Chapters 13
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1 01 - Chapter 1 14:04
It was a little before eight o'clock in the morning, when Yakov Petrovich Goliatkin, a titular counselor, 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. Goliadkin's senses began more clearly, and more distinctly, to receive their habitual and every-day 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 color, with little green flowers on it, and the clothes taken off in haste over night, 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. Goliadkin 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 story of a huge block of buildings in Cheshtelavachny Street. When he had made this important discovery, Mr. Goliadkin 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. Goliadkin, 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. Goliatkin 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 pocketbook, opened it cautiously, and with care and relish, peeped into the furthest and most hidden fold of it. Probably the roll of green, gray, blue, red, and party-colored notes looked at Goliathkin, too, with approval. With a radiant face, he laid the open pocketbook before him, and rubbed 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 is 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 is 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 is no knowing what a man might not do with a sum like that. What's the meaning of it, though?
thought Mr. Goliadkin. Where is 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. Goliadkin, something like, Take me, good people. I'm boiling. Perfectly ready. Damn the fellow, thought Mr. Goliadkin. The lazy brood might really drive a man out of all patience. Where is 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 servants surrounded by a good-sized group of lackeys of all sorts, a mixed ravel 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. Goljadkin. He promptly called Petrushka and returned to his room, displeased and even upset. The beast would sell a man for a halfpenny, and his master before anyone, 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 and a leather sheath. Finally, to complete the picture, Petrushka, who'd always liked to be a Neglig, was barefooted. Mr. Goliadkin 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. Goliadkin. Well, and how about the carriage? The carriage is here, too. For the whole day. For the whole day. Twenty-five rubles.
And have the boots been sent? Yes. Doot. Can't even say, yes, sir. Bring them here. Expressing his satisfaction that the boots fitted, Mr. Goliadkin 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 shirt front with brass studs, and a very bright and agreeably flowered waistcoat. About his neck he tied a gay, particolored 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. Goliadkin 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. Goliadkin put his pocketbook 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 there was nothing left to wait for, he ran hurriedly and fussily out onto the stairs, with a slight throbbing at his heart. The white-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. Goliatkin rubbed his hands convulsively and went 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.
Goliatkin, 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 Litany 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 haste 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. Goliadkin, extremely amazed at meeting their colleague in such a way.
One of them, in fact, pointed him out to the other. Mr. Goliadkin 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. I let them all know. If only... Mr. Goliatkin broke off suddenly, petrified. A smart pair of Kazan horses, very familiar to Mr.
Goliatkin, and a fashionable droshki, drove rapidly by on the right side of his carriage. The gentleman sitting in the droshki, happening to catch a glimpse of Mr. Goljadkin, 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 droshki was Andrei Filippovich. The head of the office, in which Mr. Gilyatkin served, in the capacity of assistant to the chief clerk. Mr. Gilyatkin, seeing that Andrei Filippovich recognized him, that he was looking at him open-eyed, and that it was impossible to hide, blushed up to his 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. Goliatkin, taking off his hat to Andrei Filippovich, 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 droshki 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, Andrei Filippovich. 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, defying 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 stop the carriage, telling him to drive back to Latany Street. The fact was, it was urgently necessary for Mr. Goliadkin, probably for the sake of his own peace of mind, to say something very interesting to his doctor, Khristian Ivanovitch, and though he had made Khristian 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?' a hero went on, getting out of the carriage at the door of a five-story house in Lataney 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 had passed. He will see that it's all just as it should be.
Reasoning like this, Mr. Goljadkin mounted to the second story, and stopped before flat number five, in which there was a handsome brass door-plate with the inscription, Krestion Ivanovich Ruttenspitz, Doctor of Medicine and Surgery. Stopping at the door, Our hero made haste to assume an air of propriety, ease, and even 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 tomorrow, 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 Christian Ivanovich's bell, with an air, moreover, of great determination.
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2 02 - Chapter 2 26:37
The doctor of medicinal surgery, Christian E. Vanuette Sturten's Pitz, a very hailed, 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 rooting every disease, and, lastly, with others 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, Christian Ivanovich sat down to await the next visitor.
