The Collected Tales of Nikolai Gogol (49 page)

“Who here takes advertisements?” cried Kovalev.
“Ah, how do you do!”

“My respects,” said the gray-haired clerk, raising his eyes for a moment and lowering them again to the laid-out stacks of coins.

“I wish to place …”

“Excuse me.
I beg you to wait a bit,” said the clerk, setting down a number on a piece of paper with one hand, and with the fingers of the left moving two beads on his abacus.

A lackey with galloons and an appearance indicating that he belonged to an aristocratic household, who was standing by the table with a notice in his hand, deemed it fitting to display his sociability:

“Believe me, sir, the pup isn’t worth eighty kopecks, I mean, I wouldn’t give eight for it; but the countess loves it, by God, she
loves it—and so whoever finds it gets a hundred roubles!
To put it proper, between you and me, people’s tastes don’t correspond at all: if you’re a hunter, keep a pointer or a poodle, it’ll cost you five hundred, a thousand, but you’ll have yourself a fine dog.”

The worthy clerk listened to this with a significant air and at the same time made an estimate of the number of letters in the notice.
Around them stood a host of old women, shop clerks, and porters holding notices.
One announced that a coachman of sober disposition was available for hire; another concerned a little-used carriage brought from Paris in 1814; elsewhere a nineteen-year-old serf girl was released, a good laundress and also fit for other work; a sturdy droshky lacking one spring; a hot young dapple-gray horse, seventeen years old; turnip and radish seeds newly received from London; a country house with all its appurtenances—two horse stalls and a place where an excellent birch or pine grove could be planted; next to that was an appeal to all those desiring to buy old shoes, with an invitation to come to the trading center every day from eight till three.
The room into which all this company crowded was small and the air in it was very heavy; but the collegiate assessor Kovalev could not smell it, because he had covered his face with a handkerchief, and because his nose itself was in God knows what parts.

“My dear sir, allow me to ask … It’s very necessary for me,” he finally said with impatience.

“Right away, right away!
Two roubles forty-three kopecks!
This minute!
One rouble sixty-four kopecks!” the gray-haired gentleman was saying as he flung the notices into the old women’s and porters’ faces.
“What can I do for you?” he said at last, turning to Kovalev.

“I ask …” said Kovalev, “some swindling or knavery has occurred—I haven’t been able to find out.
I only ask you to advertise that whoever brings this scoundrel to me will get a sufficient reward.”

“What is your name, if I may inquire?”

“No, why the name?
I can’t tell you.
I have many acquaintances: Chekhtareva, wife of a state councillor, Palageya Grigorievna Podtochina,
wife of a staff officer … God forbid they should suddenly find out!
You can simply write: a collegiate assessor, or, better still, one holding the rank of major.”

“And the runaway was your household serf?”

“What household serf?
That would be no great swindle!
The one that ran away was … my nose …”

“Hm!
what a strange name!
And did this Mr.
Nosov steal a large sum of money from you?”

“Nose, I said … you’ve got it wrong!
My nose, my own nose, disappeared on me, I don’t know where.
The devil’s decided to make fun of me!”

“Disappeared in what fashion?
I’m afraid I don’t quite understand.”

“I really can’t say in what fashion; but the main thing is that he’s now driving around town calling himself a state councillor.
And therefore I ask you to announce that whoever catches him should immediately present him to me within the shortest time.
Consider for yourself, how indeed can I do without such a conspicuous part of the body?
It’s not like some little toe that I can put in a boot and no one will see it’s not there.
On Thursdays I call on the wife of the state councillor Chekhtarev; Palageya Grigorievna Podtochina, a staff officer’s wife—and she has a very pretty daughter—they, too, are my very good acquaintances, and consider for yourself, now, how can I … I can’t go to them now.”

The clerk fell to pondering, as was indicated by his tightly compressed lips.

“No, I can’t place such an announcement in the newspaper,” he said finally, after a long silence.

“What?
Why not?”

“Because.
The newspaper may lose its reputation.
If everybody starts writing that his nose has run away, then … People say we publish a lot of absurdities and false rumors as it is.”

