CHAPTER 2
CHAPTER INDEX
CHAPTER 4
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 III
All that morning was spent by Mr. Golyadkin in a strange
bustle of activity. On reaching the Nevsky Prospect our hero
told the driver to stop at the bazaar. Skipping out of his
carriage, he ran to the Arcade, accompanied by Petrushka,
and went straight to a shop where gold and silver articles
were for sale. One could see from his very air that he was
overwhelmed with business and had a terrible amount to do.
Arranging to purchase a complete dinner- and tea-service for
fifteen hundred roubles and including in the bargain for that
sum a cigar-case of ingenious form and a silver shaving-set,
and finally, asking the price of some other articles, useful and
agreeable in their own way, he ended by promising to come
without fail next day, or to send for his purchases the same
day. He took the number of the shop, and listening
attentively to the shopkeeper, who was very pressing for a
small deposit, said that he should have it all in good time.
After which he took leave of the amazed shopkeeper and,
followed by a regular flock of shopmen, walked along the
Arcade, continually looking round at Petrushka and
diligently seeking our fresh shops. On the way he dropped
into a money-changer's and changed all his big notes into
small ones, and though he lost on the exchange, his
pocket-book was considerably fatter, which evidently
afforded him extreme satisfaction. Finally, he stopped at a
shop for ladies' dress materials. Here, too, after deciding to
purchase good for a considerable sum, Mr. Golyadkin
promised to come again, took the number of the shop and, on
being asked for a deposit, assured the shopkeeper that "he
should have a deposit too, all in good time." Then he visited
several other shops, making purchases in each of them, asked
the price of various things, sometimes arguing a long time
with the shopkeeper, going out of the shop and returning two
or three times - in fact he displayed exceptional activity.
From the Arcade our hero went to a well-known furniture
shop, where he ordered furniture for six rooms; he admired
a fashionable and very toilet table for ladies' use in the latest
style, and, assuring the shopkeeper than he would certainly
send for all these things, walked out of the shop, as usual
promising a deposit. then he went off somewhere else and
ordered something more. In short, there seemed to be no end
to the business he had to get through. At last, Mr. Golyadkin
seemed to grow heartily sick of it all, and he began, goodness
knows why, to be tormented by the stings of conscience.
Nothing would have induced him now, for instance, to meet
Andrey Filippovitch, or even Krestyan Ivanovitch.
At last, the town clock struck three. When Mr. Golyadkin
finally took his seat in the carriage, of all the purchases he
had made that morning he had, it appeared, in reality only got
a pair of gloves and a bottle of scent, that cost a rouble and
a half. As it was still rather early, he ordered his coachman
to stop near a well-known restaurant in Nevsky Prospect
which he only knew by reputation, got out of the carriage,
and hurried in to have a light lunch, to rest and to wait for the
hour fixed for the dinner.
Lunching as a man lunches who has the prospect before him
of going out to a sumptuous dinner, that is, taking a snack of
something in order to still the pangs, as they say, and
drinking one small glass of vodka, Mr. Golyadkin established
himself in an armchair and, modestly looking about him,
peacefully settled down to an emaciated nationalist paper.
After reading a couple of lines he stood up and looked in the
looking-glass, set himself to rights and smoothed himself
down; then he went to the window and looked to see whether
his carriage was there . . . then he sat down again in his place
and took up the paper. It was noticeable that our hero was in
great excitement. Glancing at his watch and seeing that it
was only a quarter past three and that he had consequently a
good time to wait and, at the same time, opining that to sit
like that was unsuitable, Mr. Golyadkin ordered chocolate,
though he felt no particular inclination for it at the moment.
Drinking the chocolate and noticing that the time had moved
on a little, he went up to pay his bill.
He turned round and saw facing him two of his colleagues,
the same two he had met that morning in Liteyny Street, -
young men, very much his juniors both in age and rank. Our
hero's relations with them were neither one thing nor the
other, neither particularly friendly nor openly hostile. Good
manners were, of course, observed on both sides: there was
no closer intimacy, nor could there be. The meeting at this
moment was extremely distasteful to Mr. Golyadkin. He
frowned a little, and was disconcerted for an instant.
"Yakov Petrovitch, Yakov Petrovitch!" chirped the two
register clerks; "you here? what brings you? . . ."
"Ah, it is you, gentlemen," Mr. Golyadkin interrupted
hurriedly, somewhat embarrassed and scandalized by the
amazement of the clerks and by the abruptness of their
address, but feeling obliged, however, to appear jaunty and
free and easy. "You've deserted gentlemen, he-he-he . . ."
Then, to keep up his dignity and to condescend to the
juveniles, with whom he never overstepped certain limits, he
attempted to slap one of the youths on the shoulder; but this
effort at good fellowship did not succeed and, instead of
being a well-bred little jest, produced quite a different effect.
"Well, and our bear, is he still at the office?"
"Who's that, Yakov Petrovitch?"
"Why, the bear. Do you mean to say you don't know
whose name that is? . . ." Mr. Golyadkin laughed and turned
to the cashier to take his change.
"I mean Andrey Filippovitch, gentlemen," he went on,
finishing with the cashier, and turning to the clerks this time
with a very serious face. The two register clerks winked at
one another.
"He's still at the office and asking for you, Yakov
Petrovitch," answered one of them.
"At the office, eh! In that case, let him stay, gentlemen.
And asking for me, eh?"
"He was asking for you, Yakov Petrovitch; but what's up
with you, scented, pomaded, and such a swell? . . ."
"Nothing, gentlemen, nothing! that's enough," answered
Mr. Golyadkin, looking away with a constrained smile.
Seeing that Mr. Golyadkin was smiling, the clerks laughed
aloud. Mr. Golyadkin was a little offended.
"I'll tell you as friends, gentlemen," our hero said, after a
brief silence, as though making up his mind (which, indeed,
was the case) to reveal something to them. "You all know
me, gentlemen, but hitherto you've known me only on one
side. no one is to blame for that and I'm conscious that the
fault has been partly my own."
Mr. Golyadkin pursed his lips and looked significantly at
the clerks. The clerks winked at one another again.
"Hitherto, gentlemen, you have not known me. To explain
myself here and now would not be appropriate. I will only
touch on it lightly in passing. There are people, gentlemen,
who dislike roundabout ways and only mask themselves at
masquerades. There are people who do not see man's highest
avocation in polishing the floor with their boots. There are
people, gentlemen, who refuse to say that they are happy and
enjoying a full life when, for instance, their trousers set
properly. There are people, finally, who dislike dashing and
whirling about for no object, fawning, and licking the dust,
and above all, gentlemen, poking their noses where they are
not wanted. . . I've told you almost everything, gentlemen;
now allow me to withdraw. . ."
Mr. Golyadkin paused. As the register clerks had not got
all that they wanted, both of them with great incivility burst
into shouts of laughter. Mr. Golyadkin flared up.
"Laugh away, gentlemen, laugh away for the time being!
If you live long enough you will see," he said, with a feeling
of offended dignity, taking his hat and retreating to the door.
"But I will say more, gentlemen," he added, turning for the
last time to the register clerks, "I will say more - you are both
here with me face to face. This, gentlemen, is my rule: if I
fail I don't lose heart, if I succeed I persevere, and in any case
I am never underhand. I'm not one to intrigue - and I'm
proud of it. I've never prided myself on diplomacy. They
say, too, gentlemen, that the bird flies itself to the hunter. It's
true and I'm ready to admit it; but who's the hunter, and
who's the bird in this case? That is still the question,
gentlemen!"
Mr. Golyadkin subsided into eloquent silence, and, with a
most significant air, that is, pursing up his lips and raising his
eyebrows as high as possible, he bowed to the clerks and
walked out, leaving them in the utmost amazement.
"What are your orders now?" Petrushka asked, rather
gruffly; he was probably weary of hanging about in the cold.
"What are your orders?" he asked Mr. Golyadkin, meeting
the terrible, withering glance with which our hero had
protected himself twice already that morning, and to which
he had recourse now for the third time as he came down the
steps.
"To Ismailovsky Bridge."
"To Ismailovsky Bridge! Off!"
"Their dinner will not begin till after four, or perhaps five
o'clock," thought Mr. Golyadkin; "isn't it early now?
However, I can go a little early; besides, it's only a family
dinner. And so I can go sans facons, as they say among
well-bred people. Why shouldn't I go sans facons? The bear
told us, too, that it would all be sans facons, and so I will be
the same. . . ." Such were Mr. Golyadkin's reflections and
meanwhile his excitement grew more and more acute. It
could be seen that he was preparing himself for some great
enterprise, to say nothing more; he muttered to himself,
gesticulated with his right hand, continually looked out of his
carriage window, so that, looking at Mr. Golyadkin, no one
would have said that he was on his way to a good dinner, and
only a simple dinner in his family circle - sans facons, as they
say among well-bred people. Finally, just at Ismailovsky
Bridge, Mr. Golyadkin pointed out a house; and the carriage
rolled up noisily and stopped at the first entrance on the right.
Noticing a feminine figure at the second storey window, Mr.
Golyadkin kissed his hand to her. He had, however, not the
slightest idea what he was doing, for he felt more dead than
alive at the moment. He got out of the carriage pale,
distracted; he mounted the steps, took off his hat,
mechanically straightened himself, and though he felt a slight
trembling in his knees, he went upstairs.
"Olsufy Ivanovitch?" he inquired of the man who opened
the door.
"At home, sir; at least he's not at home, his honour's not at
home."
"What? What do you mean, my good man? I-I've come
to dinner, brother. Why, you know me?"
"To be sure I know you! I've orders not to admit you."
"You . . . you, brother . . . you must be making a mistake.
It's I, my boy, I'm invited; I've come to dinner," Mr.
Golyadkin announced, taking off his coat and displaying
unmistakable intentions of going into the room.
"Allow me, sir, you can't, sir. I've orders not to admit you.
I've orders to refuse you. That's how it is."
Mr. Golyadkin turned pale. At that very moment the door
of the inner room opened and Gerasimitch, Olsufy
Ivanovitch's old butler, came out.
"You see the gentlemen wants to go in, Emelyan
Gerasimitch, and I . . ."
"And you're a fool, Alexeitch. Go inside and send the
rascal Semyonovitch here. It's impossible," he said politely
but firmly, addressing Mr. Golyadkin. "It's quite impossible.
His honour begs you to excuse him; he can't see you."
"He said he couldn't see me?" Mr. Golyadkin asked
uncertainly. "Excuse me, Gerasimitch, why is it
impossible?"
"It's quite impossible. I've informed your honour; they
said 'Ask him to excuse us.' They can't see you."
"Why not? How's that? Why."
"Allow me, allow me! . . ."
"How is it though? It's out of the question! Announce me
. . . How is it? I've come to dinner. . ."
"Excuse me, excuse me . . ."
"Ah, well, that's a different matter, they asked to be
excused: but, allow me, Gerasimitch; how is it,
Gerasimitch?"
"Excuse me, excuse me! replied Gerasimitch, very firmly
putting away Mr. Golyadkin's hand and making way for two
gentlemen who walked into the entry that very instant. The
gentlemen in question were Andrey Filippovitch and his
nephew Vladimir Semyonovitch. Both of the looked with
amazement at Mr. Golyadkin. Andrey Filippovitch seemed
about to say something, but Mr. Golyadkin had by now made
up his mind: he was by now walking out of Olsufy
Ivanovitch's entry, blushing and smiling, with eyes cast down
and a countenance of helpless bewilderment. "I will come
afterwards, Gerasimitch; I will explain myself: I hope that all
this will without delay be explained in due season. . . ."
