Major Kovalyov was in the habit of taking a daily stroll along Nevsky Avenue. The collar of his dress shirt was always exceedingly clean and starched. His sidewhiskers were of the kind you can still see on provincial and district surveyors, or architects (provided they are Russians), as well as on those individuals who perform various police duties, and in general on all those men who have full rosy cheeks and are very good at boston; these sidewhiskers run along the middle of the cheek straight up to the nose. Major Kovalyov wore a great many cornelian seals, some with crests and others with Wednesday, Thursday, Monday, etc., engraved on them. Major Kovalyov had come to Petersburg on business, to wit, to look for a post befitting his rank; if he could arrange it, that of a vice-governor; otherwise, that of a procurement officer in some important government department. Major Kovalyov was not averse to getting married, but only in the event that the bride had a fortune of two hundred thousand. And therefore the reader can now judge for himself what this major’s state was when he saw, in the place of a fairly presentable and moderate-sized nose, a most ridiculous flat and smooth surface.

  As bad luck would have it, not a single cab showed up in the street, and he was forced to walk, wrapped up in his cloak, his face covered with a handkerchief, pretending that his nose was bleeding. “But perhaps I just imagined all this—a nose cannot disappear in this idiotic way.” He stepped into a coffee-house just in order to look at himself in a mirror. Fortunately, there was no one there. Serving boys were sweeping the rooms and arranging the chairs; some of them, sleepy-eyed, were bringing out trays of hot turnovers; yesterday’s papers, coffee-stained, lay about on tables and chairs. “Well, thank God, there is no one here,” said the Major. “Now I can have a look.” Timidly he approached the mirror and glanced at it. “Damnation! How disgusting!” he exclaimed after spitting. “If at least there were something in place of the nose, but there’s nothing!” [ 6 ]

  Biting his lips with annoyance, he left the coffee-house and decided, contrary to his habit, not to look or to smile at anyone. Suddenly he stopped dead in his tracks before the door of a house. An inexplicable phenomenon took place before his very eyes: a carriage drew up to the entrance; the doors opened; a gentleman in uniform jumped out, slightly stooping, and ran up the stairs. Imagine the horror and at the same time the amazement of Kovalyov when he recognized that it was his own nose! At this extraordinary sight everything seemed to whirl before his eyes; he felt that he could hardly keep on his feet. Trembling all over as though with fever, he made up his mind, come what may, to await the gentleman’s return to the carriage. Two minutes later the Nose indeed came out. He was wearing a gold-embroidered uniform with a big stand-up collar and doeskin breeches; there was a sword at his side. From his plumed hat one could infer that he held the rank of a state councillor. Everything pointed to his being on the way to pay a call. He looked right and left, shouted to his driver, “Bring the carriage round,” got in and was driven off.

  Poor Kovalyov almost went out of his mind. He did not even know what to think of this strange occurrence. Indeed, how could a nose which as recently as yesterday had been on his face and could neither ride nor walk—how could it be in uniform? He ran after the carriage, which fortunately had not gone far but had stopped before the Kazan Cathedral.

  He hurried into the cathedral, made his way past the ranks of old beggarwomen with bandaged faces and two slits for their eyes, whom he used to make such fun of, and went inside. There were but few worshippers there: they all stood by the entrance. Kovalyov felt so upset that he was in no condition to pray and searched with his eyes for the gentleman in all the church corners. At last he saw him standing to one side. The Nose had completely hidden his face in his big stand-up collar and was praying in an attitude of utmost piety.

  “How am I to approach him?” thought Kovalyov. “From everything, from his uniform, from his hat, one can see that he is a state councillor. I’ll be damned if I know how to do it.” [ 7 ]

  He started clearing his throat, but the Nose never changed his devout attitude and continued his genuflections.

  “My dear sir,” said Kovalyov, forcing himself to take courage, “my dear sir . . .”

  “What is it you desire?” said the Nose turning around.

  “It is strange, my dear sir . . . ​I think . . . ​you ought to know your place. And all of a sudden I find you—and where? In church. You’ll admit . . .”

