第7章 The Death of a Clerk 小职员之死

One fine evening, a no less fine government clerk called Ivan Dmitritch Tchervyakov was sitting in the second row of the stalls, gazing through an opera glass at the Cloches de Corneville. He gazed and felt at the acme of bliss. But suddenly...In stories one so often meets with this “But suddenly.”The authors are right: life is so full of surprises! But suddenly his face puckered up, his eyes turned upward, his breathing was arrested...he took the opera glass from his eyes, bent over and... “Aptchee! !” he sneezed as you perceive. It is not reprehensible for anyone to sneeze anywhere. Peasants sneeze and so do police superintendents, and sometimes even privy councillors. All men sneeze. Tchervyakov was not in the least confused, he wiped his face with his handkerchief, and like a polite man, looked round to see whether he had disturbed any one by his sneezing. But then he was overcome with confusion. He saw that an old gentleman sitting in front of him in the first row of the stalls was carefully wiping his bald head and his neck with his glove and muttering something to himself. In the old gentleman, Tchervyakov recognised Brizzhalov, a civilian general serving in the Department of Transport.

“I have spattered him,” thought Tchervyakov, “he is not the head of my department, but still it is awkward. I must apologise.”

Tchervyakov gave a cough, bent his whole person forward, and whispered in the general's ear, “Pardon, your Excellency, I spattered you accidentally...”

“Never mind, never mind.”

“For goodness sake excuse me, I...I did not mean to.”

“Oh, please, sit down! let me listen!”

Tchervyakov was embarrassed, he smiled stupidly and fell to gazing at the stage. He gazed at it but was no longer feeling bliss. He began to be troubled by uneasiness. In the interval, he went up to Brizzhalov, walked beside him, and overcoming his shyness, muttered: “I spattered you, your Excellency, forgive me...you see...I didn't do it to...”

“Oh, that's enough...I'd forgotten it, and you keep on about it!” said the general, moving his lower lip impatiently.

“He has forgotten, but there is a fiendish light in his eye,” thought Tchervyakov, looking suspiciously at the general. “And he doesn't want to talk. I ought to explain to him...that I really didn't intend...that it is the law of nature or else he will think I meant to spit on him. He doesn't think so now, but he will think so later!”

On getting home, Tchervyakov told his wife of his breach of good manners. It struck him that his wife took too frivolous a view of the incident; she was a little frightened, but when she learned that Brizzhalov was in a different department, she was reassured.

“Still, you had better go and apologise,” she said, “or he will think you don't know how to behave in public.”

“That's just it! I did apologise, but he took it somehow queerly...he didn't say a word of sense. There wasn't time to talk properly.”

Next day Tchervyakov put on a new uniform, had his hair cut and went to Brizzhalov's to explain; going into the general's reception room he saw there a number of petitioners and among them the general himself, who was beginning to interview them. After questioning several petitioners the general raised his eyes and looked at Tchervyakov.

“Yesterday at the Arcadia, if you recollect, your Excellency,” the latter began, “I sneezed and...accidentally spattered...Exc...”

“What nonsense...God knows! What can I do for you?” said the general addressing the next petitioner.

“He won't speak,” thought Tchervyakov, turning pale; “that means that he is angry...No, it can't be left like this...I will explain to him.”

When the general had finished his conversation with the last of the petitioners and was turning towards his inner apartments, Tchervyakov took a step towards him and muttered:“Your Excellency! If I venture to trouble your Excellency, it is simply from a feeling I may say of regret! ...It was not intentional if you will graciously believe me.”

The general made a lachrymose face, and waved his hand.

“Why, you are simply making fun of me, sir,” he said as he closed the door behind him.

“Where's the making fun in it?” thought Tchervyakov, “there is nothing of the sort! He is a general, but he can't understand. If that is how it is I am not going to apologise to that fanfaron any more! The devil take him. I'll write a letter to him, but I won't go. By Jove, I won't.”

So thought Tchervyakov as he walked home; he did not write a letter to the general, he pondered and pondered and could not make up that letter. He had to go next day to explain in person.

“I ventured to disturb your Excellency yesterday,” he muttered, when the general lifted enquiring eyes upon him, “not to make fun as you were pleased to say. I was apologising for having spattered you in sneezing...And I did not dream of making fun of you. Should I dare to make fun of you? If we should take to making fun, then there would be no respect for your Excellency, there would be...”

“Get out!” yelled the general, turning suddenly purple, and shaking all over.

“What, your Excellency?” asked Tchervyakov, in a whisper turning numb with horror.

“Get out!” repeated the general, stamping.

Something seemed to give way in Tchervyakov's stomach. Seeing nothing and hearing nothing he reeled to the door, went out into the street, and went staggering along...Reaching home mechanically, without taking off his uniform, he lay down on the sofa and…died.