Mr. Goliatkin walked in. Apparently, Christian Ivanovich did not in the least expect nor desire to see Mr. Goliatkin, for he was suddenly taken aback for a moment, and his countenance unconsciously assumed a strange and one might almost say a displeased expression. As Mr. Goldilocks almost turned up inappropriately and was thrown into confusion whenever he approached anyone 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 offense against a teak 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 plunders at once, he immediately decided to commit a third, that is, tried to right himself, muttered something, smiled, blushed, and 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. Goliathkin's enemies, and reducing them to ashes. This glance, moreover, expressed to the fore Mr. Goliatkin's independence, that is, to speak plainly the fact that Mr. Goliatkin was all right, that he was quite himself, like everybody else, and that there was nothing wrong in his upper story.
Christian Ivanovitch, coughed, cleared his throat, apparently in a token of approval and assent to all this, and— Bent an inquisitorial and trocative gaze upon his visitor.
"'I have come to trouble you a second time, Krishnivarovitch,' began Mr. Golikin with a smile. "'And now I venture to ask your indulgence a second time.' He was obviously at a loss for words. "'Hm! Yes,' pronounced Krishnivarovitch, puffing out a spiral smoke and putting down his cigar on the table. But you must follow the treatment prescribed to you, or explain 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. Goylietkin, still smiling, hastened to observe that he thought he was like everyone else, that he lived by himself.
That he had entertainments, like everyone else. That, of course, he might go to the theatre, for he had the means like everyone 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 say, as good as anyone. That he lived at home, and finally, that he had Petrushka. At this point, Mr. Gulitkin hesitated. Hmm. No, that is not the order of proceeding that I want, and that is not at all what I would ask of you. I am interested to know, in general. Are you a great lover of cheerful company? Do you take advantage of festive occasions, and, well, Do you lead a melancholy or a cheerful manner of life?
Christian Ivanovich. Hmm. I tell you, interrupted the doctor, that you must have a radical change of life. Must, in a certain sense, break in your character. Christian Ivanovich 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 entertainment. In 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, Khrushchev, said Mr. Golikin, with a significant look at the doctor, and evidently seeking words to express his ideas more successfully. In my flat, that is only me and Petrushka. I mean, my man, Khrushchev, I mean to say, that I go my way, my own way.
I keep myself to myself, and so far as I can say I'm not dependent on anyone. I go out for walks, too.
What? Yes. Well, nowadays there's nothing agreeable in walking. The climate is extremely bad. Quite so, Krishnivanovich. Though I am a peaceable man, Krishnivanovich, as I have had the honor of explaining to you already. Yet my way lies apart, Krishnivanovich. The ways of life are manifold. I mean, I mean to say, Krishnivanovich. Excuse me, Krishnivanovich. I have no great gift for elopened speaking.
"'You say?' "'I say.' "'You must excuse me, Christian Ivanovitch, that as far as I can say I am no great hand at allotments in speaking,' Mr. Goliatkin articulated, stammering and hesitating, in a half-aggrieved voice. "'In that respect, Christian Ivanovitch, I am not quite like other people,' he added, with a peculiar smile. "'I can't talk much, and I've never learned—' to embellish my speech with literary graces. On the other hand, I act, Christian Imanovitch. Hmm. How's that? You act, responded Christian Imanovitch. Then silence followed for half a minute. The doctor looked somewhat strangely and mistrustfully at the visitor, Mr. Golikin. For his part, too, stole a rather mistrustful glance at the doctor.
"'Kristian Ivanovitch,' he began, going on again in the same tone as before, somewhat irritated and puzzled by the doctor's extreme obstinacy, "'I like tranquillity, and not the noisy gaity of the world. Among them, I mean in the noisy world, Kristian Ivanovitch, one must be able to polish the floor with one's boots.' Here Mr. Golidkin made a slight scrape on the floor with his toe. They expect it, and they expect pumps too. One must know how to make a perfumed compliment. That's what they expect there, and I've not learned to do it. Krishnijmanovitch, I've never learned 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, Krishnijmanovitch.
I lay down my arms, speaking in that sense.