  “Excuse me, I cannot understand what you are talking about. . . . Make yourself clear.”

  “How shall I explain to him?” thought Kovalyov and, emboldened, began: “Of course, I . . . ​however, I am a major. For me to go about without my nose, you’ll admit, is unbecoming. It’s all right for a peddler woman who sells peeled oranges on Voskresensky Bridge, to sit without a nose. But since I’m expecting—and besides, having many acquaintances among the ladies—Mrs. Chekhtaryova, a state councillor’s wife, and others . . . ​Judge for yourself . . . ​I don’t know, my dear sir . . .” (Here Major Kovalyov shrugged his shoulders.) “Forgive me, if one were to look at this in accordance with rules of duty and honor . . . ​you yourself can understand. . . .”

  “I understand absolutely nothing,” replied the Nose. “Make yourself more clear.”

  “My dear sir,” said Kovalyov with a sense of his own dignity, “I don’t know how to interpret your words . . . ​The whole thing seems to me quite obvious . . . ​Or do you wish . . . ​After all, you are my own nose!”—­

  The Nose looked at the major and slightly knitted his brows.

  “You are mistaken, my dear sir, I exist in my own right. Besides, there can be no close relation between us. Judging by the buttons on your uniform, you must be employed in the Senate or at least in the Ministry of Justice. As for me, I am in the scholarly line.”

  Having said this, the Nose turned away and went back to his prayers.

  Kovalyov was utterly flabbergasted. He knew not what to do or even what to think. Just then he heard the pleasant rustle of a lady’s dress: an elderly lady, all in lace, had come up near him and with her, a slim one, in a white frock which agreeably outlined her slender figure, and in a straw-colored hat, light as a cream-puff. Behind them, a tall footman with huge sidewhiskers and a whole dozen collars, stopped and opened a snuff-box. [ 8 ]

  Kovalyov stepped closer, pulled out the cambric collar of his dress shirt, adjusted his seals hanging on a golden chain and, smiling in all directions, turned his attention to the ethereal young lady who, like a spring flower, bowed her head slightly and put her little white hand with its translucent fingers to her forehead. The smile on Kovalyov’s face grew even wider when from under her hat he caught a glimpse of her little round dazzling-white chin and part of her cheek glowing with the color of the first rose of spring. But suddenly he sprang back as though scalded. He remembered that there was absolutely nothing in the place of his nose, and tears came to his eyes. He turned round, intending without further ado to tell the gentleman in uniform that he was merely pretending to be a state councillor, that he was a rogue and a cad and nothing more than his, the major’s, own nose. . . . But the Nose was no longer there; he had managed to dash off, probably to pay another call.

  This plunged Kovalyov into despair. He went back, stopped for a moment under the colonnade and looked carefully, this way and that, for the Nose to turn up somewhere. He remembered quite well that the latter had a plumed hat and a gold-embroidered uniform, but he had not noticed his overcoat, or the color of his carriage or of his horses, not even whether he had a footman at the back, and if so in what livery. Moreover, there was such a multitude of carriages dashing back and forth and at such speed that it was difficult to tell them apart; but even if he did pick one of them out, he would have no means of stopping it. The day was fine and sunny. There were crowds of people on Nevsky Avenue. A whole flowery cascade of ladies poured over the sidewalk, all the way down from Police Bridge to Anichkin Bridge. Here came a court councillor he knew, and was used to addressing as lieutenant-colonel, especially in the presence of strangers. Here, too, was Yarygin, a head clerk in the Senate, a great friend of his, who invariably lost at boston when he went up eight. Here was another major who had won his assessorship in the Caucasus, waving to Kovalyov to join him. . . . [ 9 ]

  “O hell!” said Kovalyov. “Hey, cabby, take me straight to the chief of police!”

  Kovalyov got into the cab and kept shouting to the cabman, “Get going as fast as you can.”

  “Is the chief of police at home?” he called out as he entered the hall.

  “No, sir,” answered the doorman, “he has just left.”

