So he gave a cough, bent respectfully forward, and whispered in the General's ear:
'Please excuse me, Your Excellency, for spattering you . . . it was quite unintentional . . .'
'That's all right, that's all right . ..'
'Please, please forgive me. 1-1 didn't mean to!'
'Oh do sit down, please, I can't hear the opera!'
Disconcerted by this, Kreepikov gave a stupidgrin, sat down, and began to watch the stage again. He watched, but no longer did he feel on top of the world. He began to feel pangs of worry. In the interval he went over to Shpritsalov, sidled along with him, and, conquering his timidity, stammered:
'I spattered you, Your Excellency . .. Please forgive me .. . 1- it wasn't that -'
'Oh for goodness' sake . . . I'd already forgotten, so why keep on about it!' said the General, and twitched his lower lip impatiently.
'Hm, he says he's forgotten,' thought Kreepikov, eyeing the Gen- eral mistrustfully, 'but looks as nasty as you make 'em. He won't even talk about it. I'll have to explain that I didn't want - that sneezing's a law of nature . .. Otherwise he may think I meant to spit at him. And if he doesn't now, he may later! . . .'
When he got home, Kreepikov told his wife about his breach of good manners. His wife, he felt, treated the incident much too lightly: at first she had quite a fright, but as soon as she learned that Shpritsalov was 'someone else's' chief, she calmed down again.
'Even so, you go along and apologise,' she said. 'Otherwise he'll think you don't know how to behave in public!'
'That's right! I did apologise to him, but he acted sort of strangely ... I couldn't get a word of sense out of him. There wasn't time to discuss it, either.'
Next day, Kreepikov put on his new uniform, had his hair trim- med, and went to Shpritsalov to explain ... As he entered the General's audience-room, he saw a throng of people there, and in their midst the General himself, who had just begun hearing peti- tions. After dealingwithseveral petitioners, the General looked up in Kreepikov's direction.
'Yesterday at the Arcadia Theatre, Your Excellency, if you recall,' the little clerk began his speech, 'I sneezed, sir, and - inadvertently spattered . . . Forg-'
'Drivel, sir! . . . You're wasting my time. Next!' said the General, turning to another petitioner.
'He won't even talk about it!' thought Kreepikov, going pale. 'He must be angry, then . .. No, I can't leave it at that ... I must explain to him . . .'
When the General had finished i nterviewing the last petitioner and was on his way back to the inner recesses of the department, Kreepikov strode after him and mumbled:
'Your Excellency! If I make so bold as to bother Your Excellency, it is only from a sense of- of deep repentance, so to speak! . . . I'm not doing it on purpose, sir, you must believe me!'
The General pulled an agonised face and brushed him aside.
'Are you trying to be funny, sir?' he said, and vanished behind a door.
'Funny?' thought Kreepikov. 'Of course I'm not trying to be funny! Calls himself a general and can't understand! Well, if he's going to be so snooty about it, I'm not going to apologise any more! To hell with him! I don't mind writing him a lener, but I'm not coming all the way over here again. Oh no!'
Such were Kreepikov's thoughts as he made his way home. He did not write to the General, though. He thought and thought, but just could not think what to say. So nextmorning he had to go to explain in person.
'Yesterday I came and disturbed Your Excellency,' he started stammering, when the General raised his eyes questioningly at him, 'not to try and be funny, as you so kindly put it. I came to apologise for sneezing and spattering you, sir - it never occurred to me to try and be funny. How could I dare to laugh?! If we all went about laughing at people, there'd be no respect for persons, er, left in the world -'
'Clear out!!' bellowed the General suddenly, turning purple and trembling with rage.
'Wha-what?' Kreepikov asked in a whisper, swooning with terror.
'Clear out!!' the General repeated, stamping his feet.
Something snapped in Kreepikov's stomach. Without seeing any- thing, without hearing anything, he staggered backwards to the door, reached the street, and wandered off ... He entered his home mechanically, without taking off his uniform lay down on the sofa, and . .. died.
An Incident at Law
The case occurred at a recent session of the N. district court.
In the dock was Sidor Felonovsky, resident of N., a fellow ofabout thirty, with restless gipsy fearures and shifty little eyes. He was accused of burglary, fraud and obtaining a false passport, and cou- pled with the latter was a further charge of impersonation. The case was being brought by the depury prosecutor. The name of his tribe is Legion. He's totally devoid of any special features or qualities that might make him popular or bring him huge fees: he's just average. He has a nasal voice, doesn't sound his k's properly, and is forever blowing his nose.
Whereas defending was a fantastically celebrated and popular advocate, known throughout the land, whose wonderful speeches are always being quoted, whose name is uttered in tones of awe . . .
The role that he plays at the end of cheap novels, where the hero is completely vindicated and the public bursts into applause, is not inconsiderable. In such novels he is given a surname derived from thunder, lightning and other equally awe-inspiring forces of nature.
When the deputy prosecutor had succeeded in proving that Felonovsky was guilty and deserved no mercy, when he had finished defining and persuading and said: 'The case for the prosecution rests' - then defence counsel rose to his feet. Everyone pricked up their ears. Dead silence reigned. Counsel began his speech . . . and in the public gallery their nerves ran riot! Sticking out his swarthy neck and cocking his head to one side, with eyes a-flashing and hand upraised, he poured his mellifluous magic into their expectant ears. His words plucked at their nerves as though he were playing the balalaika . .. Scarcely had he uttered a couple ofsentences than there was a loud sigh and a won:an had to be carried out ashen-faced. Only three minutes elapsed hefore the judge was obliged to reach over for his bell and ring three times for order. The red-nosed clerk of the court swivelled round on his chair and began to glare menacingly at the animated faces of the public. Eyes dilated, cheeks drained of colour, everyone craned forward in an agony of suspense to hear what he would say next . . . And need I describe what was happening to the ladies' hearts?!
'Gentlemen of the jury, you and I are human beings! Let us therefore judge as human beings!' said defence counsel in/er alia. 'Before appearing in front of you today, this human being had to endure the agony of six months on remand. For six months his wife has been deprived of the husband she cherishes so fondly, for six months his children's eyes have been wet with tears at the thought that their dear father was no longer beside them. Oh, if only you could see those children! They are starving because there is no one to feed them. They are crying because they are so deeply unhappy •.. Yes, look at them, look at them! See how they stretch their tiny arms towards you, imploring you to give them back their father! They are not here in person, but can you not picture them? (Pattse.) Six months on remand . . . Six . . . They put him in with thieves and murderers .. . a man like this! (Pattse.) One need only imagine the moral torment of that imprisonment, far from his wife and children, to ... But need I say more?!'
Sobs were heard in the gallery . . . A girl with a large brooch on her bosom had burst into tears. Then the little old lady next to her began snivelling.
Defence counsel went on and on . . . He tended to ignore the facts, concentrating more on the psychological aspect.
'Shall ! tell you what it means to know this man's soul? It means knowing a unique and individual world, a world full of varied impulses. I have made a study of that world, and I tell you frankly that as I did so, I felt I was studying Man for the first time ... I understood what Man is ... And every impulse of my client's soul convinces me that in him I have the honour of observing a perfect human being . ..'