一个美好的夜晚，一位普通的政府小职员伊凡·德米特里奇·切尔维亚科夫，坐在剧院正厅前座的第二排，通过观剧镜观看《科尔涅维利的钟声》。他目不转睛，狂喜至极。但突然……故事里经常遇到“但突然”这种表达。作家们是对的：生活充满种种意外！但突然，他皱起脸，眼睛上翻，呼吸受阻……他从眼前拿开观剧镜，弯下腰……“阿嚏！！”你看到，他打了个喷嚏。无论什么地方，谁打喷嚏都不应该受到斥责。乡下人打喷嚏，警官打喷嚏，有时连枢密院官员也打喷嚏。所有人都打喷嚏。切尔维亚科夫毫不慌乱，用手帕擦了擦脸，而且像一位有礼貌的人那样，回头看看四周，看他打喷嚏是否打扰了什么人。但这时，他一下子慌乱起来。他看到，坐在他前面第一排的一位老先生一边用手套仔细擦他的秃头和脖子，一边咕哝着什么。切尔维亚科夫认出这位老先生是在交通厅任职的文官布里扎洛夫将军。

“我打喷嚏溅到了他身上，”切尔维亚科夫心里想，“尽管他不是我的上司，但这还是难堪。我必须道歉。”

切尔维亚科夫咳嗽了一声，整个身子都向前探去，在将军的耳边低声说：“大人，对不起，我打喷嚏不小心溅到了你身上……”

“没关系，没关系。”

“看在上帝的份上，原谅我，我……我不是有意的。”

“噢，请坐下！让我听戏！”

切尔维亚科夫局促不安，傻笑了一下，开始盯着舞台。他盯着舞台，但不再感到喜悦。他开始惶惑不安。幕间休息时，他走到布里扎洛夫面前，陪在他身边，克制住胆怯，咕哝道：“大人，我打喷嚏溅到了你身上……原谅我……你明白……我这样做不是……”

“噢，够了……我早已忘了，你还喋喋不休！”将军说着，不耐烦地动了动下嘴唇。

“他早已忘了，但他的眼神中有凶光，”切尔维亚科夫心里想，怀疑地看着将军。“他连话都不想说。我应该向他说明……我真的不是故意……这是自然规律，否则他会认为我是故意向他吐唾沫。他现在不这样想，以后会这样想的！”

到家后，切尔维亚科夫把自己的失态告诉了妻子。他深深感到妻子对于这件事的看法过于轻率；她先是有点害怕，但当得知布里扎洛夫是不同的部门时，她就打消了疑虑。

“尽管如此，但你最好还是去道歉，”她说，“否则他会认为你在公共场合不懂规矩。”

“说得对！我的确道过歉，但不知何故，他接受得很可疑……他没有说一句理性的话，当时确实没有时间谈。”

第二天，切尔维亚科夫穿上一身新制服，理了发，去找布里扎洛夫说明；走进将军的接待室，他看到里面有许多求见的人。将军也在里面，正开始接见他们。问过几个求见者后，将军抬眼看见了切尔维亚科夫。

“大人，昨天在阿卡迪亚戏院，要是你还记得的话，”切尔维亚科夫开口说道，“我打了个喷嚏，无意中溅了……请原……”

“胡说八道！……天知道！你有什么事？”将军对下一个求见者说。

“他不愿说，”切尔维亚科夫脸色变得苍白，心里想道，“那就是说他生气了……不，此事不能就这样……我要对他说明。”

当将军和最后一名求见者谈完话，正要转身朝里屋走去时，切尔维亚科夫向他迈近了一步，咕哝道：“大人！要是我斗胆打扰大人的话，可以说，这只是出于一种悔过之情！……请你一定大人大量相信我，那不是有意的。”

将军哭笑不得，挥了挥手。

“哎呀，你简直是在开玩笑，先生！”说着，他就在身后关上了门。

“这哪里是开玩笑？”切尔维亚科夫心里想，“绝不是这样！他是一位将军，却不明白。要真是这样的话，我再也不向这个大言不惭的人道歉了！让他见鬼去吧。我会给他写信，但我不会去了。天哪，我不会去了。”

切尔维亚科夫一边向家里走，一边这样想；他没有给将军写信。他想啊想，怎么也写不成那封信。他只好第二天亲自去说明。

“我昨天斗胆打扰过大人，”当将军抬起询问的目光看着他时，他咕哝道，“并不是像你喜欢说的，是要开玩笑。我是要道歉，为我打喷嚏时溅到了你身上……我绝没有开你玩笑的意思。我敢开你的玩笑吗？我们要是开玩笑，那将是对大人你的藐视，将是……”

“滚出去！”将军突然脸色发紫、浑身颤抖，大声吼道。

“什么，大人？”切尔维亚科夫吓得目瞪口呆，小声问道。

“滚出去！”将军跺着脚又说了一遍。

切尔维亚科夫感到肚子里什么东西好像没了。他什么也看不见，什么也听不见，蹒跚着走到门口，来到了街上，一路摇摇晃晃地走着……他动作机械地回到家里，没脱制服，躺倒在沙发上……死了。