The next day Dumas’ Russian secretary, a young student of literature from the University of Moscow, read aloud in French, to the great romancer, the last writing of the tragic Russian. One of these forgotten manuscripts was a novel, Sultanetta, (the woman whose picturesque grave of rose color and green, Prince Bagration had pointed out with emotion, in the little Tartar Cemetery that crowned the hill, on their arrival). Dumas was so delighted with the faithful, colorful story of adventure and love among Tartar peoples of the mountains, that he rewrote the novel himself, and published it later in Paris, under the same name Bestushev-Marlinski himself had given it.
During the weeks Dumas spent in Derbend, he devoted himself to this rewriting, and to collecting recipes for his cook-book, which he tried and perfected with pleasure. He found here a ragout of lamb which pleased his epicurean knowledge of food. Also he sampled with delight the white wine of Erivan and the red wine of Kislar. He enjoyed himself tremendously. The only drawback to perfect contentment was that he could not procure, in the humble shops of Derbend, blue paper of an especial tint, which was what he used for his work. But he added vastly to his collection of splendid weapons, almost more than he was able to transport. Some were historic, and bore names of great warriors, or blessings from the Koran, in gold, along the blade. And he jotted down in his diary: “I wrote like a God all the time I was in Derbend!” Moynet, his friend and companion, was making the first colored pictures of costumes worn in the Caucasus, which are familiar today in authoritative works on dress.
The second manuscript which the daughter of the Commandant of the Fortress brought to the attention of Dumas was Bestushev-Marlinski’s Ode to a Nose, which Dumas asserts is not only one of the most original things that has been written, but one of the most delightful. We append this poem in Dumas’ prose translation, taking no credit ourselves, remarking at the same time, as inconsequential aside, that in one of Dumas’ later novels he gives another, a freer version of The Nose, without taking the trouble to refer to the dead Russian poet as author.
But only tolerance can be meted to one so great, so invariably delightful. Dumas writes: “In addition to other interesting things about the Georgians, there is one thing of which I have not spoken, and not to do so would be to do them wrong. They have noses such as no other race in the world have. Bestushev-Marlinski, the romancer, made an ode about the Georgian nose, which I quote since I can not hope to do better than he.”
“Have you reflected, dear readers, about what an admirable thing a nose is?
A nose? Yes, a nose!
And how useful to every individual, who, as Ovid says, lifts his face to heaven!
It is indeed a strange and unheard of ingratitude; not a poet has had the idea of making an ode to a nose.
It has remained for me, who am not poet at all, or who at least make no pretensions except to follow humbly the footsteps of great poets, to have originated the idea.