One fine evening, a no less fine government clerk called Ivan 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 . . . but does not sneeze. He stares directly at the Authority in front of him, where he is naked. He is crushed in front of him without disturbing anyone. Cruelly but shamelessly, he dies on the spot.
