“Prascovia Osipovna,” he said, “I would rather not have any coffee for breakfast, but, instead, a hot roll and an onion,”— the truth being that he wanted both but knew it to be useless to ask for two things at once, as Prascovia Osipovna did not fancy such tricks.
“Oh, the fool shall have his bread,” the dame reflected. “So much the better for me then, as I shall be able to drink a second lot of coffee.”
And duly she threw on to the table a roll.
Ivan Yakovlevitch donned a jacket over his shirt for politeness’ sake, and, seating himself at the table, poured out salt, got a couple of onions ready, took a knife into his hand, assumed an air of importance, and cut the roll asunder3. Then he glanced into the roll’s middle. To his intense surprise he saw something glimmering4 there. He probed it cautiously with the knife — then poked5 at it with a finger.
“Quite solid it is!” he muttered. “What in the world is it likely to be?”
He thrust in, this time, all his fingers, and pulled forth6 — a nose! His hands dropped to his sides for a moment. Then he rubbed his eyes hard. Then again he probed the thing. A nose! Sheerly a nose! Yes, and one familiar to him, somehow! Oh, horror spread upon his feature! Yet that horror was a trifle compared with his spouse’s overmastering wrath7.
“You brute8!” she shouted frantically10. “Where have you cut off that nose? You villain11, you! You drunkard! Why, I’ll go and report you to the police myself. The brigand12, you! Three customers have told me already about your pulling at their noses as you shaved them till they could hardly stand it.”
But Ivan Yakovlevitch was neither alive nor dead. This was the more the case because, sure enough, he had recognised the nose. It was the nose of Collegiate Assessor Kovalev — no less: it was the nose of a gentleman whom he was accustomed to shave twice weekly, on each Wednesday and each Sunday!
“Stop, Prascovia Osipovna!” at length he said. “I’ll wrap the thing in a clout13, and lay it aside awhile, and take it away altogether later.”
“But I won’t hear of such a thing being done! As if I’m going to have a cut-off nose kicking about my room! Oh, you old stick! Maybe you can just strop a razor still; but soon you’ll be no good at all for the rest of your work. You loafer, you wastrel14, you bungler15, you blockhead! Aye, I’ll tell the police of you. Take it away, then. Take it away. Take it anywhere you like. Oh, that I’d never caught the smell of it!”
Ivan Yakovlevitch was dumbfounded. He thought and thought, but did not know what to think.
“The devil knows how it’s happened,” he said, scratching one ear. “You see, I don’t know for certain whether I came home drunk last night or not. But certainly things look as though something out of the way happened then, for bread comes of baking, and a nose of something else altogether. Oh, I just can’t make it out.”
So he sat silent. At the thought that the police might find the nose at his place, and arrest him, he felt frantic9. Yes, already he could see the red collar with the smart silver braiding — the sword! He shuddered16 from head to foot.
But at last he got out, and donned waistcoat and shoes, wrapped the nose in a clout, and departed amid Prascovia Osipovna’s forcible objurgations.
His one idea was to rid himself of the nose, and return quietly home — to do so either by throwing the nose into the gutter17 in front of the gates or by just letting it drop anywhere. Yet, unfortunately, he kept meeting friends, and they kept saying to him: “Where are you off to?” or “Whom have you arranged to shave at this early hour?” until seizure18 of a fitting moment became impossible. Once, true, he did succeed in dropping the thing, but no sooner had he done so than a constable19 pointed20 at him with his truncheon, and shouted: “Pick it up again! You’ve lost something,” and he perforce had to take the nose into his possession once more, and stuff it into a pocket. Meanwhile his desperation grew in proportion as more and more booths and shops opened for business, and more and more people appeared in the street.
At last he decided21 that he would go to the Isaakievsky Bridge, and throw the thing, if he could, into the Neva. But here let me confess my fault in not having said more about Ivan Yakovlevitch himself, a man estimable in more respects than one.