“But what’s absurd about this matter?
It seems to me that it’s nothing of the sort.”

“To you it seems so.
But there was a similar incident last week.
A clerk came, just as you’ve come now, brought a notice, it came
to two roubles seventy-three kopecks in costs, and the whole announcement was that a poodle of a black coat had run away.
Nothing much there, you’d think?
But it turned out to be a lampoon: this poodle was the treasurer of I forget which institution.”

“But I’m giving you an announcement not about a poodle, but about my own nose: which means almost about me myself.”

“No, I absolutely cannot place such an announcement.”

“But my nose really has vanished!”

“If so, it’s a medical matter.
They say there are people who can attach any nose you like.
I observe, however, that you must be a man of merry disposition and fond of joking in company.”

“I swear to you as God is holy!
Very well, if it’s come to that, I’ll show you.”

“Why trouble yourself!” the clerk went on, taking a pinch of snuff.
“However, if it’s no trouble,” he added with a movement of curiosity, “it might be desirable to have a look.”

The collegiate assessor took the handkerchief from his face.

“Extremely strange, indeed!” said the clerk.
“The place is perfectly smooth, like a just-made pancake.
Yes, of an unbelievable flatness!”

“Well, are you going to argue now?
You can see for yourself that you’ve got to print it.
I’ll be especially grateful to you; and I’m very glad that this incident has afforded me the pleasure of making your acquaintance …”

The major, as may be seen from that, had decided to fawn a bit this time.

“Of course, printing it is no great matter,” said the clerk, “only I don’t see any profit in it for you.
If you really want, you should give it to someone with a skillful pen, who can describe it as a rare work of nature and publish the little article in
The Northern Bee
”
³
(here he took another pinch of snuff), “for the benefit of the young” (here he wiped his nose), “or just for general curiosity.”

The collegiate assessor was totally discouraged.
He dropped his eyes to the bottom of the newspaper, where theater performances were announced; his face was getting ready to smile, seeing the name of a pretty actress, and his hand went to his pocket to see if
he had a blue banknote
⁴
on him, because staff officers, in Kovalev’s opinion, ought to sit in the orchestra—but the thought of the nose ruined everything!

The clerk himself seemed to be moved by Kovalev’s difficult situation.
Wishing to soften his grief somehow, he deemed it fitting to express his sympathy in a few words:

“I’m truly sorry that such an odd thing has happened to you.
Would you care for a pinch?
It dispels headaches and melancholy states of mind; it’s even good with regard to hemorrhoids.”

So saying, the clerk held the snuffbox out to Kovalev, quite deftly flipping back the lid with the portrait of some lady in a hat.

This unintentional act brought Kovalev’s patience to an end.

“I do not understand how you find it possible to joke,” he said in passion.
“Can you not see that I precisely lack what’s needed for a pinch of snuff?
Devil take your snuff!
I cannot stand the sight of it now, not only your vile Berezinsky, but even if you were to offer me rappee itself.”

Having said this, he left the newspaper office in deep vexation and went to see the police commissioner, a great lover of sugar.
In his house, the entire front room, which was also the dining room, was filled with sugar loaves that merchants brought him out of friendship.
Just then the cook was removing the commissioner’s regulation boots; his sword and other military armor were already hanging peacefully in the corners, and his three-year-old son was playing with his awesome three-cornered hat; and he himself, after his martial, military life, was preparing to taste the pleasures of peace.

Kovalev entered just as he stretched, grunted, and said: “Ah, now for a nice two-hour nap!” And therefore it could be foreseen that the collegiate assessor’s arrival was quite untimely; and I do not know whether he would have been received all that cordially even if he had brought him several pounds of sugar or a length of broadcloth.
The commissioner was a great patron of all the arts and manufactures, but preferred state banknotes to them all.
“Here’s a thing,” he used to say, “there’s nothing better than this thing: doesn’t ask to eat, takes up little space, can always be put in the pocket, drop it and it won’t break.”

