man with magnificent black mustaches and a fresh, healthy wife who ate apples every morning and kept her mouth very clean, rinsing it for almost three-quarters of an hour daily and brushing her teeth with five different brushes. The doctor appeared instantly. After asking how long the problem had been, he took the major by the chin; with his thumb, he gave him a little tap right where the nose had been, forcing the major to toss back his head with such violence that he hit the back of his head hard against the wall. The doctor said it was nothing, then told him to move a little away from the wall, ordered him to turn his head to the right, and tapped the spot where the nose had been, saying “Hmm!” Then he ordered to turn the head to the left and said “Hmm!” and finally, gave him another thumb tap so that he raised his head like a horse being examined for its teeth. After this test, the doctor shook his head and said: “No, it’s impossible. You’d better stay like this, because doing worse might happen. Attaching it can be done, of course; I could do it right now, but I assure you, it would be worse for you.” “Great! And how am I supposed to stay without a nose?” said Kovalèv. “It can’t be worse than now. Only the devil himself knows how I feel! Where could I show myself with such a joke? I have good acquaintances: today I must visit two houses. I know a lot of people; the countess Èechtàreva, the senior official Podtòèina… although after what she did to me, I won’t have anything to do with her except through the police. Do me a favor,” added Kovalèv with a pleading voice, “isn’t there a way? Attach it somehow, even if not perfectly, as long as it stays; I could even hold it myself for a moment of danger. Besides, I don’t dance, which might be harmful if I make a sudden movement. As for the reward for trouble, be assured that as much as my means allow...” The doctor, in a voice neither loud nor very soft, but very persuasive and magnetic, said: “I assure you, I treat only out of goodwill. That’s against my rules and art. It’s true, I charge for visits, but only to avoid refusing. Of course, I would attach the nose, but I assure you on my honor — and if you don’t believe my word, it would be much worse. Better to let nature act by itself. Wash yourself more often with cold water, and I guarantee that, even without a nose, you’ll live as healthily as if you had one. As for your nose, I recommend putting it in a jar under spirits, and even better, pour two tablespoons of strong vodka and heated vinegar inside, and then you could make good money from it. I’d buy it myself if you don’t ask for too much.” “No, no! I won’t sell it at any price!” shouted the despairing Kovalèv. “Let it be lost forever!” “Sorry!” said the doctor, bowing. “I only wanted to be helpful... What can I do! At least you saw I cared.” With that, the doctor sternly left the room. Kovalèv didn’t even notice his face and in his profound bewilderment only saw the cuffs of his white snow-white shirt sticking out from the sleeves of his black tailcoat. The very next day, before filing a complaint, he decided to write to the senior official to ask if she would agree to return him what belonged to him without discussion. The letter read: Madam Alexandrà Grigorievna! I cannot understand your strange behavior. Be sure that by acting this way, you will gain nothing and will not force me to marry your daughter. Believe me, I know very well about my nose, just as I know that you are mainly responsible for it, not someone else. Its sudden detachment from its place, the escape, and the masquerading now as an official, now under its real appearance, are nothing but the consequences of magic schemes devised by you or by those practicing such noble arts. I deem it my duty to warn you that if the nose I mentioned will not return to its place today, I will be obliged to resort to law for protection. With utmost respect, I remain your obedient servant, Platòn Kovalèv Dear Sir, Platòn Kuzmiè! Your letter has profoundly surprised me. I sincerely confess that I never expected such a thing, especially given your unjust accusations. I observe that I’ve never received at my house the official you mention, neither masked nor in his true form. It is true that Filìpp Ivànnovich Potànèikov came to see me. And although he aspired to my daughter’s hand, was of good and sober conduct, and highly educated, I never gave him any hope. You also mention a nose. If you mean to say that I intended to leave you with a nose’s length — that is, to give you a formal refusal — I’m surprised you even talk about it, because I, as you know, was absolutely against such a thing, and if you now wish to legally marry my daughter, I am ready to fulfill your wish at once, as that has always been my deepest desire, in the hope of which I remain always at your service. Alexandrà Podtòèina “No,” said Kovalèv after reading the letter. “It seems she bears no blame. It can’t be! The letter isn’t written like a person guilty of a crime would write.” The college assessor understood, because several times he was sent to investigate inquiries, when he was still in the Caucasus region. “How, under what circumstances did it happen, then? Only the devil can see clearly!” he finally said, dropping his arms. Meanwhile, the rumors of that extraordinary event spread throughout the capital and, as always, not without factions. Right at that time, people’s attention was drawn to strange things: not long before, the entire city had been excited by experiments on magnetism. Also, the story of the chairs that danced on Konju¨ènnaja Street was still fresh, so it’s no wonder that soon it was said that the nose of the college assessor Kovalèv was walking around Nevsky Prospect at three o’clock sharp. Every day, a great number of curious people gathered at the scene. If someone said that the nose was in Junker’s shop, the crowd immediately swarmed so much that the police had to intervene. There was a prominent-looking speculator, with mustaches, who sold all kinds of firm pastries at the theater entrance, and who deliberately made solid wooden stools on which he invited the curious to sit for eighty kopecks each. A retired colonel, who went out early for this purpose from his house, pushed himself through the crowd with difficulty, but, to his great indignation, instead of the nose, the window of the shop displayed a normal woolen sweater and a lithograph showing a girl rolling up her stocking together with a handsome fellow in a waistcoat with revers and a beard looking at her from behind a tree, a scene that had been there for over ten years. He left annoyed, saying: “How is it possible to disturb the people with such foolish and unlikely stories?” Later, it was whispered that Major Kovalèv’s nose was not