All this Mr. Goliathkin 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 learned these tricks. Quite the contrary, indeed. As Christian Ibanewitz listened to him, he looked down with a very unpleasant cramaze on his face, seeming to have A presentment of something Mr. Gulikian's tirade was followed by a rather long and significant silence. You have, I think, departed a little from the subject," Krishna Ivanovich said at last, in a low voice. I confess I cannot altogether understand you. I am not a great hand at eloquent speaking, Krishna Ivanovich. I have had the honor to inform you. Christian Ivanovich, already, said Mr.
Goliatkin, speaking this time, in a sharp and resilient tone. Hmm. Christian Ivanovich, began Mr. Goliatkin again, in a low but most significant voice, in a somewhat solemn style, and emphasizing every point. Christian Ivanovich, when I came in here, I began with apologies. I repeat the same thing again, and again, ask for your indulgence. There is no need for me to conceal it. I am an unimportant man, as you know. But fortunately for me, I do not regret being an unimportant man. Quite the contrary. I, indeed, and, to be perfectly frank, I am proud that I am not a great man, but an unimportant man. I am not one to intrigue, and am 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, Krishnan Ivanovitch, yet I won't sully myself.
In that sense, I say, I watched them. Krishnan Ivanovitch. Mr. Golutkin paused expressively for a moment. He spoke with mild fervor. "'I set to work, Krishnan 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, Krishna Ibenovich. I don't mean you. I don't like insinuations. I have no taste for contemptible duplicity. I am 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, Kristian Ivanovitch, how you would revenge yourself upon your enemy, your most malignant enemy, the one you would consider such.
Mr. Goliatkin concluded with a challenging glance at Kristian Ivanovitch. Though, Mr. Goliatkin pronounced this with the utmost distinctness and clearness, weighing his words with a self-confident air, and reckoning on the probable effect. Yet, meanwhile, he looked at Christian E. Vanowich 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, Christian E. Vanowich only muttered something to himself. Then he moved his armchair up to the table. And rather truly, 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 would 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, Christian Ivanovich. No, that's not necessary at all, said Mr. Golikin, getting up from his seat and clutching Christian Ivanovich's right hand. That isn't what's wanted, Christian Ivanovich. And while he said this, a queer change came over him. His gray 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. Golikin followed his first moment 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. Christian Ivanovich seemed for a moment prudent to his chair and gazed open-eyed in bewilderment at Mr. Golutkin, who looked at him in exactly the same way. At last Christian Ivanovich stood up, gently holding the lining of Mr. Golutkin'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, Mr. Golikin's second moment, his lips trembled, his chin began twitching, and our hero quite unexpectedly burst into tears, sobbing, shaking his head, and striking himself on to the chest with the 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, Christian Ewanwitz recovered from his amazement. Come. Calm yourself, he brought out at last, trying to make Mr. Golikin sit down in an armchair. I have enemies, Kristian Ivanovich. I have enemies. I have malignant enemies who have soarn to ruin me, Mr. Golikin answered in a frightened whisper. Come, come. Why enemies? You mustn't talk about enemies. You really mustn't. Sit down. Sit down, Kristian Ivanovich went on. Getting Mr. Golikin once and for all into the armchair. Mr. Golikin sat down at last, still keeping his eyes fixed on the doctor with an extremely displeased air. Christian Ibenovic strolled from one end of the room to another. A long silence followed. I am grateful to you, Christian Ibenovic.
I am very grateful, and I am very sensible of all you have done for me now. "'To my dying day, I shall never forget your highness,' Christian Ivanovitch said Mr. Golutkin, getting up from his seat with an offended air. "'Come.' "'Give over,' I tell you. "'Give over,' Christian Ivanovitch responded rather sternly to Mr. Golutkin's outpost, making him sit down again. "'Well, what's the matter?' "'Tell me what is unpleasant,' Christian Ivanovitch went on. "'And what enemies are you talking about? What is wrong?' "'No!' Krishnan Imanovitch, we'd better leave that now, answered Mr. Goldilocks, casting down his eyes. Let us put all that aside for the time. Till another time, Krishnan Imanovitch, 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 happened between us, you will agree yourself, Krishnan Imanovitch. Allow me. To wish you a good morning, Krishnina Vanovich, said Mr. Golikkin, getting up gravely and resolutely, and taking his hat. Oh, well, as you like. Hmm. A moment of silence followed. For my part, you know, whatever I can do, and I sincerely wish you well. I understand you, Krishnina Vanovich, I understand. I understand you perfectly now. In any case, excuse me for having troubled you, Krishnina Vanovich. Hmm. 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, Krishna Iverovich. I will go on with them, and I will get them at the same chemist.