  “You don’t say.”

  “Yes,” added the doorman, “he has not been gone long, but he’s gone. Had you come a minute sooner perhaps you might have found him in.”

  Without removing the handkerchief from his face, Kovalyov got back into the cab and in a voice of despair shouted, “Drive on!”

  “Where to?” asked the cabman.

  “Drive straight ahead!”

  “What do you mean straight ahead? There is a turn here. Right or left?”

  This question nonplussed Kovalyov and made him think again. In his plight the first thing for him to do was to apply to the Police Department, not because his case had anything to do directly with the police, but because they could act much more quickly than any other institution; while to seek satisfaction from the superiors of the department by which the Nose claimed to be employed would be pointless because from the Nose’s own replies it was obvious that this fellow held nothing sacred, and that he was capable of lying in this case, too, as he had done when he had assured Kovalyov that they had never met. Thus Kovalyov was on the point of telling the cabman to take him to the Police Department when the thought again occurred to him that this rogue and swindler, who had already treated him so shamelessly during their first encounter, might again seize his first chance to slip out of town somewhere, and then all search would be futile or might drag on, God forbid, a whole month. Finally, it seemed, heaven itself brought him to his senses. He decided to go straight to the newspaper office and, before it was too late, place an advertisement with a detailed description of the Nose’s particulars, so that anyone coming across him could immediately deliver him or at least give information about his whereabouts. And so, his mind made up, he told the cabby to drive to the newspaper office, and all the way down to it kept whacking him in the back with his fist, saying, “Faster, you villain! faster, you rogue!”—“Ugh, mister!” the cabman would say, shaking his head and flicking his reins at the horse whose coat was as long as a lapdog’s. At last the cab drew up to a stop, and Kovalyov, panting, ran into a small reception room where a gray-haired clerk in an old tailcoat and glasses sat at a table and, pen in his teeth, counted newly brought in coppers. [ 10 ]

  “Who accepts advertisements here?” cried Kovalyov. “Ah, good morning!”

  “How do you do,” said the gray-haired clerk, raising his eyes for a moment and lowering them again to look at the neat stacks of money.

  “I should like to insert—”

  “Excuse me. Will you wait a moment,” said the clerk as he wrote down a figure on a piece of paper with one hand and moved two beads on the abacus with the fingers of his left hand. A liveried footman, whose appearance suggested his sojourn in an aristocratic house, and who stood by the table with a note in his hand, deemed it appropriate to demonstrate his savoir-faire: “Would you believe it, sir, this little mutt is not worth eighty kopecks, that is, I wouldn’t even give eight kopecks for it; but the countess loves it, honestly she does—and so whoever finds it will get one hundred rubles! To put it politely, just as you and I are talking, people’s tastes differ: if you’re a hunter, keep a pointer or a poodle; don’t grudge five hundred, give a thousand, but then let it be a good dog.”

  The worthy clerk listened to this with a grave expression while at the same time trying to count the number of letters in the note brought to him. All around stood a great many old women, salespeople and house porters with notes. One of them offered for sale a coachman of sober conduct; another, a little-used carriage brought from Paris in 1814; still others, a nineteen-year-old serf girl experienced in laundering work and suitable for other kinds of work; a sound droshky with one spring missing; a young and fiery dappled-gray horse seventeen years old; turnip and radish seed newly received from London; a summer residence with all the appurtenances—to wit, two stalls for horses and a place for planting a grove of birches or firs; there was also an appeal to those wishing to buy old boot soles, inviting them to appear for final bidding every day between eight and three o’clock. The room in which this entire company was crowded was small, and the air in it was extremely thick; but Collegiate Assessor Kovalyov was not in a position to notice the smell, because he kept his handkerchief pressed to his face and because his nose itself was goodness knows where. [ 11 ]

  “My dear sir, may I ask you . . . ​It is very urgent,” he said at last with impatience.

  “Presently, presently! Two rubles forty-three kopecks! Just a moment! One ruble sixty-four kopecks,” recited the gray-haired gentleman, tossing the notes into the faces of the old women and the house porters. “What can I do for you?” he said at last, turning to Kovalyov.

