CHAPTER 1
CHAPTER INDEX
CHAPTER 3
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 II
The doctor of medicine and surgery, Krestyan Ivanovitch
Rutenspitz, a very hale though elderly man, with thick
eyebrows and whiskers that were beginning to turn grey,
eyes with an expressive gleam in them that looked capable of
routing every disease, and, lastly, with orders of some
distinction on his breast, was sitting in his consulting-room
that morning in his comfortable armchair. He was drinking
coffee, which his wife had brought him with her own hand,
smoking a cigar and from time to time writing prescriptions
for his patients. After prescribing a draught for an old man
who was suffering from haemorrhoids and seeing the aged
patient out by the side door, Krestyan Ivanovitch sat down to
await the next visitor.
Mr. Golyadkin walked in.
Apparently Krestyan Ivanovitch did not in the least expect
nor desire to see Mr. Golyadkin, for he was suddenly taken
aback for a moment, and his countenance unconsciously
assumed a strange and, one may almost say, a displeased
expression. As Mr. Golyadkin almost always turned up
inappropriately and was thrown into confusion whenever he
approached any one about his own little affairs, on this
occasion, too, he was desperately embarrassed. Having
neglected to get ready his first sentence, which was
invariably a stumbling-block for him on such occasions, he
muttered something - apparently an apology - and, not
knowing what to do next, took a chair and sat down, but,
realizing that he had sat down without being asked to do so,
he was immediately conscious of his lapse, and made haste
to efface his offence against etiquette and good breeding by
promptly getting up again from the seat he had taken
uninvited. Then, on second thoughts, dimly perceiving that
he had committed two stupid blunders at once, he
immediately decided to commit a third - that is, tried to right
himself, muttered something, smiled, blushed, was overcome
with embarrassment, sank into expressive silence, and finally
sat down for good and did not get up again. Only, to protect
himself from all contingencies, he looked at the doctor with
that defiant glare which had an extraordinary power of
figuratively crushing Mr. Golyadkin's enemies and reducing
them to ashes. This glance, moreover, expressed to the full
Mr. Golyadkin's independence - that is, to speak plainly, the
fat that Mr. Golyadkin was "all right," that he was "quite
himself, like everybody else," and that there was "nothing
wrong in his upper storey." Krestyan Ivanovitch coughed,
cleared his throat, apparently in token of approval and assent
to all this, and bent an inquisitorial interrogative gaze upon
his visitor.
"I have come to trouble you a second time, Krestyan
Ivanovitch," began Mr. Golyadkin, with a smile, "and now I
venture to ask your indulgence a second time. . . ." He was
obviously at a loss for words.
"H'm . . . Yes!" pronounced Krestyan Ivanovitch, puffing
out a spiral of smoke and putting down his cigar on the table,
"but you must follow the treatment prescribed to you; I
explained to you that what would be beneficial to your health
is a change of habits. . . . Entertainment, for instance, and,
well, friends - you should visit your acquaintances, and not
be hostile to the bottle; and likewise keep cheerful company."
Mr. Golyadkin, still smiling, hastened to observe that he
thought he was like every one else, that he lived by himself,
that he had entertainments like every one else . . . that, of
course, he might go to the theatre, for he had the means like
every one else, that he spent the day at the office and the
evenings at home, that he was quite all right; he even
observed, in passing, that he was, so far as he could see, as
good as any one, that he lived at home, and finally, that he
had Petrushka. At this point Mr. Golyadkin hesitated.
"H'm! no, that is not the order of proceeding that I want;
and that is not at all what I would ask you. I am interested to
know, in general, are you a great lover of cheerful company?
Do you take advantages of festive occasions; and well, do
you lead a melancholy or cheerful manner of life?"
"Krestyan Ivanovitch, I . . ."
"H'm! . . . I tell you," interrupted the doctor, "that you
must have a radical change of life, must, in a certain sense,
break in your character." (Krestyan Ivanovitch laid special
stress on the word "break in," and paused for a moment with
a very significant air.) "Must not shrink from gaiety, must
visit entertainments and clubs, and in any case, be not hostile
to the bottle. Sitting at home is not right for you . . . sitting
at home is impossible for you."
