I
On the 25th March, 18--, a very strange occurrence took place in St
Petersburg. On the Ascension Avenue there lived a barber of the name of
Ivan Jakovlevitch. He had lost his family name, and on his sign-board,
on which was depicted the head of a gentleman with one cheek soaped, the
only inscription to be read was, "Blood-letting done here."
On this particular morning he awoke pretty early. Becoming aware of the
smell of fresh-baked bread, he sat up a little in bed, and saw his wife,
who had a special partiality for coffee, in the act of taking some
fresh-baked bread out of the oven.
"To-day, Prasskovna Ossipovna," he said, "I do not want any coffee; I
should like a fresh loaf with onions."
"The blockhead may eat bread only as far as I am concerned," said his
wife to herself; "then I shall have a chance of getting some coffee."
And she threw a loaf on the table.
For the sake of propriety, Ivan Jakovlevitch drew a coat over his shirt,
sat down at the table, shook out some salt for himself, prepared two
onions, assumed a serious expression, and began to cut the bread. After
he had cut the loaf in two halves, he looked, and to his great
astonishment saw something whitish sticking in it. He carefully poked
round it with his knife, and felt it with his finger.
"Quite firmly fixed!" he murmured in his beard. "What can it be?"
He put in his finger, and drew out--a nose!
Ivan Jakovlevitch at first let his hands fall from sheer astonishment;
then he rubbed his eyes and began to feel it. A nose, an actual nose;
and, moreover, it seemed to be the nose of an acquaintance! Alarm and
terror were depicted in Ivan's face; but these feelings were slight in
comparison with the disgust which took possession of his wife.
"Whose nose have you cut off, you monster?" she screamed, her face red
with anger. "You scoundrel! You tippler! I myself will report you to the
police! Such a rascal! Many customers have told me that while you were
shaving them, you held them so tight by the nose that they could hardly
sit still."
But Ivan Jakovlevitch was more dead than alive; he saw at once that this
nose could belong to no other than to Kovaloff, a member of the
Municipal Committee whom he shaved every Sunday and Wednesday.
"Stop, Prasskovna Ossipovna! I will wrap it in a piece of cloth and
place it in the corner. There it may remain for the present; later on I
will take it away."
"No, not there! Shall I endure an amputated nose in my room? You
understand nothing except how to strop a razor. You know nothing of the
duties and obligations of a respectable man. You vagabond! You
good-for-nothing! Am I to undertake all responsibility for you at the
police-office? Ah, you soap-smearer! You blockhead! Take it away where
you like, but don't let it stay under my eyes!"
Ivan Jakovlevitch stood there flabbergasted. He thought and thought, and
knew not what he thought.
"The devil knows how that happened!" he said at last, scratching his
head behind his ear. "Whether I came home drunk last night or not, I
really don't know; but in all probability this is a quite extraordinary
occurrence, for a loaf is something baked and a nose is something
different. I don't understand the matter at all." And Ivan Jakovlevitch
was silent. The thought that the police might find him in unlawful
possession of a nose and arrest him, robbed him of all presence of mind.
Already he began to have visions of a red collar with silver braid and
of a sword--and he trembled all over.
At last he finished dressing himself, and to the accompaniment of the
emphatic exhortations of his spouse, he wrapped up the nose in a cloth
and issued into the street.
He intended to lose it somewhere--either at somebody's door, or in a
public square, or in a narrow alley; but just then, in order to complete
his bad luck, he was met by an acquaintance, who showered inquiries upon
him. "Hullo, Ivan Jakovlevitch! Whom are you going to shave so early in
the morning?" etc., so that he could find no suitable opportunity to do
what he wanted. Later on he did let the nose drop, but a sentry bore
down upon him with his halberd, and said, "Look out! You have let
something drop!" and Ivan Jakovlevitch was obliged to pick it up and put
it in his pocket.
A feeling of despair began to take possession of him; all the more as
the streets became more thronged and the merchants began to open their
shops. At last he resolved to go to the Isaac Bridge, where perhaps he
might succeed in throwing it into the Neva.
But my conscience is a little uneasy that I have not yet given any
detailed information about Ivan Jakovlevitch, an estimable man in many
ways.
Like every honest Russian tradesman, Ivan Jakovlevitch was a terrible
drunkard, and although he shaved other people's faces every day, his own
was always unshaved. His coat (he never wore an overcoat) was quite
mottled, i.e. it had been black, but become brownish-yellow; the collar
was quite shiny, and instead of the three buttons, only the threads by
which they had been fastened were to be seen.
Ivan Jakovlevitch was a great cynic, and when Kovaloff, the member of
the Municipal Committee, said to him, as was his custom while being
shaved, "Your hands always smell, Ivan Jakovlevitch!" the latter
answered, "What do they smell of?" "I don't know, my friend, but they
smell very strong." Ivan Jakovlevitch after taking a pinch of snuff
would then, by way of reprisals, set to work to soap him on the cheek,
the upper lip, behind the ears, on the chin, and everywhere.
This worthy man now stood on the Isaac Bridge. At first he looked round
him, then he leant on the railings of the bridge, as though he wished to
look down and see how many fish were swimming past, and secretly threw
the nose, wrapped in a little piece of cloth, into the water. He felt as
though a ton weight had been lifted off him, and laughed cheerfully.
Instead, however, of going to shave any officials, he turned his steps
to a building, the sign-board of which bore the legend "Teas served
here," in order to have a glass of punch, when suddenly he perceived at
the other end of the bridge a police inspector of imposing exterior,
with long whiskers, three-cornered hat, and sword hanging at his side.
He nearly fainted; but the police inspector beckoned to him with his
hand and said, "Come here, my dear sir."
Ivan Jakovlevitch, knowing how a gentleman should behave, took his hat
off quickly, went towards the police inspector and said, "I hope you are
in the best of health."
"Never mind my health. Tell me, my friend, why you were standing on the
bridge."
"By heaven, gracious sir, I was on the way to my customers, and only
looked down to see if the river was flowing quickly."
"That is a lie! You won't get out of it like that. Confess the truth."
"I am willing to shave Your Grace two or even three times a week
gratis," answered Ivan Jakovlevitch.
"No, my friend, don't put yourself out! Three barbers are busy with me
already, and reckon it a high honour that I let them show me their
skill. Now then, out with it! What were you doing there?"
Ivan Jakovlevitch grew pale. But here the strange episode vanishes in
mist, and what further happened is not known.