CHAPTER 13
CHAPTER INDEX
CHAPTER 2
THE DOUBLE
CHAPTER 1
CHAPTER 2
CHAPTER 3
CHAPTER 4
CHAPTER 5
CHAPTER 6
CHAPTER 7
CHAPTER 8
CHAPTER 9
CHAPTER 10
CHAPTER 11
CHAPTER 12
CHAPTER 13
DOPPLEGANGER
William Wilson
Edgar Allan Poe
The Double
Foydor Dostoevsky
Dr. Jekyll & Mr. Hyde
Robert Louis Stephenson
THEORY
Dada Manifesto
Hugo Ball, 1916
Tristan Tzara, 1918
Surrealist Manifesto
Andre Breton, 1924
Andre Breton, 1925
Andre Breton, 1934
POETRY
My God
Nah Nah Nah
Themes of the Unknown
The Abstract & the Ambiguous
Drunken
RELIGION
Profits of Religion
Upton Sinclair
Young Goodman Brown
Nathaniel Hawthorne
The Blithedale Romance
Nathaniel Hawthorne
LOUISMARLOWE.COM
Chapter I
It was a little before eight o'clock in the morning when
Yakov Petrovitch Golyadkin, a titular councillor, woke up
from a long sleep. He yawned, stretched, and at last opened
his eyes completely. For two minutes, however, he lay in his
bed without moving, as though he were not yet quite certain
whether he were awake or still asleep, whether all that was
going on around him were real and actual, or the continuation
of his confused dreams. Very soon, however, Mr.
Golyadkin's senses began more clearly and more distinctly to
receive their habitual and everyday impressions. The dirty
green, smoke-begrimed, dusty walls of his little room, with
the mahogany chest of drawers and chairs, the table painted
red, the sofa covered with American leather of a reddish
colour with little green flowers on it, and the clothes taken
off in haste overnight and flung in a crumpled heap on the
sofa, looked at him familiarly. At last the damp autumn day,
muggy and dirty, peeped into the room through the dingy
window pane with such a hostile, sour grimace that Mr.
Golyadkin could not possibly doubt that he was not in the
land of Nod, but in the city of Petersburg, in his own flat on
the fourth storey of a huge block of buildings in
Shestilavotchny Street. When he had made this important
discovery Mr. Golyadkin nervously closed his eyes, as
though regretting his dream and wanting to go back to it for
a moment. But a minute later he leapt out of bed at one
bound, probably all at once, grasping the idea about which
his scattered and wandering thoughts had been revolving.
From his bed he ran straight to a little round looking-glass
that stood on his chest of drawers. Though the sleepy,
short-sighted countenance and rather bald head reflected in
the looking-glass were of such an insignificant type that at
first sight they would certainly not have attracted particular
attention in any one, yet the owner of the countenance was
satisfied with all that he saw in the looking-glass. "What a
thing it would be," said Mr. Golyadkin in an undertone,
"what a thing it would be if I were not up to the mark today,
if something were amiss, if some intrusive pimple had made
its appearance, or anything else unpleasant had happened; so
far, however, there's nothing wrong, so far everything's all
right."
Greatly relieved that everything was all right, Mr
Golyadkin put the looking-glass back in its place and,
although he had nothing on his feet and was still in the attire
in which he was accustomed to go to bed, he ran to the little
window and with great interest began looking for something
in the courtyard, upon which the windows of his flat looked
out. Apparently what he was looking for in the yard quite
satisfied him too; his face beamed with a self-satisfied smile.
Then, after first peeping, however, behind the partition into
his valet Petrushka's little room and making sure that
Petrushka was not there, he went on tiptoe to the table,
opened the drawer in it and, fumbling in the furthest corner
of it, he took from under old yellow papers and all sorts of
rubbish a shabby green pocket-book, opened it cautiously,
and with care and relish peeped into the furthest and most
hidden fold of it. Probably the roll of green, grey, blue, red
and particoloured notes looked at Golyadkin, too, with
approval: with a radiant face he laid the open pocket-book
before him and rubber his hands vigorously in token of the
greatest satisfaction. Finally, he took it out - his comforting
roll of notes - and, for the hundredth time since the previous
day, counted them over, carefully smoothing out every note
between his forefinger and his thumb.
"Seven hundred and fifty roubles in notes," he concluded
at last, in a half-whisper. "Seven hundred and fifty roubles,
a noteworthy sum! It's an agreeable sum," he went on, in a
voice weak and trembling with gratification, as he pinched
the roll with his fingers and smiled significantly; "it's a very
agreeable sum! A sum agreeable to any one! I should like
to see the man to whom that would be a trivial sum! There's
no knowing what a man might not do with a sum like that. .