To be a chemist nowadays, Krishna Iverovich, is an important business. How so? In what sense do you mean? In a very ordinary sense, Krishna Iverovich, I mean to say that nowadays That's the way of the world. Hm. And that every silly youngster, not only a chemist's boy, turns off his nose at respectable people. Hm. How do you understand that? I'm speaking of a certain person, Krishnina Ivanovich, of a common acquaintance of ours, Krishnina Ivanovich, of Vladimir Semyonovich. Ah. Yes, Krishnina Ivanovich. And I know certain people, Christian Ivanovich, who didn't keep to the gentle 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, Christian Ivanovich. It's a Russian saying. They know. How to congratulate someone at the right moment. For instance, there are people like that. Congratulate? Yes, congratulate. Kristina Ivanovich, as someone I know very well, did the other day. Someone you know very well? Ah, how was that? said Kristina Ivanovich, looking attentively at Mr. Goljitkin. Yes, someone I know very well congratulated someone 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 am the more pleased, as all the world knows, That there are old women nowadays who tell fortunes. At this point Mr. Golikin gave a sly nod, and, screwing off his eyes, looked at Christian Ivanovich. Hmm. So he said that? He did, Christian Ivanovich. He said it, and glanced at once at Andrew Filipovich, the uncle of our Prince Charming, Vladimir Seminovich. But what is it to me, Christian Ivanovich? That he has been made a successor. 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 have said everything now. Allow me to withdraw. Hmm. Yes, Krishna Ivanovitch. Allow me now, I say, to withdraw.
But to kill two birds with one stone. As I tweeted our young gentleman with the old woman, I turned to Clara, also Febna. It all happened the same day before yesterday at Alzufie Ivanovitch's, and she had only just sung a song with feeling. "'You've sung a song of feeling, madam,' said I, "'but they have not been listened to with a pure heart.' And by that I hinted plainly, Krishnivanovitch, hinted plainly. That they were not running after her now, but looking higher. Ah! What did he say? He swallowed the pill, Krishnan Ibenovitch, as the saying is, Hmm. Yes, Krishnan Ibenovitch. To the old man himself, too, I said. Oh, Sophie Ibenovitch, said I, I know how much I am indebted to you. I appreciate to the full all the kindness you have showered upon me.
from my childhood up. But open your eyes, also, Fivanovich," I said. Look about you. I myself do things openly and above board, also, Fivanovich. Oh, really? Yes, Krishnivanovich. Really? What did he say? Yes. What? Indeed, Krishnivanovich. He mumbled one thing and another. And I know you, and that is 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, Krishnivanovich, 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, Krishnivendvich.
They've concocted a womanish scantle. Our bear, too, had a finger in it, and his nephew, our prince charming. They've joined hands with the old woman. And, of course, they've concocted the affair. Would you believe it? They've plotted the murder of someone. The murder of someone? Yes, Krishnivendvich. The moral murder of someone. They spread about. I am speaking of a man I know very well. Krishnan Ivanovich nodded. They spread rumors about him. I confess I am ashamed to repeat them. Krishnan Ivanovich, hmm. They spread a rumor that he had signed a promise to marry, though he was already engaged in another quarter. And would you believe it, Krishnan Ivanovich? 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 it what they say? Would you believe it, Kristian Ivanovich? A low German, a nasty, shameless German, Karolina Ivanovich. If you know, I confess, for my part. I understand you, Kristian Ivanovich. I understand, and for my part I feel it. Tell me, please. Where are you living now? Where am I living now, Krishnan Ivanovich? Yes, I want. I believe you used to live. Yes, Krishnan Ivanovich, I did. I used to. To be sure, I lived. And said Mr. Goliukin, accompanying his words with a little laugh, and somewhat disconcerting Krishnan Ivanovich by his answer, No, you misunderstood me. I meant to say, I too.