The commissioner received Kovalev rather drily and said that after dinner was no time for carrying out investigations, that nature herself had so arranged it that after eating one should have a little rest (from this the collegiate assessor could see that the police commissioner was not unacquainted with the sayings of the ancient wise men), that a respectable man would not have his nose torn off, and that there were many majors in the world whose underclothes were not even in decent condition, and who dragged themselves around to all sorts of improper places.

That is, a square hit, right between the eyes.
It must be noted that Kovalev was an extremely touchy man.
He could forgive anything said about himself, but he could never pardon a reference to his rank or title.
He even thought that in theatrical plays everything referring to inferior officers could pass, but staff officers should never be attacked.
The commissioner’s reception so perplexed him that he shook his head and said with dignity, spreading his arms slightly, “I confess, after such offensive remarks on your part, I have nothing to add …” and left.

He returned home scarcely feeling his legs under him.
It was already dark.
Dismal or extremely vile his apartment seemed to him after this whole unsuccessful search.
Going into the front room, he saw his lackey Ivan lying on his back on the soiled leather sofa, spitting at the ceiling and hitting the same spot quite successfully.
The man’s indifference infuriated him; he gave him a whack on the forehead with his hat, adding, “You pig, you’re always busy with stupidities!”

Ivan suddenly jumped up from his place and rushed to help him off with his cape.

Going into his bedroom, the major, weary and woeful, threw himself into an armchair and finally, after several sighs, said:

“My God!
my God!
Why this misfortune?
If I lacked an arm or a leg, it would still be better; if I lacked ears, it would be bad, but still more bearable; but lacking a nose, a man is devil knows what: not a bird, not a citizen—just take and chuck him out the window!
And if it had been cut off in war or a duel, or if I’d caused it myself—but it vanished for no reason, vanished for nothing, nothing at all!… Only, no, it can’t be,” he added, after reflecting briefly.
“It’s incredible that a nose should vanish, simply incredible.
I must be dreaming, or just imagining it; maybe, by mistake somehow, instead of water I drank the vodka I use to pat my chin after shaving.
That fool Ivan didn’t take it away, and I must have downed it.”

To make absolutely sure that he was not drunk, the major pinched himself so painfully that he cried out.
This pain completely reassured him that he was acting and living in a waking state.
He slowly approached the mirror and at first closed his eyes, thinking that the nose might somehow show up where it ought to be; but he jumped back at that same moment, saying:

“What a lampoonish look!”

This was indeed incomprehensible.
If it had been a button, a silver spoon, a watch, or something of the sort, that had vanished—but to vanish, and who was it that vanished?
and what’s more, in his own apartment!… Major Kovalev, having put all the circumstances together, supposed it would hardly be unlikely if the blame were placed on none other than Podtochina, the staff officer’s wife, who wished him to marry her daughter.
He himself enjoyed dallying with her, but kept avoiding a final settlement.
And when the mother announced to him directly that she wanted to give him the girl’s hand, he quietly eased off with his compliments, saying that he was still young and had to serve some five years more, until he turned exactly forty-two.
And therefore the staff officer’s wife, probably in revenge, decided to put a spell on him, and to that end hired some sorceress, because it was by no means possible to suppose that the nose had been cut off; no one had come into his room; and the barber Ivan Yakovlevich had shaved him on Wednesday, and the nose had been there for the whole of Wednesday, and even all day Thursday—he remembered that and knew it very well; besides, he would have felt the pain, and the wound undoubtedly could not have healed so quickly and become smooth as a pancake.
He made plans in his head: to formally summon the staff officer’s wife to court, or to go to her in person and expose her.
His reflections were interrupted by the light flickering through all the chinks in the door, signifying that Ivan had already lighted a candle in the front room.
Soon Ivan himself appeared, carrying
it before him and brightly lighting up the whole bedroom.
Kovalev’s first impulse was to grab the handkerchief and cover the place where his nose had been just the day before, so that the stupid man would not actually start gaping, seeing such an oddity in his master.

Ivan had just gone back to his closet when an unfamiliar voice came from the front room, saying: