The Death of a Government Clerk
I am fascinated by this wonderful story by Anton Chekhov. This incredible story will teach us not to worry so much about what others think.
Little mistakes can seem like big problems to us. Sometimes, we feel guilty even when we haven’t done anything wrong because we fear what others might think.
This beautiful story shows how overthinking and worrying about pleasing others can cause more harm than the mistake itself.
It teaches that moving on is okay, as holding onto guilt for too long can lead to stress and sadness.
One fine evening, Ivan Dmitritch Tchervyakov, a government clerk, was sitting in the second row of the theatre. The electricity was on, and “The Cloches de Corneville” played on stage.
Ivan was holding an opera glass to his eyes, fixating on the stage. He was so happy; all he felt in his heart was joy. Nothing, at that moment, seemed destined to mar his happiness.
But life often surprises us when we least expect it. Suddenly, Ivan’s face twisted in discomfort.
His eyes squeezed shut, his breath caught in his throat, and without any warning, he sneezed loudly: “Aptchee!!” The sound echoed slightly in the quiet hall.
Now, sneezing is nothing unusual. Everyone sneezes—peasants, police officers, even essential officials.
It’s a natural thing. Ivan wasn’t embarrassed at first. He wiped his face with a handkerchief and, being polite, looked around to see if he had disturbed anyone.
Then he noticed something that made his heart sink.
The man sitting directly in front of him was carefully wiping his bald head and the back of his neck with a glove. The man seemed annoyed, muttering something under his breath. Ivan’s heart raced as he recognised the man.
It was General Brizzhalov, a high-ranking officer in the Department of Transport.
Ivan felt a wave of panic. I sneezed on him! he thought. He’s not my boss, but still… it’s so awkward. I must apologize.
He leaned forward, cleared his throat nervously, and whispered, “Pardon me, Your Excellency. I accidentally spattered you…”
The general replied without much concern, “Never mind, never mind.”
But Ivan felt uneasy. “Please forgive me, sir. I truly didn’t mean to,” he added.
“Oh, please, sit down! Let me watch the performance,” the general replied, a little impatiently.
Ivan sat back, but the joy he felt earlier was gone. His mind kept spinning with worry. Why did he respond like that? Was he annoyed? Did he think I was disrespectful?
When the show ended, Ivan couldn’t shake the feeling of guilt. During the intermission, he approached General Brizzhalov again. He gathered his courage and said, “I spattered you, Your Excellency. Please forgive me. It was an accident.”
The general frowned slightly and replied, “I’ve already forgotten about it. Why do you keep bringing it up?”
But Ivan wasn’t convinced. He says he’s forgotten, but what if he hasn’t? Ivan thought. Maybe he’s secretly angry. What if he thinks I did it on purpose? I should explain again…
When Ivan got home, he told his wife everything. She was mildly concerned but reassured him when she learned the general wasn’t from his department.
“Still,” she said, “you should go and apologize again. Just to be polite. It’s better that way.”
The next day, Ivan dressed in his best uniform, combed his hair neatly, and went to the general’s office. The reception room was busy with people waiting to meet the general. After a while, the general glanced at Ivan.
Ivan cleared his throat and started, “Your Excellency, yesterday at the theater, I sneezed and accidentally…”
The general interrupted, annoyed. “What nonsense! What do you want from me?” He then turned to the next person in line.
Ivan felt his face turn pale. He’s definitely angry, Ivan thought. I must explain better. He waited until the general finished speaking with others. As the general turned to leave, Ivan rushed forward.
“Your Excellency,” he muttered, his voice trembling, “I just wanted to say, I truly regret what happened. It was not intentional. Please believe me.”
The general looked even more frustrated. He waved his hand dismissively and said, “You’re making fun of me, aren’t you?” Then he slammed the door shut behind him.
Ivan stood there, stunned. Making fun of him? he thought. How could he think that? I wasn’t making fun of him at all! He doesn’t understand. I should write a letter instead.
But when he got home, Ivan couldn’t find the words to write. The thoughts swirled in his head like a storm. He felt trapped.
The next day, he went back to the general’s office.
“Your Excellency,” he began weakly, his heart pounding, “I didn’t mean to make fun of you.
I was just apologizing for sneezing on you. I never dreamed of disrespecting you. If people start mocking each other, where would respect go?”
The general, now furious, snapped, “Get out of here!” He stomped his foot hard.
Ivan felt something collapse inside him. His chest tightened, his head spun.
Without another word, he stumbled out of the office, his legs weak and shaky.
He wandered home, not seeing the streets or hearing the sounds around him.
When he reached home, he didn’t take off his uniform. He lay down on the sofa, his heart heavy with despair. And there, quietly, he died.