Meant to say, Christian Ivanovich. I, too—I meant it, too. Mr. Goliatkin continued laughing. But I've kept you far too long, Christian Ivanovich. I hope you will allow me now to wish you good morning. Hmm. Yes, Christian Ivanovich, I understand you. I fully understand you now, said our hero, with a slight flourish before Christian Ivanovich. And so firm with me to wish you good morning. At this point, our hero made a scrapping with the toe of his belt, and walked out of the room, leaving Krishnir Benović 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 the mortals, and thereupon to go straight to his office.
When suddenly his carriage trembled up to the door, he glanced at it and remembered everything. Petrushka was already opening the carriage door. Mr. Goliatkin 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 Kristian Ivanovitch's window. Yes, it was so. Christian E.V. was standing at the window, was stroking his whiskers with his right hand, and staring with some curiosity at the hero of our story. "'That doctor is silly,' thought Mr. Golutkin, huddling out of sight in the carriage. "'Extremely silly. He may treat his patients all right, but still he is as stupid as a post.' Mr.
Golutkin sat down. Petrushka shouted, Off! And the carriage rolled towards Nevsky Prospect again.
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3 03 - Chapter 3 16:56
All that morning was spent by Mr. Goliadkin 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 listened attentively to the shopkeeper, who was very pressing for a small deposit. He 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 for Petrushka. and diligently seeking our fresh shops. On the way he dropped into a money-changers, 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.
Goliadkin 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 a very toilet-table for ladies' use, in the latest style. And, assuring the shopkeeper then 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. Goliadkin seemed to grow heartily sick of it all. And he began, and goodness knows why, To be tormented by the stings of conscience. Nothing would have induced him now, for instance, to meet Andrei Filippovich, or even Khristian Ivanovitch. At last the town clock struck three. When Mr. Goliatkin 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 cent, 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 is 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. Goliathkin 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 this was unsuitable.
Mr. Goliatkin 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 around and saw facing him two of his colleagues, the same two he had met that morning in Letany Street, young men, and very much as 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. Goliatkin. He frowned a little, and was disconcerted for an instant.
Yakov Petrovich! Yakov Petrovich! chirped the two register clerks. You here? What brings you? Ah, it is you, gentlemen, Mr. Goliatkin 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 have deserted, gentlemen. 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 Petrovich? Why, the bear? Do you mean to say you don't know whose name that is? Mr. Goyatkin laughed, and turned to the cashier to take his change. I mean Andrey Filipovich, gentlemen, he went on, finishing with the cashier, and turning to the clerks this time with a very serious face. The two registered clerks winked at one another. He's still at the office, and asking for you, Yakov Petrovich, 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 Petrovich. But what's up with you? Scented? Pomodied? And such a swell? Nothing, gentlemen, nothing. That's enough," answered Mr. Goliadkin, looking away with a constrained smile.
Seeing that Mr. Goliadkin was smiling, the clerks laughed aloud. Mr. Goliadkin 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 have known me only on one side. No one is to blame for that, and I am conscious that the fault has been partly my own. Mr. Goliadkin 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 evocation 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 are 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 at their noses when they are not wanted. I've told you almost everything, gentlemen. Now allow me to withdraw. Mr. Goyadkin paused. As the registered clerks had not got all that they wanted, both of them with great incivility burst into shouts of laughter. Mr. Goyadkin 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 am not one to intrigue, and I am proud of it. I have 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. Goliatkin subsided into eloquent silence, and, with 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? Patricia asked rather gruffly. He was probably weary of hanging about in the cold. What are your orders? he asked Mr. Goliatkin, 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. Goliatkin. Isn't it early now? However, I can go a little early. Besides, it's only a family dinner, and so I can go San Facon. As they say among well-bred people, why shouldn't I go Saint-Francone? The bear told us to, that it would be all Saint-Francone, and so it will be the same.
Such were Mr. Goliadkin'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. Goliadkin, No one would have said that he was on his way to a good dinner, and only a simple dinner in his family circle, San Facon, as they say among well-bred people. Finally, just as Ismailovsky Bridge, Mr. Goliathkin 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-story window, Mr.