Like every decent Russian tradesman, Ivan Yakovlevitch was a terrible tippler. Daily he shaved the chins of others, but always his own was unshorn, and his jacket (he never wore a top-coat) piebald — black, thickly studded with greyish, brownish-yellowish stains — and shiny of collar, and adorned22 with three pendent tufts of thread instead of buttons. But, with that, Ivan Yakovlevitch was a great cynic. Whenever Collegiate Assessor Kovalev was being shaved, and said to him, according to custom: “Ivan Yakovlevitch, your hands do smell!” he would retort: “But why should they smell?” and, when the Collegiate Assessor had replied: “Really I do not know, brother, but at all events they do,” take a pinch of snuff, and soap the Collegiate Assessor upon cheek, and under nose, and behind ears, and around chin at his good will and pleasure.
So the worthy23 citizen stood on the Isaakievsky Bridge, and looked about him. Then, leaning over the parapet, he feigned24 to be trying to see if any fish were passing underneath25. Then gently he cast forth the nose.
At once ten puds-weight seemed to have been lifted from his shoulders. Actually he smiled! But, instead of departing, next, to shave the chins of chinovniki, he bethought him of making for a certain establishment inscribed26 “Meals and Tea,” that he might get there a glassful of punch.
Suddenly he sighted a constable standing27 at the end of the bridge, a constable of smart appearance, with long whiskers, a three-cornered hat, and a sword complete. Oh, Ivan Yakovlevitch could have fainted! Then the constable, beckoning28 with a finger, cried:
“Nay, my good man. Come here.”
Ivan Yaklovlevitch, knowing the proprieties29, pulled off his cap at quite a distance away, advanced quickly, and said:
“I wish your Excellency the best of health.”
“No, no! None of that ‘your Excellency,’ brother. Come and tell me what you have been doing on the bridge.”
“Before God, sir, I was crossing it on my way to some customers when I peeped to see if there were any fish jumping.”
“You lie, brother! You lie! You won’t get out of it like that. Be so good as to answer me truthfully.”
“Oh, twice a week in future I’ll shave you for nothing. Aye, or even three times a week.”
“No, no, friend. That is rubbish. Already I’ve got three barbers for the purpose, and all of them account it an honour. Now, tell me, I ask again, what you have just been doing?”
This made Ivan Yakovlevitch blanch30, and ——
Further events here become enshrouded in mist. What happened after that is unknown to all men.
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1
dweller
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| n.居住者，住客 | |
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2
dame
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| n.女士 | |
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asunder
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| adj.分离的，化为碎片 | |
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4
glimmering
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| n.微光，隐约的一瞥adj.薄弱地发光的v.发闪光，发微光( glimmer的现在分词 ) | |
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5
poked
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| v.伸出( poke的过去式和过去分词 )；戳出；拨弄；与（某人）性交 | |
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6
forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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7
wrath
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| n.愤怒，愤慨，暴怒 | |
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8
brute
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| n.野兽，兽性 | |
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9
frantic
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| adj.狂乱的，错乱的，激昂的 | |
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10
frantically
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| ad.发狂地, 发疯地 | |
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11
villain
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| n.反派演员，反面人物；恶棍；问题的起因 | |
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12
brigand
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| n.土匪，强盗 | |
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13
clout
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| n.用手猛击；权力，影响力 | |
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14
wastrel
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| n.浪费者；废物 | |
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15
Bungler
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| n.笨拙者，经验不够的人 | |
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16
shuddered
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| v.战栗( shudder的过去式和过去分词 )；发抖；（机器、车辆等）突然震动；颤动 | |
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17
gutter
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| n.沟，街沟，水槽，檐槽，贫民窟 | |
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18
seizure
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| n.没收；占有；抵押 | |
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19
constable
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| n.(英国)警察，警官 | |
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20
pointed
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| adj.尖的，直截了当的 | |
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21
decided
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| adj.决定了的，坚决的；明显的，明确的 | |
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22
adorned
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| [计]被修饰的 | |
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23
worthy
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| adj.(of)值得的，配得上的；有价值的 | |
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24
feigned
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| a.假装的，不真诚的 | |
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25
underneath
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| adj.在...下面，在...底下；adv.在下面 | |
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26
inscribed
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| v.写，刻( inscribe的过去式和过去分词 )；内接 | |
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27
standing
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| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
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28
beckoning
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| adj.引诱人的，令人心动的v.（用头或手的动作）示意，召唤( beckon的现在分词 ) | |
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29
proprieties
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| n.礼仪，礼节；礼貌( propriety的名词复数 )；规矩；正当；合适 | |
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30
blanch
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| v.漂白；使变白；使(植物)不见日光而变白 | |
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