一個美好的晚上，一位心情美好的庶務官伊凡·德米特里·切爾維亞科夫，坐在劇院第二排座椅上，正拿著望遠鏡觀看輕歌劇《科爾涅維利的鐘聲》 １。他看著演出，感到無比幸福。但突然間……小說里經常出現這個“但突然間”。作家們是對的：生活中确實充滿了种种意外事件。但突然間，他的臉皺起來，眼 睛往上翻，呼吸停住了……他放下望遠鏡，低下頭，便……阿嚏一聲！！！他打了個噴嚏，你們瞧。無論何時何地，誰打噴嚏都是不能禁止的。庄稼漢打噴嚏，警長 打噴嚏，有時連達官貴人也在所難免。人人都打噴嚏。切爾維亞科夫毫不慌張，掏出小手絹擦擦臉，而且像一位講禮貌的人那樣，舉目看看四周：他的噴嚏是否濺著 什么人了？但這時他不由得慌張起來。他看到，坐在他前面第一排座椅上的一個小老頭，正用手套使勁擦他的禿頭和脖子，嘴里還嘟噥著什么。切爾維亞科夫認出這 人是三品文官布里扎洛夫將軍，他在交通部門任職。
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１法國作曲家普朗蓋特（一八四七－一九０三）作的輕歌劇。
“我的噴嚏濺著他了！”切爾維亞科夫心想，“他雖說不是我的上司，是別的部門的，不過這總不妥當。應當向他賠個不是才對。”
切爾維亞科夫咳嗽一聲，身子探向前去，湊著將軍的耳朵小聲說：
“務請大人原諒，我的唾沫星子濺著您了……我出于無心……”
“沒什么，沒什么……”
“看在上帝份上，請您原諒。要知道我……我不是有意的……”
“哎，請坐下吧！讓人听嘛！”
切爾維亞科夫心慌意亂了，他傻笑一下，開始望著舞台。他看著演出，但已不再感到幸福。他開始惶惶不安起來。幕間休息時，他走到布里扎洛夫跟前，在他身邊走來走去，終于克制住膽怯心情，囁嚅道：
“我濺著您了，大人……務請寬恕……要知道我……我不是有意的……”
“哎，夠了！……我已經忘了，您怎么老提它呢！”將軍說完，不耐煩地撇了撇下嘴唇。
“他說忘了，可是他那眼神多凶！”切爾維亞科夫暗想，不時怀疑地瞧他一眼。“連話都不想說了。應當向他解釋清楚，我完全是無意的……這是自然規律……否則他會認為我故意啐他。他現在不這么想，過后肯定會這么想的！……”
回家后，切爾維亞科夫把自己的失態告訴了妻子。他覺得妻子對發生的事過于輕率。她先是嚇著了，但后來听說布里扎洛夫是“別的部門的”，也就放心了。
“不過你還是去一趟賠禮道歉的好，”她說，“他會認為你在公共場合舉止不當！”
“說得對呀！剛才我道歉過了，可是他有點古怪……一句中听的話也沒說。再者也沒有時間細談。”
第二天，切爾維亞科夫穿上新制服，刮了臉，去找布里扎洛夫解釋……走進將軍的接待室，他看到里面有許多請求接見的人。將軍也在其中，他已經開始接見了。詢問過几人后，將軍抬眼望著切爾維亞科夫。
“昨天在‘阿爾卡吉亞’１劇場，倘若大人還記得的話，”庶務官開始報告，“我打了一個噴嚏，無意中濺了……務請您原……”
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１古希腊一個洲，居民以牧羊力業。喻：安樂之邦。
“什么廢話！……天知道怎么回事！”將軍扭過臉，對下一名來訪者說：“您有什么事？”
“他不想說！”切爾維亞科夫臉色煞白，心里想道，“看來他生气了……不行，這事不能這樣放下……我要跟他解釋清楚……”
當將軍接見完最后一名來訪首，正要返回內室時，切爾維亞科夫一步跟上去，又開始囁嚅道：
“大人！倘若在下膽敢打攪大人的話，那么可以說，只是出于一种悔過的心情……我不是有意的，務請您諒解，大人！”
將軍做出一副哭喪臉，揮一下手。
“您簡直開玩笑，先生！”將軍說完，進門不見了。
“這怎么是開玩笑？”切爾維亞科夫想，“根本不是開玩笑！身為將軍，卻不明事理！既然這樣，我再也不向這個好擺架子的人賠不是了！去他的！我給他寫封信，再也不來了！真的，再也不來了！”
切爾維亞科夫這么思量著回到家里。可是給將軍的信卻沒有寫成。想來想去，怎么也想不出這信該怎么寫。只好次日又去向將軍本人解釋。
“我昨天來打攪了大人，”當將軍向他抬起疑問的目光，他開始囁嚅道，“我不是如您講的來開玩笑的。我來是向您賠禮道歉，因為我打噴嚏時濺著您 了，大人……說到開玩笑，我可從來沒有想過。在下膽敢開玩笑嗎？倘若我們真開玩笑，那樣的話，就絲毫談不上對大人的敬重了……談不上……”
“滾出去！！”忽然間，臉色發青、渾身打顫的將軍大喝一聲。
“什么，大人？”切爾維亞科夫小聲問道，他嚇呆了。
“滾出去！！”將軍頓著腳，又喊了一聲。
切爾維亞科夫感到肚子里什么東西碎了。什么也看不見，什么也听不著，他一步一步退到門口。他來到街上，步履艱難地走著……他懵懵懂懂地回到家里，沒脫制服，就倒在長沙發上，后來就……死了。
一八八三年七月二日
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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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