Goliathkin kissed his hand to her. He had, however, at 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 slate trembling in his knees, he went upstairs. "'Ulufsi Ivanovich?' he inquired of the man who opened the door. "'At home, sir. At least he's not at home. His honor is not at home.' "'What? What do you mean, my good man?' "'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 denounced, 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 Gerasimovich, Olyosy Ivanovich's older butler, came out. "'You see the gentleman wants to go in, Elmian Gerasimich, and I—' "'And you're a fool, Alexeych. Go inside and send the rascal Semyanovich here. It's impossible,' he said politely, but firmly, addressing Mr. Goliadkin. "'It's quite impossible. His honor begs you to excuse him. He can't see you.' "'You said he couldn't see me?' Mr. Goliadkin asked uncertainly.
"'Excuse me, Gerasimich. Why is it impossible?' "'It's quite impossible.' I've informed your honor. 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 you to be excused, but... Allow me, Gerasimich. How is it, Gerasimich? Excuse me. Excuse me. replied Gerasimich, very firmly putting away Mr. Goliathkin's hand, and making way for two gentlemen who walked into the entry that very instant. The gentlemen in question were Andrey Filipovich and his nephew, Vladimir Semyonovich. Both of them looked with amazement at Mr.
Goliathkin. Andrey Filipovich seemed about to say something, but Mr. Goliathkin had by now made up his mind. He was by now walking out of Elisifai Ivanovich's entry, blushing and smiling. With eyes cast down, and a countenance of helpless bewilderment. I will come afterwards, Gerasimich. I will explain myself. I hope that all this will, without delay, be explained in due season. Yakov Petrovich! Yakov Petrovich! He heard the voice of Andrei Filipovich following him. Mr. Gojadkin was by that time on the first landing. He turned quickly to Andrei Filipovich. What do you desire, Andrei Filipovich? he said in a rather resolute voice. What's wrong with you, Yakov Petrovich? In what way? No matter, Andrey Filipovich.
I'm on my own account here. This is my private life, Andrey Filipovich. What's that? I say, Andrey Filipovich, 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 Filipovich. Absolutely nothing. An impudent slut of a girl, and nothing more. What? What? Andrei Filippovich was stupefied with amazement. Mr. Goyadkin, who had up until then looked as though he would fly into Andrei Filippovich's face, seeing that the head of his office was laughing a little, almost unconsciously took a step forward. Andrei Filippovich jumped back.
Mr. Goyadkin went up one step, and then another. Andrei Filippovich looked about him uneasily. Mr. Goyadkin mounted the stairs rapidly. Still more rapidly. Andrei Filippovich darted into the flat and slammed the door after him. Mr. Goladkin 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. He muttered, smiling with constraint. Meanwhile, there came the sounds of steps and voices on the stairs, probably of other guests invited by Osefei Ivanovich. Mr. Goyadkin recovered himself to some extent, put up his raccoon 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. Goyadkin 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 Olsafiy Ivanovich'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 now? Go home. Drive on. Home! Off! shouted Petrushka, climbing onto the footboard. "'What a crow's croak!' thought Mr. Goliatkin. 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 he was driving into Asofy Ivanovich's yard again. "'Don't, don't, you fool, back!' shouted Mr. Goliatkin, and, as though he were expecting this order, the driver made no reply. Without stopping at the entrance, drove all around the courtyard and out into the street again. Mr. Goyadkin did not drive home, but after passing the Szymonski Bridge, told the driver to return to a side street, and stopped 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 an 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.
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4 04 - Chapter 4 33:09
The Double by Fyodor Dostoevsky, translated by Constance Carnet. Chapter Four, that day, the birthday of Clara Sofina, the only daughter of the civil councillor Berendeev, At one time, Mr. Goliathkin's benefactor and patron was being celebrated by a brilliant and sumptuous dinner party, such as had not been seen for many a long day within the walls of the flats in the neighborhood of Ismailovsky Bridge. A dinner, more like some bathysars feast, with a suggestion of something Babylonian in its brilliant luxury and style. With vieux cliquot, champagne, and oysters and fruit from alysées and milliers tins, with all sorts of fatted halves, and all grades of garment service. This festive day was to conclude with a brilliant bowl, a small birthday bowl, but yet brilliant in its taste, its distinction, and its style.