wandering around Nevsky Prospect, but in the Tauride Garden; that it had already been there for some time; that when he lived there, Khozrev-Mirza had been quite amazed by this strange jest of nature. A few students from the Surgical Academy went there. A distinguished and esteemed lady sent a letter to the garden’s custodian asking him to show the rare phenomenon to children and perhaps, if possible, with an instructive and edifying explanation for the youth. Everyone in high society and the inevitable salon frequenters were very pleased with the whole story, as they liked to make ladies laugh and their stock of bon mots was exhausted at that time. A small part of respectable and well-meaning folk, however, was dissatisfied. One gentleman, with disdain, said he couldn’t understand how such absurd inventions could spread in this enlightened century, and wondered why the government didn’t take care of the matter. As you see, this gentleman belonged to the category of those who wish to involve the government in everything, even in their daily quarrels with their wives. But... at this point again, the whole story is veiled in fog, and what happened afterward is absolutely unknown. --- In the world, the most incredible things happen. Sometimes even the slightest shadow of plausibility disappears: suddenly, that same nose that had been moving around as a state counselor, causing such a fuss in town, found itself again in its proper place — precisely between Major Kovalèv's two cheeks. This occurred on April 7th. Waking up and instinctively glancing at himself in the mirror, what did he see? the nose! He grabbed it with his hand: it was indeed the nose! “Ha!” said Kovalèv, and from joy he nearly started dancing his trepak barefoot in the room, but Ivan’s presence, who had just entered, stopped him. Then he ordered to bring him immediately what was necessary to wash himself, and while washing, he looked again in the mirror: the nose. Wiping it with a towel, he looked once more at the mirror: the nose. “Look here, Ivàn, I think I have a little pimple on my nose,” he said, and at the same time thought: “Damn it, if Ivàn says: but no, sir, there’s not only no pimple, but no nose either!” But Ivàn said: “There’s nothing, no pimple: the nose is clean!” “Well then, the devil take you,” thought the major, snapping his fingers. At that moment, barber Ivàn Jakovlèviè appeared at the door, somewhat fearful like a cat just whipped for stealing lard. “First tell me: are your hands clean?” Kovalèv shouted from afar. “Clean.” “Liar!” “Damn it, clean, sir.” “Be careful.” Kovalèv sat down. Ivàn Jakovlèviè wrapped him in the towel, and instantly, with the help of a brush, turned his beard and cheeks into a cream similar to the one used in merchant’s houses on their name-day. “See for yourself!” Ivàn Jakovlèviè said, casting a glance at the nose, then tilted his head and looked cross-eyed at it. “Look! It really looks like his,” he continued, gazing at the nose for a long time. Finally, with the greatest delicacy and lightness, he raised two fingers with the intent to grasp the nose by the tip — for this was Ivàn Jakovlèviè’s method. “Hey, hey, be careful!” Kovalèv started to shout. Ivàn Jakovlèviè let his arms fall, was astounded, and confused more than ever before. He finally began to delicately scratch under his chin with his thumb, and, although it was very uncomfortable and difficult to shave without support on the olfactory part of his body, he finally overcame all obstacles and shaved. When everything was ready, Kovalèv hurried to dress, took a carriage, and went straight to a confectionery. Entering, still far from the counter, he shouted: “Hey, boy, a cup of chocolate!” and at the same time looked in the mirror: the nose was there. Then he cheerfully turned back, with an ironic air, squinting slightly, looked at two soldiers, one of whom certainly had a nose no bigger than a gilet button. After that, he went to the secretariat of the ministry where he had requested a position of vice-governor or, if unsuccessful, of an official. Crossing the antechamber, he glanced into the mirror: the nose was there. Then he went to another college assessor or major, a big prankster, whom he often told, replying to his sharp observations: “Hey, I know you, scoundrel!” On the street, he thought: “If even the major doesn’t smile in my face upon seeing me, that’s a sure sign I really have everything in order.” But the college assessor said nothing. “Well, well, the devil knows!” Kovalèv thought to himself. On the way, he met senior official Podtòèina and her daughter, greeted them, and was greeted with joyful exclamations; so, apparently, there was no flaw in him at all. He chatted with them for a long time and, pulling out his snuffbox, filled both nostrils in front of them, while inwardly muttering: “Take that, women, a crew of hens! As for the daughter, I won’t marry her. If it were just a love affair, then yes, gladly!” And from that day, Major Kovalèv went around as if nothing had happened on Nevsky Prospect, in theaters, and everywhere. And even the nose, as if nothing had occurred, remained on his face, giving no impression at all of having ever left. Since then, Major Kovalèv was seen constantly cheerful, smiling, chasing all the handsome ladies without exception, and once even standing before a shop at Gostìnyj Dvor, buying a ribbon for a certain decoration, for which the reasons are unknown, since he was not a knight of any order. So this is the story that took place in the northern capital of our vast country! Now, contemplating everything, we see that much is incredible. Not to mention that the supernatural detachment of the nose and its appearance in various places under the guise of a state counselor is something too strange. How could Kovalèv not realize that it’s impossible to put an announcement in a newspaper about a nose? I don’t mean that the price for the ad would be too high — that’s nonsense; I certainly do not belong to those obsessed with money. But it’s improper, embarrassing, not fitting well! And again: how did the nose end up in freshly baked bread, and how did Ivàn Jakovlèviè itself... But the strangest, most incomprehensible thing of all is that writers could dedicate themselves to such topics. I admit, this is truly unthinkable, truly... no, no, I just cannot understand. First, it’s not at all beneficial to the homeland; second, ... but even second, it’s not beneficial at all. I simply do not understand what all this could mean... And yet, despite that, one can also admit both things, and even a third... yes, because where do incredible things not happen? And, upon reflection, there really is something in all this. You can say what you want, but such events do occur in the world, rarely but they do.