"I like quiet, Krestyan Ivanovitch," said Mr. Golyadkin,
with a significant look at the doctor and evidently seeking
words to express his ideas more successfully: "In my flat
there's only me and Petrushka. . . . I mean my man, Krestyan
Ivanovitch. I mean to say, Krestyan Ivanovitch, that I go my
way, my own way, Krestyan Ivanovitch. I keep myself to
myself, and so far as I can see am not dependent on any one.
I go out for walks, too, Krestyan Ivanovitch."
"What? Yes! well, nowadays there's nothing agreeable in
walking: the climate's extremely bad."
"Quite so, Krestyan Ivanovitch. Though I'm a peaceable
man, Krestyan Ivanovitch, as I've had the honour of
explaining to you already, yet my way lies apart, Krestyan
Ivanovitch. The ways of life are manifold . . . I mean . . . I
mean to say, Krestyan Ivanovitch. . . . Excuse me, Krestyan
Ivanovitch, I've no great gift for eloquent speaking."
"H'm . . . you say . . ."
"I say, you must excuse me, Krestyan Ivanovitch, that as
far as I can see I am no great hand at eloquence in speaking,"
Mr. Golyadkin articulated, stammering and hesitating, in a
half-aggrieved voice. "In that respect, Krestyan Ivanovitch,
I'm not quite like other people," he added, with a peculiar
smile, "I can't talk much, and have never learnt to embellish
my speech with literary graces. On the other hand, I cat,
Krestyan Ivanovitch; on the other hand, I act, Krestyan
Ivanovitch."
"H'm . . . How's that . . . you act?" responded Krestyan
Ivanovitch.
Then silence followed for half a minute. The doctor
looked somewhat strangely and mistrustfully at his visitor.
Mr. Golyadkin, for his part, too, stole a rather mistrustful
glance at the doctor.
"Krestyan Ivanovitch," he began, going on again in the
same tone as before, somewhat irritated and puzzled by the
doctors extreme obstinacy: "I like tranquillity and not the
noisy gaiety of the world. Among them, I mean, in the noisy
world, Krestyan Ivanovitch one must be able to polish the
floor with one's boots . . ." (here Mr. Golyadkin made a slight
scrape on the floor with his toe); "they expect it, and they
expect puns too . . . one must know how to make a perfumed
compliment . . . that's what they expect there. And I've not
learnt to do it, Krestyan Ivanovitch, I've never learnt all those
tricks, I've never had the time. I'm a simple person, and not
ingenious, and I've no external polish. On that side I
surrender, Krestyan Ivanovitch, I lay down my arms,
speaking in that sense."
All this Mr. Golyadkin pronounced with an air which
made it perfectly clear that our hero was far from regretting
that he was laying down his arms in that sense and that he
had not learnt these tricks; quite the contrary, indeed. As
Krestyan Ivanovitch listened to him, he looked down with a
very unpleasant grimace on his face, seeming to have a
presentiment of something. Mr. Golyadkin's tirade was
followed by a rather long and significant silence.
"You have, I think, departed a little from the subject,"
Krestyan Ivanovitch said at last, in a low voice: "I confess I
cannot altogether understand you."
"I'm not a great hand at eloquent speaking, Krestyan
Ivanovitch; I've had the honour to inform you, Krestyan
Ivanovitch, already," said Mr. Golyadkin, speaking this time
in a sharp and resolute tone.
"H'm!" . . .
"Krestyan Ivanovitch!" began Mr. Golyadkin again in a
low but more significant voice in a somewhat solemn style
and emphasizing every point: "Krestyan Ivanovitch, when I
came in here I began with apologies. I repeat the same thing
again, and again ask for your indulgence. There's no need
for me to conceal it, Krestyan Ivanovitch. I'm an
unimportant man, as you know; but fortunately for me, I do
not regret being an unimportant man. Quite the contrary,
indeed, Krestyan Ivanovitch, and, to be perfectly frank, I'm
proud that I'm not a great man but an unimportant man. I'm
not one to intrigue and I'm proud of that too, I don't act on
the sly, but openly, without cunning, and although I could do
harm too, and a great deal of harm, indeed, and know to
whom and how to do it, Krestyan Ivanovitch, yet I won't
sully myself, and in that sense I was my hands. In that sense,
I say, I wash them, Krestyan Ivanovitch!" Mr. Golyadkin
paused expressively for a moment; he spoke with mild
fervour.