. . What's the meaning of it, though?" thought Mr.
Golyadkin; "where's Petrushka?" And still in the same attire
he peeped behind the partition again. Again there was no
sign of Petrushka; and the samovar standing on the floor was
beside itself, fuming and raging in solitude, threatening every
minute to boil over, hissing and lisping in its mysterious
language, to Mr. Golyadkin something like, "Take me, good
people, I'm boiling and perfectly ready."
"Damn the fellow," thought Mr. Golyadkin. "That lazy
brute might really drive a man out of all patience; where's he
dawdling now?"
In just indignation he went out into the hall, which
consisted of a little corridor at the end of which was a door
into the entry, and saw his servant surrounded by a
good-sized group of lackeys of all sorts, a mixed rabble from
outside as well as from the flats of the house. Petrushka was
telling something, the others were listening. Apparently the
subject of the conversation, or the conversation itself, did not
please Mr. Golyadkin. He promptly called Petrushka and
returned to his room, displeased and even upset. "That beast
would sell a man for a halfpenny, and his master before any
one," he thought to himself: "and he has sold me, he certainly
has. I bet he has sold me for a farthing. Well?"
"They've brought the livery, sir."
"Put it on, and come here."
When he had put on his livery, Petrushka, with a stupid
smile on his face, went in to his master. His costume was
incredibly strange. He had on a much-worn green livery,
with frayed gold braid on it, apparently made for a man a
yard taller than Petrushka. In his hand he had a hat trimmed
with the same gold braid and with a feather in it, and at his
hip hung a footman's sword in a leather sheath. Finally, to
complete the picture, Petrushka, who always liked to be in
neglig‚, was barefooted. Mr. Golyadkin looked at Petrushka
from all sides and was apparently satisfied. The livery had
evidently been hired for some solemn occasion. It might be
observed, too, that during his master's inspection Petrushka
watched him with strange expectance and with marked
curiosity followed every movement he made, which
extremely embarrassed Mr. Golyadkin.
"Well, and how about the carriage?"
"The carriage is here too."
"For the whole day?"
"For the whole day. Twenty five roubles."
"And have the boots been sent?"
"Yes."
"Dolt! can't even say, 'yes, sir.' Bring them here."
Expressing his satisfaction that the boots fitted, Mr.
Golyadkin asked for his tea, and for water to wash and shave.
He shaved with great care and washed as scrupulously,
hurriedly sipped his tea and proceeded to the principal final
process of attiring himself: he put on an almost new pair of
trousers; then a shirtfront with brass studs, and a very bright
and agreeably flowered waistcoat; about his neck he tied a
gay, particoloured cravat, and finally drew on his coat, which
was also newish and carefully brushed. As he dressed, he
more than once looked lovingly at his boots, lifted up first
one leg and then the other, admired their shape, kept
muttering something to himself, and from time to time made
expressive grimaces. Mr. Golyadkin was, however,
extremely absent-minded that morning, for he scarcely
noticed the little smiles and grimaces made at his expanse by
Petrushka, who was helping him dress. At last, having
arranged everything properly and having finished dressing,
Mr. Golyadkin put his pocket-book in his pocket, took a final
admiring look at Petrushka, who had put on his boots and
was therefore also quite ready, and, noticing that everything
was done and that there was nothing left to wait for, he ran
hurriedly and fussily out on to the stairs, with a slight
throbbing at his heart. the light-blue hired carriage with a
crest on it rolled noisily up to the steps. Petrushka, winking
to the driver and some of the gaping crowd, helped his
master into the carriage; and hardly able to suppress an
idiotic laugh, shouted in an unnatural voice: "Off!" jumped
up on the footboard, and the whole turnout, clattering and
rumbling noisily, rolled into the Nevsky Prospect. As soon
as the light-blue carriage dashed out of the gate, Mr.
Golyadkin rubbed his hands convulsively and went off into
a slow, noiseless chuckle, like a jubilant man who has
succeeded in bringing off a splendid performance and is as
pleased as Punch with the performance himself. Immediately
after his access of gaiety, however, laughter was replaced by
a strange and anxious expression on the face of Mr.
Golyadkin. Though the weather was damp and muggy, he let
down both windows of the carriage and began carefully
scrutinizing the passers-by to left and to right, at once
assuming a decorous and sedate air when he thought any one
was looking at him. At the turning from Liteyny Street into
the Nevsky Prospect he was startled by a most unpleasant
sensation and, frowning like some poor wretch whose corn
has been accidentally trodden on, he huddled with almost
panic-stricken hast into the darkest corner of his carriage.
He had seen two of his colleagues, two young clerks
serving in the same government department. The young
clerks were also, it seemed to Mr. Golyadkin, extremely
amazed at meeting their colleague in such a way; one of
them, in fact, pointed him out to the other. Mr. Golyadkin
even fancied that the other had actually called his name,
which, of course, was very unseemly in the street. Our hero
concealed himself and did not respond. "The silly
youngsters!" he began reflecting to himself. "Why, what is
there strange in it? A man in a carriage, a man needs to be in
a carriage, and so he hires a carriage. They're simply
noodles! I know them - simply silly youngsters, who still
need thrashing! They want to be paid a salary for playing
pitch-farthing and dawdling about, that's all they're fit for.
It'd let them all know, if only . . ."
Mr. Golyadkin broke off suddenly, petrified. A smart pair
of Kazan horses, very familiar to Mr. Golyadkin, in a
fashionable droshky, drove rapidly by on the right side of his
carriage. The gentleman sitting in the droshky, happening to
catch a glimpse of Mr. Golyadkin, who was rather
incautiously poking his head out of the carriage window, also
appeared to be extremely astonished at the unexpected
meeting and, bending out as far as he could, looked with the
greatest of curiosity and interest into the corner of the
carriage in which our hero made haste to conceal himself.
The gentleman in the droshky was Andrey Filippovitch, the
head of the office in which Mr. Golyadkin served in the
capacity of assistant to the chief clerk. Mr. Golyadkin,
seeing that Andrey Filippovitch recognized him, that he was
looking at him open-eyed and that it was impossible to hide,
blushed up to her ears.
"Bow or not? Call back or not? Recognize him or not?"
our hero wondered in indescribable anguish, "or pretend that
I am not myself, but somebody else strikingly like me, and
look as though nothing were the matter. Simply not I, not I
- and that's all," said Mr. Golyadkin, taking off his hat to
Andrey Filippovitch and keeping his eyes fixed upon him.
"I'm . . . I'm all right," he whispered with an effort; "I'm . . .
quite all right. It's not I, it's not I - and that is the fact of the
matter."
Soon, however, the droshky passed the carriage, and the
magnetism of his chief's eyes was at an end. Yet he went on
blushing, smiling and muttering something to himself. . .
"I was a fool not to call back," he thought at last. "I ought
to have taken a bolder line and behaved with gentlemanly
openness. I ought to have said 'This is how it is, Andrey
Filippovitch, I'm asked to the dinner too,' and that's all it is!"
Then, suddenly recalling how taken aback he had been,
our hero flushed as hot as fire, frowned, and cast a terrible
defiant glance at the front corner of the carriage, a glance
calculated to reduce all his foes to ashes. At last, he was
suddenly inspired to pull the cord attached to the driver's
elbow, and stopped the carriage, telling him to drive back to
Liteyny Street. The fact was, it was urgently necessary for
Mr. Golyadkin, probably for the sake of his own peace of
mind, to say something very interesting to his doctor,
Krestyan Ivanovitch. And, though he had made Krestyan
Ivanovitch's acquaintance quite recently, having, indeed, only
paid him a single visit, and that one the previous week, to
consult him about some symptom. but a doctor, as they say,
is like a priest, and it would be stupid for him to keep out of
sight, and, indeed, it was his duty to know his patients. "Will
it be all right, though," our hero went on, getting out of the
carriage at the door of a five-storey house in Liteyny Street,
at which he had told the driver to stop the carriage: "Will it
be all right? Will it be proper? Will it be appropriate? After
all, though," he went on, thinking as he mounted the stairs
out of breath and trying to suppress that beating of his heart,
which had the habit of beating on all other people's
staircases: "After all, it's on my own business and there's
nothing reprehensible in it. . . . It would be stupid to keep out
of sight. Why, of course, I shall behave as though I were
quite all right, and have simply looked in as I passed. . . . He
will see, that it's all just as it should be."
Reasoning like this, Mr. Golyadkin mounted to the second
storey and stopped before flat number five, on which there
was a handsome brass door-plate with the inscription -
KRESTYAN IVANOVITCH RUTENSPITZ
Doctor of Medicine and Surgery
Stopping at the door, our hero made haste to assume an air
of propriety, ease, and even of a certain affability, and
prepared to pull the bell. As he was about to do so he
promptly and rather appropriately reflected that it might be
better to come to-morrow, and that it was not very pressing
for the moment. But as he suddenly heard footsteps on the
stairs, he immediately changed his mind again and at once
rang Krestyan Ivanovitch's bell - with an air, moreover, of
great determination.