  “I wish . . . ,” said Kovalyov. “There has been a swindle or a fraud . . . ​I still can’t find out. I just wish to advertise that whoever hands this scoundrel over to me will receive an adequate reward.”

  “Allow me to inquire, what is your name?”

  “What do you want my name for? I can’t give it to you. I have many acquaintances: Mrs. Chekhtaryova, the wife of a state councillor; Pelageya Grigoryevna Podtochina, the wife of a field officer . . . ​What if they suddenly were to find out? Heaven forbid! You can simply write down: a collegiate assessor or, still better, a person holding the rank of major.”

  “And was the runaway your household serf?”

  “What do you mean, household serf? That wouldn’t be such a bad swindle! The runaway was . . . my nose. . . .”

  “Hmm! what a strange name! And did this Mr. Nosov rob you of a big sum?”

  “My nose, I mean to say—You’ve misunderstood me. My nose, my very own nose has disappeared goodness knows where. The devil must have wished to play a trick on me!”

  “But how did it disappear? I don’t quite understand it.”

  “Well, I can’t tell you how; but the main thing is that it is now gallivanting about town and calling itself a state councillor. And that is why I am asking you to advertise that whoever apprehends it should deliver it to me immediately and without delay. Judge for yourself. How, indeed, can I do without such a conspicuous part of my body? It isn’t like some little toe which I put into my boot, and no one can see whether it is there or not. On Thursdays I call at the house of Mrs. Chekhtaryova, a state councillor’s wife. Mrs. Podtochina, Pelageya Grigoryevna, a field officer’s wife, and her very pretty daughter, are also very good friends of mine, and you can judge for yourself how can I now . . . ​I can’t appear at their house now.” [ 12 ]

  The clerk thought hard, his lips pursed tightly in witness thereof.

  “No, I can’t insert such an advertisement in the papers,” he said at last after a long silence.

  “How so? Why?”

  “Well, the paper might lose its reputation. If everyone were to write that his nose had run away, why . . . ​As it is, people say that too many absurd stories and false rumors are printed.”

  “But why is this business absurd? I don’t think it is anything of the sort.”

  “That’s what you think. But take last week, there was another such case. A civil servant came in, just as you have, bringing a note, was billed two rubles seventy-three kopecks, and all the advertisement consisted of was that a black-coated poodle had run away. Doesn’t seem to amount to much, does it now? But it turned out to be a libel. This so-called poodle was the treasurer of I don’t recall what institution.”

  “But I am not putting in an advertisement about a poodle—it’s about my very own nose; that is, practically the same as about myself.”

  “No, I can’t possibly insert such an advertisement.”

  “But when my nose actually has disappeared!”

  “If it has disappeared, then it’s a doctor’s business. They say there are people who can fix you up with any nose you like. However, I observe that you must be a man of gay disposition and fond of kidding in company.”

  “I swear to you by all that is holy! Perhaps, if it comes to that, why I’ll show you.” [ 13 ]

  “Why trouble yourself?” continued the clerk, taking a pinch of snuff. “However, if it isn’t too much trouble,” he added, moved by curiosity, “I’d like to have a look.”

  The collegiate assessor removed the handkerchief from his face.

  “Very strange indeed!” said the clerk. “It’s absolutely flat, like a pancake fresh off the griddle. Yes, incredibly smooth.”

  “Well, will you go on arguing after this? You see yourself that you can’t refuse to print my advertisement. I’ll be particularly grateful and am very glad that this opportunity has given me the pleasure of making your acquaintance. . . .” The major, as we can see, decided this time to use a little flattery.

  “To insert it would be easy enough, of course,” said the clerk, “but I don’t see any advantage to you in it. If you really must, give it to someone who wields a skillful pen and let him describe this as a rare phenomenon of nature and publish this little item in The Northern Bee” (here he took another pinch of snuff) “for the benefit of the young” (here he wiped his nose), “or just so, as a matter of general interest.”