"I set to work, Krestyan Ivanovitch," our hero continued,
"directly, openly, by no devious ways, for I disdain them, and
leave them to others. I do not try to degrade those who are
perhaps purer than you and I . . . that is, I mean, I and they,
Krestyan Ivanovitch - I didn't mean you. I don't like
insinuations; I've no taste for contemptible duplicity; I'm
disgusted by slander and calumny. I only put on a mask at a
masquerade, and don't wear one before people every day. I
only ask you, Krestyan Ivanovitch, how you would revenge
yourself upon your enemy, your most malignant enemy - the
one you would consider such?" Mr. Golyadkin concluded
with a challenging glance at Krestyan Ivanovitch.
Though Mr. Golyadkin pronounced this with the utmost
distinctness and clearness, weighing his words with a
self-confident air and reckoning on their probable effect, yet
meanwhile he looked at Krestyan Ivanovitch with anxiety,
with great anxiety, with extreme anxiety. Now he was all
eyes: and timidly waited for the doctor's answer with irritable
and agonized impatience. But to the perplexity and complete
amazement of our hero, Krestyan Ivanovitch only muttered
something to himself; then he moved his armchair up to the
table, and rather drily though politely announced something
to the effect that his time was precious, and that he did not
quite understand; that he was ready, however, to attend to
him as far as he was able, but he wold not go into anything
further that did not concern him. At this point he took the
pen, drew a piece of paper towards him, cut out of it the
usual long strip, and announced that he would immediately
prescribe what was necessary.
"No, it's not necessary, Krestyan Ivanovitch! No, that's
not necessary at all!" said Mr. Golyadkin, getting up from his
seat, and clutching Krestyan Ivanovitch's right hand. "That
isn't what's wanted, Krestyan Ivanovitch."
And, while he said this, a queer change came over him.
His grey eyes gleamed strangely, his lips began to quiver, all
the muscles, all the features of his face began moving and
working. He was trembling all over. After stopping the
doctor's hand, Mr. Golyadkin followed his first movement by
standing motionless, as though he had no confidence in
himself and were waiting for some inspiration for further
action.
Then followed a rather strange scene.
Somewhat perplexed, Krestyan Ivanovitch seemed for a
moment rooted to his chair and gazed open-eyed in
bewilderment at Mr. Golyadkin, who looked at him in
exactly the same way. At last Krestyan Ivanovitch stood up,
gently holding the lining of Mr. Golyadkin's coat. For some
seconds they both stood like that, motionless, with their eyes
fixed on each other. Then, however, in an extraordinarily
strange way came Mr. Golyadkin's second movement. His
lips trembled, his chin began twitching, and our hero quite
unexpectedly burst into tears. Sobbing, shaking his head and
striking himself on the chest with his right hand, while with
his left clutching the lining of the doctor's coat, he tried to
say something and to make some explanation but could not
utter a word.
At last Krestyan Ivanovitch recovered from his
amazement.
"Come, calm yourself!" he brought out at last, trying to
make Mr. Golyadkin sit down in an armchair.
"I have enemies, Krestyan Ivanovitch, I have enemies; I
have malignant enemies who have sworn to ruin me . . ." Mr
Golyadkin answered in a frightened whisper.
"Come, come, why enemies? you mustn't talk about
enemies! You really mustn't. Sit down, sit down," Krestyan
Ivanovitch went on, getting Mr. Golyadkin once and for all
into the armchair.
Mr. Golyadkin sat down at last, still keeping his eyes fixed
on the doctor. With an extremely displeased air, Krestyan
Ivanovitch strode from one end of the room to another. A
long silence followed.
"I'm grateful to you, Krestyan Ivanovitch, I'm very
grateful, and I'm very sensible of all you've done for me now.
To my dying day I shall never forget your kindness,
Krestyan Ivanovitch," said Mr. Golyadkin, getting up from
his seat with an offended air.
"Come, give over! I tell you, give over!" Krestyan
Ivanovitch responded rather sternly to Mr. Golyadkin's
outburst, making him sit down again.
"Well , what's the matter? Tell me what is unpleasant,"
Krestyan Ivanovitch went on, "and what enemies are you
talking about? What is wrong?"