Of course, I am willing to admit that similar bowls do happen sometimes, though rarely. Such balls, more like family rejoicings than balls, can only be in such houses as that of the civil councillor, Bereniave. I will say more. I even doubt if such balls could be given in the houses of all civil councillors. Oh, if I were a poet, such as Homer or Pushkin, I mean, of course, with any lesser talent, one would not venture I should certainly have painted all that glorious day for you, O my readers, with the free brush and brilliant colors. Yes, I should begin my poem with my dinner. I should lay special stress on that striking and solemn moment when the first gobley was raised to the honor of the Queen of the Feet.
I should describe to you the guests plunged in irreverent silence and expectation, as eloquent as the rhetoric of Demosthenes. I should describe for you, then, how Andrei Filipovich, having as the eldest of the guests some right to take precedence, adorned with his gray hair, and the others, what will be fit gray hairs, got up from his seat and raised above his head the congratulatory glass of sparkling wine, brought from a distant kingdom to celebrate such occasions in more like heavenly nectar than plain wine. I would pray for you. The guests and the happy parents, raising their glasses, too, after Andrei Filippovich, and fastening upon him eyes full of expectation. I would describe for you how the same Andrei Filippovich, so often mentioned, after dropping a tear in his glass, delivered his congratulations and good wishes, proposed the toast, and drank the health.
But I confess, I freely confess, that I could not do justice to that solemn moment when the queen of the feet, Clara Osserfavna, blushing like a rose in spring, with the glow of bliss and modesty, was so overcome by her feelings that she sank into the arms of her tender mama. How that tender mama shed tears, and how the father, old-sofie Ivanovitch, a hale old man and a privy counsellor, who had lost the use of his legs, in his long years of service, and been rewarded by destiny for his devotion with investments. A house, some small estates, and a beautiful daughter, soaked like a little child, and announced through his tears that His Excellency was a benevolent man. I could not, I positively could not, describe the enthusiasm that followed that moment.
In every heart, an enthusiasm clearly evinced in the conduct of a youthful register clerk, though at that moment he was more like a civil counsellor than a register clerk, who was moved to tears, too, as he listened to Andrei Filippovich. In his turn, too, Andrei Filippovich was, in that solemn moment, quite unlike a collegiate counsellor and the head of an office in the department. Yes, he was something else. What exactly? I do not know, but not a college ed counselor. He was more exalted. Finally! Oh, why do I not possess the secret of lofty, powerful language of the sublime style to describe these grand and edifying moments of human life, which seem created expressly to prove that virtues sometimes triumphs over ingratitude, free-thinking, wise, and envy?
I will say nothing. but in silence, which will be better than any eloquence. I will point to that fortunate youth just entering on his twenty-sixth spring to Vladimir Semyonovitch, and to Filipovitch's nephew, who in his turn proposed a toast, and upon whom were fastened the tearful eyes of the parents, the proud eyes of Andrei Filipovitch, the modest eyes of the queen of the fete, the solemn eyes of the guests, and even decorously Envious eyes of some of the young men's youthful colleagues. I will say nothing of that, though I cannot refrain from observing that everything in that young man, who was, indeed speaking in a complimentary sense, more like an elderly than a young woman, everything from his blooming cheeks to his accessorial rank, seemed almost to proclaim aloud the lofty pinnacle a man can attain through morality and good principles.
I will not describe how Anton Antonovich Sieto-Tochkin, a little old man as gray as a badger, the head clerk of the department, who was a colleague of Andrei Filippovich's, and had once been also of Olsofya Ivanovich's, and was an old friend of the family, and Clara also Fabian's godfather, in his time proposed a toast, crowed like a cock, and cracked many little jokes. How, by this extremely proper breach of propriety, if one might use such an expression, he made the whole company laugh till they cried, and how Clara also fave her parents' reward him for his jocularity and politeness with a kiss. I will only say that the guests who must have felt like kinsfolk and brothers after such a dinner at last rose from the table, and the elderly and more solid guests After a brief interval spent in friendly conversation, interspersed with some candid and, of course, very polite and proper observations, went decorously into the next room, and, without losing valuable time, promptly divided themselves up into parties, and, full of the sense of their own dignity, installed themselves at tables covered with green peys.