"Yakov Petrovitch, Yakov Petrovitch . . ." He heard the
voice of Andrey Filippovitch following him.
Mr. Golyadkin was by that time on the first landing. He
turned quickly to Andrey Filippovitch.
"What do you desire, Andrey Filippovitch?" he said in a
rather resolute voice.
"What's wrong with you, Yakov Petrovitch? In what
way?"
"No matter, Andrey Filippovitch. I'm on my own account
here. This is my private life, Andrey Filippovitch."
"What's that?"
"I say, Andrey Filippovitch, that this is my private life, and
as for my being here, as far as I can see, there's nothing
reprehensible to be found in it as regards my official
relations."
"What! As regards your official . . . What's the matter
with you, my good sir?"
"Nothing, Andrey Filippovitch, absolutely nothing; an
impudent slut of a girl, and nothing more . . ."
"What! What?" Andrey Filippovitch was stupefied with
amazement. Mr. Golyadkin, who had up till then looked as
though he would fly into Andrey Filippovitch's face, seeing
that the head of his office was laughing a little, almost
unconsciously took a step forward. Andrey Filippovitch
jumped back. Mr. Golyadkin went up one step and then
another. Andrey Filippovitch looked about him uneasily.
Mr. Golyadkin mounted the stairs rapidly. Still more rapidly
Andrey Filippovitch darted into the flat and slammed the
door after him. Mr. Golyadkin was left alone. Everything
grew dark before his eyes. He was utterly nonplussed, and
stood now in a sort of senseless hesitation, as though
recalling something extremely senseless, too, that had
happened quite recently. "Ech, ech!" he muttered, smiling
with constraint. Meanwhile, there came the sounds of steps
and voices on the stairs, probably of other guests invited by
Olsufy Ivanovitch. Mr. Golyadkin recovered himself to
some extent; put up his racoon collar, concealing himself
behind it as far as possible, and began going downstairs with
rapid little steps, tripping and stumbling in his haste. He felt
overcome by a sort of weakness and numbness. His
confusion was such that, when he came out on the steps, he
did not even wait for his carriage but walked across the
muddy court to it. When he reached his carriage and was
about to get into it, Mr. Golyadkin inwardly uttered a desire
to sink into the earth, or to hide in a mouse hole together with
his carriage. It seemed to him that everything in Olsufy
Ivanovitch's house was looking at him now out of every
window. He knew that he would certainly die on the spot if
he were to go back.
"What are you laughing at, blockhead?" he said in a rapid
mutter to Petrushka, who was preparing to help him into the
carriage.
"What should I laugh at? I'm not doing anything; where
are we to drive to now?"
"Go home, drive on. . . ."
"Home, off!" shouted Petrushka, climbing on to the
footboard.
"What a crow's croak!" thought Mr. Golyadkin.
Meanwhile, the carriage had driven a good distance from
Ismailovsky Bridge. Suddenly our hero pulled the cord with
all his might and shouted to the driver to turn back at once.
The coachman turned his horses and within two minutes was
driving into Olsufy Ivanovitch's yard again.
"Don't, don't, you fool, back!" shouted Mr. Golyadkin -
and, as though he were expecting this order, the driver made
no reply but, without stopping at the entrance, drove all
round the courtyard and out into the street again.
Mr. Golyadkin did not drive home, but, after passing the
Semyonovsky Bridge, told the driver to return to a side street
and stop near a restaurant of rather modest appearance.
Getting out of the carriage, our hero settled up with the driver
and so got rid of his equipage at last. He told Petrushka to go
home and await his return, while he went into the restaurant,
took a private room and ordered dinner. He felt very ill and
his brain was in the utmost confusion and chaos. For a long
time he walked up and down the room in agitation; at last he
sat down in a chair, propped his brow in his hands and began
doing his very utmost to consider and settle something
relating to his present position.