"No, Krestyan Ivanovitch we'd better leave that now,"
answered Mr. Golyadkin, casting down his eyes; "let us put
all that aside for the time. . . . Till another time, Krestyan
Ivanovitch, till a more convenient moment, when everything
will be discovered and the mask falls off certain faces, and
something comes to light. But, meanwhile, now, of course,
after what has passed between us . . . you will agree yourself,
Krestyan Ivanovitch. . . . Allow me to wish you good
morning, Krestyan Ivanovitch," said Mr. Golyadkin, getting
up gravely and resolutely and taking his hat.
"Oh, well . . . as you like . . . h'm . . ." (A moment of
silence followed.) "For my part, you know . . . whatever I
can do . . . and I sincerely wish you well."
"I understand you, Krestyan Ivanovitch, I understand: I
understand you perfectly now . . . In any case excuse me for
having troubled you, Krestyan Ivanovitch."
"H'm, no, I didn't mean that. However, as you please; go
on taking the medicines as before. . . ."
"I will go with the medicines as you say, Krestyan
Ivanovitch. I will go on with them, and I will get them at the
same chemist's . . . To be a chemist nowadays, Krestyan
Ivanovitch, is an important business. . . ."
"How so? In what sense do you mean?"
"In a very ordinary sense, Krestyan Ivanovitch. I mean to
say that nowadays that's the way of the world. . ."
"H'm. . ."
"And that every silly youngster, not only a chemist's boy
turns up his nose at respectable people."
"H'm. How do you understand that?"
"I'm speaking of a certain person, Krestyan Ivanovitch . .
. of a common acquaintance of ours, Krestyan Ivanovitch, of
Vladimir Semyonovitch . . ."
"Ah!"
"Yes, Krestyan Ivanovitch: and I know certain people,
Krestyan Ivanovitch, who didn't keep to the general rule of
telling the truth, sometimes."
"Ah! How so?"
"Why, yes, it is so: but that's neither here nor there: they
sometimes manage to serve you up a fine egg in gravy."
"What? Serve up what?"
"An egg in gravy, Krestyan Ivanovitch. It's a Russian
saying. They know how to congratulate some one the right
moment, for instance; there are people like that."
"Congratulate?"
"yes, congratulate, Krestyan Ivanovitch, as some one I
know very well did the other day!" . . .
"Some one you know very well . . . Ah! how was that?"
said Krestyan Ivanovitch, looking attentively at Mr.
Golyadkin.
"Yes, some one I know very well indeed congratulated
some one else I know very well - and, what's more, a
comrade, a friend of his heart, on his promotion, on his
receiving the rank of assessor. This was how it happened to
come up: 'I am exceedingly glad of the opportunity to offer
you, Vladimir Semyonovitch, my congratulations, my sincere
congratulations, on your receiving the rank of assessor. And
I'm the more please, as all the world knows that there are old
women nowadays who tell fortunes.'"
At this point Mr. Golyadkin gave a sly nod, and screwing
up his eyes, looked at Krestyan Ivanovitch . . .
"H'm. So he said that. . . ."
"He did, Krestyan Ivanovitch, he said it and glanced at
once at Andrey Filippovitch, the uncle of out Prince
Charming, Vladimir Semyonovitch. But what is it to me,
Krestyan Ivanovitch, that he has been made an assessor?
What is it to me? And he wants to get married and the milk
is scarcely dry on his lips, if I may be allowed the expression.
And I said as much. Vladimir Semyonovitch, said I! I've said
everything now; allow me to withdraw."
"H'm . . ."
"Yes, Krestyan Ivanovitch, all me now, I say, to withdraw.
But, to kill two birds with one stone, as I twitted our young
gentleman with the old women, I turned to Klara Olsufyevna
(it all happened the same day, before yesterday at Olsufy
Ivanovitch's), and she had only just sung a song with feeling,
'You've sung songs of feeling, madam,' said I, 'but they've
not been listened to with a pure heart.' And by that I hinted
plainly, Krestyan Ivanovitch, hinted plainly, that they were
not running after her now, but looking higher . . ."
"Ah! And what did he say?"
"He swallowed the pill, Krestyan Ivanovitch, as the saying
is."
"H'm . . ."
