CHAPTER 10
CHAPTER INDEX
CHAPTER 12
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 XI
Mr. Golyadkin's breath failed him; he flew as though on
wings after his rapidly retreating enemy. He was conscious
of immense energy. Yet in spite of this terrible energy he
might confidently have said that at that moment a humble
gnat - had a gnat been able to exist in Petersburg at that time
of the year - could very easily have knocked him down. He
felt, too, that he was utterly weak again, that he was carried
along by a peculiar outside force, that it was not he himself
who was funning, but, on the contrary, that his legs were
giving way under him, and refused to obey him. This all
might turn out for the best, however.
"Whether it is for the best or not for the best," thought Mr.
Golyadkin, almost breathless from running so quickly, "but
that the game is lost there cannot be the slightest doubt now;
that I am utterly done for is certain, definite, signed and
ratified."
In spite of all this our hero felt as though he had risen from
the dead, as though he had withstood a battalion, as though
he had won a victory when he succeeded in clutching the
overcoat of his enemy, who had already raised one foot to get
into the cab he had engaged.
"My dear sir! My dear sir!" he shouted to the infamous
Mr. Golyadkin junior, holding him by the button. "My dear
sir, I hope that you . . ."
"No, please do not hope for anything," Mr. Golyadkin's
heartless enemy answered evasively, standing with one foot
on the step of the cab and vainly waving the other leg in the
air, in his efforts to get in, trying to preserve his equilibrium,
and at the same time trying with all his might to wrench his
coat away from Mr. Golyadkin senior, while the latter held
on to it with all the strength that had been vouchsafed to him
by nature.
"Yakov Petrovitch, only ten minutes . . ."
"Excuse me, I've no time . . ."
"You must admit, Yakov Petrovitch . . . please, Yakov
Petrovitch . . . For God's sake, Yakov Petrovitch . . . let us
have it out - in a straightforward way . . . one little second,
Yakov Petrovitch . . .
"My dear fellow, I can't stay," answered Mr. Golyadkin's
dishonourable enemy, with uncivil familiarity, disguised as
good-natured heartiness; "another time, believe me, with my
whole soul and all my heart; but now I really can't . . ."
"Scoundrel!" thought our hero. "Yakov Petrovitch," he
cried miserably. "I have never been your enemy. Spiteful
people have described me unjustly . . . I am ready, on my
side . . . Yakov Petrovitch, shall we go in here together, at
once, Yakov Petrovitch? And with all my heart, as you have
so justly expressed it just now, and in straightforward,
honourable language, as you have expressed it just now -
here into this coffee-house; there the facts will explain
themselves: they will really, Yakov Petrovitch. Then
everything will certainly explain itself . . ."
"Into the coffee-house? Very good. I am not against it.
Let us go into the coffee-house on one condition only, my
dear, on one condition - that these things shall be cleared up.
We will have it out, darling," said Mr. Golyadkin junior,
getting out of the cab and shamelessly slapping our hero on
the shoulder; "You friend of my heart, for your sake, Yakov
Petrovitch, I am ready to go by the back street (as you were
pleased to observe so aptly on one occasion, Yakov
Petrovitch). Why, what a rogue he is! Upon my word, he
does just what he likes with one!" Mr. Golyadkin's false
friend went on, fawning upon him and cajoling him with a
little smile. The coffee-house which the two Mr. Golyadkins
entered stood some distance away from the main street and
was at the moment quite empty. A rather stout German
woman made her appearance behind the counter. Mr.
Golyadkin and his unworthy enemy went into the second
room, where a puffy-looking boy with a closely shaven head
was busy with a bundle of chips at the stove, trying to revive
the smouldering fire. At Mr. Golyadkin junior's request
chocolate was served.
"And a sweet little lady-tart," said Mr. Golyadkin junior,
with a sly wink at Mr. Golyadkin senior.
Our hero blushed and was silent.
"Oh, yes, I forgot, I beg your pardon. I know your taste.
We are sweet on charming little Germans, sir; you and I are
sweet on charming and agreeable little Germans, aren't we,
you upright soul? We take their lodgings, we seduce their
morals, they win our hearts with their beersoup and their
milksoup, and we give them notes of different sorts, that's
what we do, you Faublas, you deceiver!" All this Mr.
Golyadkin junior said, making an unworthy though
villainously artful allusion to a certain personage of the
female sex, while he fawned upon our hero, smiled at him
with an amiable air, with a deceitful show of being delighted
with him and pleased to have met him. Seeing that Mr.
Golyadkin senior was by no means so stupid and deficient in
breeding and the manners of good society as to believe in
him, the infamous man resolved to change his tactics and to
make a more upon attack upon him. After uttering his
disgusting speech, the false Mr. Golyadkin ended by slapping
the real and substantial Mr. Golyadkin on the shoulder, with
a revolting effrontery and familiarity. Not content with that,
he began playing pranks utterly unfit for well-bred society;
he took it into his head to repeat his old, nauseous trick - that
is, regardless of the resistance and faint cries of the indignant
Mr. Golyadkin senior, he pinched the latter on the cheek. At
the spectacle of such depravity our hero boiled within, but
was silent . . . only for the time, however.
"That is the talk of my enemies," he answered at last, in a
trembling voice, prudently restraining himself. At the same
time our hero looked round uneasily towards the door. The
fact was that Mr. Golyadkin junior seemed in excellent
spirits, and ready for all sorts of little jokes, unseemly in a
public place, and, speaking generally, not permissible by the
laws of good manners, especially in well-bred society.
"Oh, well, in that case, as you please," Mr. Golyadkin
junior gravely responded to our hero's thought, setting down
upon the table the empty cup which he had gulped down with
unseemly greed. "Well, there's no need for me to stay long
with you, however. . . . Well, how are you getting on now,
Yakov Petrovitch?"
"There's only one thing I can tell you, Yakov Petrovitch,"
our hero answered, with sangfroid and dignity; "I've never
been your enemy."
"H'm . . . Oh, what about Petrushka? Petrushka is his
name, I fancy? Yes, it is Petrushka! Well, how is he? Well?
The same as ever?"
"He's the same as ever, too, Yakov Petrovitch," answered
Mr. Golyadkin senior, somewhat amazed. "I don't know,
Yakov Petrovitch . . . from my standpoint . . . from a candid,
honourable standpoint, Yakov Petrovitch, you must admit,
Yakov Petrovitch. . . ."
"Yes, but you know yourself, Yakov Petrovitch," Mr.
Golyadkin junior answered in a soft and expressive voice, so
posing falsely as a sorrowful man overcome with remorse
and deserving compassion. "You know yourself as we live
in difficult time . . . I appeal to you, Yakov Petrovitch; you
are an intelligent man and your reflections are just," Mr.
Golyadkin junior said in conclusion, flattering Mr. Golyadkin
senior in an abject way. "Life is not a game, you know
yourself, Yakov Petrovitch," Mr. Golyadkin junior added,
with vast significance, assuming the character of a clever and
learned man, who is capable of passing judgements on lofty
subjects.
"For my part, Yakov Petrovitch," our hero answered
warmly, "for my part, scorning to be roundabout and
speaking boldly and openly, using straightforward,
honourable language and putting the whole matter on an
honourable basis, I tell you I can openly and honourably
assert, Yakov Petrovitch, that I am absolutely pure, and that,
you know it yourself, Yakov Petrovitch, the error is mutual
- it may all be the world's judgment, the opinion of the
slavish crowd. . . . I speak openly, Yakov Petrovitch,
everything is possible. I will say, too, Yakov Petrovitch, if
you judge it in this way, if you look at the matter from a
lofty, noble point of view, then I will boldly say, without
false shame I will say, Yakov Petrovitch, it will positively be
a pleasure to me to discover that I have been in error, it will
positively be a pleasure to me to recognize it. You know
yourself you are an intelligent man and, what is more, you
are a gentleman. Without shame, without false shame, I am
ready to recognize it," he wound up with dignity and nobility.
"It is the decree of destiny, Yakov Petrovitch . . . but let us
drop all this," said Mr. Golyadkin junior. "Let us rather use
the brief moment of our meeting for a more pleasant and
profitable conversation, as is only suitable between two
colleagues in the service . . . Really, I have not succeeded in
saying two words to you all this time. . . . I am not to blame
for that, Yakov Petrovitch. . . ."
"Nor I," answered our hero warmly, "nor I, either! My
heart tells me, Yakov Petrovitch, that I'm not to blame in all
this matter. Let us blame fate for all this, Yakov Petrovitch,"
added Mr. Golyadkin senior, in a quick, conciliatory tone of
voice. His voice began little by little to soften and to quaver.
"Well! How are you in health?" said the sinner in a sweet
voice.
"I have a little cough," answered our hero, even more
sweetly.
"Take care of yourself. There is so much illness going
about, you may easily get quinsy; for my part I confess I've
begun to wrap myself up in flannel."
"One may, indeed, Yakov Petrovitch, very easily get
quinsy," our hero pronounced after a brief silence; "Yakov
Petrovitch, I see that I have made a mistake, I remember with
softened feelings those happy moments which we were so
fortunate as to spend together, under my poor, though I
venture to say, hospitable roof . . ."
"In your letter, however, you wrote something very
different," said Mr. Golyadkin junior reproachfully, speaking
on this occasion - though only on this occasion - quite justly.
"Yakov Petrovitch, I was in error. . . . I see clearly now
that I was in error in my unhappy letter too. Yakov
Petrovitch, I am ashamed to look at you, Yakov Petrovitch,
you wouldn't believe . . . Give me that letter that I may tear
it to pieces before your eyes, Yakov Petrovitch, and if that is
utterly impossible I entreat you to read it the other way
before - precisely the other way before - that is, expressly
with a friendly intention, giving the opposite sense to the
whole letter. I was in error. Forgive me, Yakov Petrovitch,
I was quite . . . I was grievously in error, Yakov Petrovitch."
"You say so?" Mr. Golyadkin's perfidious friend inquired,
rather casually and indifferently.
"I say that I was quite in error, Yakov Petrovitch, and that
for my part, quite without false shame, I am . . ."
"Ah, well, that's all right! That's a nice thing your being
in error," answered Mr. Golyadkin junior.
"I even had an idea, Yakov Petrovitch," our candid hero
answered in a gentlemanly way, completely failing to
observe the horrible perfidy of his deceitful enemy; "I even
had an idea that here were two people created exactly alike.
. . ."
"Ah, is that your idea?"
At this point the notoriously worthless Mr. Golyadkin took
up his hat. Still failing to observe his treachery, Mr.
Golyadkin senior, too, got up and with a noble,
simple-hearted smile to his false friend, tried in his innocence
to be friendly to him , to encourage him, and in that way to
form a new friendship with him.
"Good-bye, your Excellency," Mr. Golyadkin junior called
out suddenly. Our hero started, noticing in his enemy's face
something positively Bacchanalian, and, solely to get rid of
him, put two fingers into the unprincipled man's outstretched
hand; but then . . . then his enemy's shameless ness passed all
bounds. Seizing the two fingers of Mr. Golyadkin's hand and
at first pressing them, the worthless fellow on the spot,
before Mr. Golyadkin's eyes, had the effrontery to repeat the
shameful joke of the morning. The limit of human patience
was exhausted.
He had just hidden in his pocket the handkerchief with
which he had wiped his fingers when Mr. Golyadkin senior
recovered from the shock and dashed after him into the next
room, into which his irreconcilable foe had in his usual hasty
way hastened to decamp. As though perfectly innocent, he
was standing at the counter eating pies, and with perfect
composure, like a virtuous man, was making polite remarks
to the German woman behind the counter.
"I can't go into it before ladies," thought our hero, and he,
too, went up to the counter, so agitated that he hardly knew
what he was doing.
"The tart is certainly not bad! What do you think?" Mr.
Golyadkin junior began upon his unseemly sallies again,
reckoning, no doubt, upon Mr. Golyadkin's infinite patience.
The stout German, for her part, looked at both her visitors
with pewtery, vacant-looking eyes, smiling affably and
evidently not understanding Russian. Our hero flushed red
as fire at the words of the unabashed Mr. Golyadkin junior,
and, unable to control himself, rushed at him with the evident
intention of tearing him to pieces and finishing him off
completely, but Mr. Golyadkin junior, in his usual mean way,
was already far off; he took flight, he was already on the
steps. It need hardly be said that, after the first moment of
stupefaction with which Mr. Golyadkin senior was naturally
overcome, he recovered himself and went at full speed after
his insulting enemy, who had already got into a cab, whose
driver was obviously in collusion with him. But at that very
instant the stout German, seeing both her customers make
off, shrieked and rang her bell with all her might. Our hero
was on the point of flight, but he turned back, and, without
asking for change, flung her money for himself and for the
shameless man who had left without paying, and although
thus delayed he succeeded in catching up his enemy.
Hanging on to the side of the cab with all the force bestowed
on him by nature, our hero was carried for some time along
the street, clambering upon the vehicle, while Mr. Golyadkin
junior did his utmost to dislodge him. Meanwhile the
cabman, with whip, with reins, with kicks and with shouts
urged on his exhausted nag, who quite unexpectedly dropped
into a gallop, biting at the bit, and kicking with his hind legs
in a horrid way. At last our enemy and with his back to the
driver, his knees touching the knees and his right hand
clutching the very shabby fur collar of his depraved and
exasperated foe.
The enemies were borne along for some time in silence.
Our hero could scarcely breathe. It was a bad road and he
was jolted at every step and in peril of breaking his neck.
Moreover, his exasperated foe still refused to acknowledge
himself vanquished and was trying to shove him off into the
mud. To complete the unpleasantness of his position the
weather was detestable. The snow was falling in heavy
flakes and doing its utmost to creep under the unfastened
overcoat of the genuine Mr. Golyadkin. It was foggy and
nothing could be seen. It was difficult to tell through what
street and in what direction they were being taken . . . It
seemed to Mr. Golyadkin that what was happening to him
was somehow familiar. One instant he tried to remember
whether he had had a presentiment of it the day before, in a
dream, for instance. . . .
At last his wretchedness reached the utmost pitch of
agony. Leaning upon his merciless opponent, he was
beginning to cry out. But his cries died away upon his lips.
. . . There was a moment when Mr. Golyadkin forgot
everything, and made up his mind that all this was of no
consequence and that it was all nothing, that it was
happening in some inexplicable manner, and that, therefore,
to protest was effort thrown away. . . . But suddenly and
almost at the same instant that our hero was drawing this
conclusion, an unexpected jolt have quite a new turn to the
affair. Mr. Golyadkin fell off the cab like a sack of flour and
rolled on the ground, quite correctly recognizing, at the
moment of his fall, that his excitement had been very
inappropriate. Jumping up at last, he saw that they had
arrived somewhere; the cab was standing in the middle of
some courtyard, and from the first glance our hero noticed
that it was the courtyard of the house in which was Olsufy
Ivanovitch's flat. At the same instant he noticed that his
enemy was mounting the steps, probably on his way to
Olsufy Ivanovitch's. In indescribable misery he was about to
pursue his enemy, but, fortunately for himself, prudently
thought better of it. Not forgetting to pay the cabman, Mr.
Golyadkin ran with all his might along the street, regardless
of where he was going. The snow was falling heavily as
before; as before it was muggy, wet, and dark. Out hero did
not walk, but flew, coming into collision with every one on
the way - men, women and children. About him and after
him he heard frightened voices, squeals, screams . . . But Mr.
Golyadkin seemed unconscious and would pay no heed to
anything. . . . He came to himself, however, on Semyonovsky
Bridge, and then only through succeeding in tripping against
and upsetting two peasant women and the wares they were
selling, and tumbling over them.
"That's no matter," thought Mr. Golyadkin, "that can easily
be set right," and felt in his pocket at once, intending to make
up for the cakes, apples, nuts and various trifles he had
scattered with a rouble. Suddenly a new light dawned upon
Mr. Golyadkin; in his pocket he felt the letter given him in
the morning by the clerk. Remembering that there was a
tavern he knew close by, he ran to it without a moment's
delay, settled himself at a little table lighted up by a tallow
candle, and, taking no notice of anything, regardless of the
waiter who came to ask for his orders, broke the seal and
began reading the following letter, which completely
astounded him -
"You noble man, who are suffering for my sake, and
will be dear to my heart for ever!
"I am suffering, I am perishing - save me! The slanderer,
the intriguer, notorious for the immorality of his tendencies,
has entangled me in his snares and I am undone! I am lost!
But he is abhorrent to me, while you! . . . They have
separated us, they have intercepted my letters to you - and all
this has been the vicious man who has taken advantage of his
one good quality - his likeness to you. A man can always be
plain in appearance, yet fascinate by his intelligence, his
strong feelings and his agreeable manners . . . I am ruined!
I am being married against my will, and the chief part in this
intrigue is taken by my parent, benefactor and civil
councillor, Olsufy Ivanovitch, no doubt desirous of securing
me a place and relations in well-bred society. . . . But I have
made up my mind and I protest by all the powers bestowed
on me by nature. Be waiting for me with a carriage at nine
o'clock this evening at the window of Olsufy Ivanovitch's
flat. We are having another ball and a handsome lieutenant
is coming. I will come out and we will fly. Moreover, there
are other government offices in which one can be of service
to one's country. In any case, remember, my friend, that
innocence is strong in its very innocence. Farewell. Wait
with the carriage at the entrance. I shall throw myself into
the protection of your arms at two o'clock in the night.
"Yours till death,
"Klara Olsufyevna."
After reading the letter our hero remained for some
minutes as though petrified. In terrible anxiety, in terrible
agitation, white as a sheet, with the letter in his hand, he
walked several times up and down the room; to complete the
unpleasantness of his position, though our hero failed to
observe it, he was at that moment the object of the exclusive
attention of every one in the room, his gesticulating with both
hands, perhaps some enigmatic words unconsciously
addressed to the air, probably all this prejudiced Mr.
Golyadkin in the opinion of the customers, and even the
waiter began to look at him suspiciously. Coming to himself,
Mr. Golyadkin noticed that he was standing in the middle of
the room and was in an almost unseemly, discourteous
manner staring at an old man of very respectable appearance
who, having dined and said grace before the ikon, had sat
down again and fixed his eyes upon Mr. Golyadkin. Our
hero looked vaguely about him and noticed that every one,
actually every one, was looking at him with a hostile and
suspicious air. All at once a retired military man in a red
collar asked loudly for the Police News. Mr. Golyadkin
started and turned crimson: he happened to look down and
saw that he was in such disorderly attire as he would not
have worn even at home, much less in a public place. His
boots, his trousers and the whole of his left side were covered
with mud; the trouser-strap was torn off his right foot, and
his coat was even torn in many places. In extreme misery
our hero went up to the table at which he had read the letter,
ad saw that the attendant was coming up to him with a
strange and impudently peremptory expression of face.
utterly disconcerted and crestfallen, our hero began to look
about the table at which he was now standing. On the table
stood a dirt plate, left there from somebody's dinner, a soled
table-napkin and a knife, fork and spoon that had just been
used. "Who has been having dinner?" thought our hero.
"Can it have been I? Anything is possible! I must have had
dinner without noticing it; what am I to do?"
Raising his eyes, Mr. Golyadkin again saw beside him the
waiter who was about to address him.
"How much is my bill, my lad?" our hero inquired, in a
trembling voice.
A loud laugh sounded round Mr. Golyadkin, the waiter
himself grinned. Mr. Golyadkin realized that he had
blundered again, and had done something dreadfully stupid.
He was overcome by confusion, and to avoid standing there
with nothing to do he put his hand in his pocket to get out his
handkerchief; but to the indescribable amazement of himself
and all surrounding him, he pulled out instead of his
handkerchief the bottle of medicine which Krestyan
Ivanovitch had prescribed for him four days earlier. "Get the
medicine at the same chemist's," floated through Mr.
Golyadkin's brain. . . .
Suddenly he started and almost cried out in horror. A new
light dawned. . . . The dark reddish and repulsive liquid had
a sinister gleam to Mr. Golyadkin's eyes. . . . The bottle
dropped from his hands and was instantly smashed. Our hero
cried out and stepped back a pace to avoid the spilled
medicine . . . he was trembling in every limb, and drops of
sweat came out on to his brow and temples. "So my life is in
danger!" Meantime there was a stir, a commotion in the
room; every one surrounded Mr. Golyadkin, every one talked
to Mr. Golyadkin, some even caught hold of Mr. Golyadkin.
But our hero was dumb and motionless, seeing nothing,
hearing nothing, feeling nothing. . . . At last, as though
tearing himself from the place, he rushed out of the tavern,
pushing away all and each who tried to detain him; almost
unconscious, he got into the first cab that passed him and
drove to his flat.
In the entry of his flat he met Mihyeev, an attendant from
the office, with an official envelope in his hand.
"I know, my good man, I know all about it," our exhausted
hero answered, in a weak, miserable voice; "it's official . . ."
The envelope did, in fact, contain instructions to Mr.
Golyadkin, signed by Andrey Filippovitch, to give up the
business in his hands to Ivan Semyonovitch. Taking the
envelope and giving ten kopecks to the man, Mr. Golyadkin
went into his flat and saw that Petrushka was collecting all
his odds and ends, all his things into a heap, evidently
intending to abandon Mr. Golyadkin and move to the flat of
Karolina Ivanovna, who had enticed him to take the place of
Yevstafy.