The Death of a Government Clerk

"The Death of a Government Clerk" is a short story by Anton Pavlovich Chekhov that explores themes of bureaucracy and human insignificance. It tells the tale of Ivan Dmitrievich Cherviakov, a low-level government clerk who accidentally sneezes on a high-ranking official during a theater performance. Overwhelmed with guilt and anxiety about the incident, Cherviakov becomes consumed by his fear of the official's wrath, leading to a tragicomic series of events. Chekhov's sharp wit and keen observations illuminate the absurdities of social hierarchies and the trivialities of human concern in the face of life's inevitabilities.

								
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 disappeared, 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. . . . It's beyond anything! 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 persons, there would be. . . ."

"Be off!" yelled the general, turning suddenly purple, and shaking all
over.

"What?" asked Tchervyakov, in a whisper turning numb with horror.

"Be off!" 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.
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