"Yes, Krestyan Ivanovitch. To the old man himself, too,
I said, 'Olsufy Ivanovitch,' said I, 'I know how much I'm
indebted to you, I appreciate to the full all the kindness
you've showered upon me from my childhood up. But open
your eyes, Olsufy Ivanovitch,' I said. 'Look about you. I
myself do things openly and aboveboard, Olsufy
Ivanovitch.'"
"Oh, really!"
"Yes, Krestyan Ivanovitch. Really . . ."
"What did he say?"
"Yes, what, indeed, Krestyan Ivanovitch? He mumbled
one thing and another, and 'I know you,' and that 'his
Excellency was a benevolent man' - he rambled on . . . But,
there, you know! he's begun to be a bit shaky, as they say,
with old age."
"Ah! So that's how it is now . . ."
"Yes, Krestyan Ivanovitch. And that's how we all are!
Poor old man! He looks towards the grave, breathes incense,
as they say, while they concoct a piece of womanish gossip
and he listens to it; without him they wouldn't . . ."
"Gossip, you say?"
"Yes, Krestyan Ivanovitch, they've concocted a womanish
scandal. Our bear, too, had a finger in it, and his nephew,
our Prince Charming. They've joined hands with the old
women and, of course, they've concocted the affair. Would
you believe it? They plotted the murder of some one! . . ."
"The murder of some one?"
"Yes, Krestyan Ivanovitch, the moral murder of some one.
They spread about . . . I'm speaking of a man I know very
well."
Krestyan Ivanovitch nodded.
"They spread rumours about him . . . I confess I'm
ashamed to repeat them, Krestyan Ivanovitch."
"H'm." . . .
"They spread a rumour that he had signed a promise to
marry though he was already engaged in another quarter . .
. and would you believe it, Krestyan Ivanovitch, to whom?"
"Really?"
"To a cook, to a disreputable German woman from whom
he used to get his dinners; instead of paying what he owed,
he offered her his hand."
"Is that what they say?"
"Would you believe it, Krestyan Ivanovitch? A low
German, a nasty shameless German, Karolina Ivanovna, if
you know . . ."
"I confess, for my part . . ."
"I understand you, Krestyan Ivanovitch, I understand, and
for my part I feel it . . ."
"Tell me, please, where are you living now?"
"Where am I living now, Krestyan Ivanovitch?"
"Yes . . . I want . . . I believe you used to live . . ."
"Yes, Krestyan Ivanovitch, I did, I used to. To be sure I
lived!" answered Mr. Golyadkin, accompanying his words
with a little laugh, and somewhat disconcerting Krestyan
Ivanovitch by his answer.
"No, you misunderstood me; I meant to say . . ."
"I, too, meant to say, Krestyan Ivanovitch, I meant it too,"
Mr. Golyadkin continued, laughing. "But I've kept you far
too long, Krestyan Ivanovitch. I hope you will allow me
now, to wish you good morning."
"H'm . . ."
"Yes, Krestyan Ivanovitch, I understand you; I fully
understand you now," said our hero, with a slight flourish
before Krestyan Ivanovitch. "And so permit me to wish you
good morning . . ."
At this point our hero made a scraping with the toe of his
boot and walked out of the room, leaving Krestyan
Ivanovitch in the utmost amazement. As he went down the
doctor's stairs he smiled and rubbed his hands gleefully. On
the steps, breathing the fresh air and feeling himself at
liberty, he was certainly prepared to admit that he was the
happiest of mortals, and thereupon to go straight to his office
- when suddenly his carriage rumbled up to the door: he
glanced at it and remembered everything. Petrushka was
already opening the carriage door. Mr. Golyadkin was
completely overwhelmed by a strong and unpleasant
sensation. He blushed, as it were, for a moment. Something
seemed to stab him. He was just about to raise his foot to the
carriage step when he suddenly turned round and looked
towards Krestyan Ivanovitch's window. Yes, it was so!
Krestyan Ivanovitch was standing at the window, was
stroking his whiskers with his right hand and staring with
some curiosity at the hero of out story.
"That doctor is silly," thought Mr. Golyadkin, huddling out
of sight in the carriage; "extremely silly. He may treat his
patients all right, but still . . . he's as stupid as a post."
Mr. Golyadkin sat down, Petrushka shouted "Off!" and the
carriage rolled towards Nevsky Prospect again.