Meanwhile, the ladies established in the drawing-room suddenly became very affable and began talking about dress materials, and the venerable host, who had lost the use of his legs in the service of loyalty and religion, had been rewarded with all the blessings we have enumerated above, began walking about on crutches among his guests, supported by Vlasber Semyonovitch and Clara Osofayvna, And he, too, suddenly becoming extremely affable, decided to improvise a modest little dance, regardless of the expense, to that end a nimble youth. The one who was more like a civil counsellor than a youth, was dispatched to fetch musicians, and musicians to the number of eleven arrived, and exactly at half-past eight struck up the inviting strains of a French quadrille, Followed by various other dances, it is needless to say that my pen is too weak, dull, and spirit-less to describe the dance that owed its inspiration to the genial hospitality of the gray-headed host.
And how, I ask, can the modest chronicler of Mr. Golutkin's adventures, extremely interesting as they are in their own way, how can I depict the choice and rare mingling of beauty, brilliance, style, gaiety, Polite solidity and solid politeness, sportiveness, joy, all the mirth and playfulness of these wives and daughters of petty officials, more like fairies than ladies, in a complimentary sense, with their lily shoulders and their rosy faces, their ethereal figures, their playfully agile homeopathic, to use the exalted language appropriate, little feet, How can I describe to you finely the gallant officials, their partners, gay and solid youths, steady, gleeful, decorously vague, smoking a pipe in the intervals between the dancing, in a little green room of heart, or not smoking a pipe in the intervals between the dancers?
Every one of them, with a highly respectable surname and rank in the service, all steeped in a sense of the elegant, and a sense of their own dignity. Almost all speaking French to their partners, or a Russian, using only the most well-bred expressions, compliments, and profound observations, and only in the smoking-room permitting themselves some genial lapses from this high tone, some phrases of cordial and friendly brevity, such, for instance, as, "'Pon my soul, Petka, you rake, you did kick me off that polka in style.' Or, I say, Vasya, you dog, you did give your partner a time of it. For all this, as I have already had the honor of explaining all my readers, my pen fails me, and therefore I am dumb.
Let us rather return to Mr. Goliatkin, the true and only hero of my very truthful tale. The fact is that he found himself now in a very strange position. To the least of it, He was here also, gentlemen, that is, not at the dance, but almost at the dance. He was all right, though. He could take care of himself. Yet at that moment he was a little astray. He was standing at the moment, strange to say, on the landing of the back stairs to old Sophie Ivanovich's flat. But it was all right. His standing there, he was quite well. He was standing in a corner, huddled in a place which was not very warm, though it was dark, partly hidden by a huge cupboard, and an old screen, in the midst of rubbish, litter and odds and ends of all sorts, concealing himself for the time being, and watching the course of proceedings as a disinterested spectator.
He was only looking on now, gentlemen. He, too, gentlemen, might go in. Of course. Why should he not go in? He had only to take one step, and he would go in, and would go in very adroitly. Just now, though he had been standing nearly three hours between the cupboard and the screen, in the midst of the rubbish, litter and oats, and ends of all sorts, he was only quoting, in his own justification, a memorable phrase of the French minister Villel, All things Come in time to him who has the strength to wait. Mr. Goliathkin had read this sentence in some book on quite a different subject, but now very aptly recalled it. The phrase, to begin with, was exceedingly appropriate to his present position, and, indeed, why should it not occur to the mind of a man who had been waiting for almost three hours in the cold and dark in expectation of a happy ending to his adventures?
After quoting very appropriately the phrase of the French minister Villel, Mr. Golikin immediately thought of the Turkish vizier, Marty Simrits, as well as of the beautiful Markrawine Louis, whose story he had read also in some books. Then it occurred to his mind that the Jesuits made it their rule that any means were justified if only the end were attained. Fortifying himself somewhat with this historical fact Mr. Goliatkin said to himself, What were the Jesuits? The Jesuits were, every one of them, very great fools. That he was better than any one of them. That if only the refreshment room would be empty for one minute, the door of the refreshment room opened straight into the passage to the back stairs, where Mr.
Goliatkin was hiding. He would, in spite of all the Jesuits in the world, go straight in, first from the refreshment room into the tea room, Then into the room, where they were now playing cards. Then straight into the hall, where they were now dancing the poker. And he would go in. He would slip through, and that would be all. No one would notice him, and once there he would know what to do. Well, so this is the position in which we find the hero of our perfectly true story. Though, indeed, it is difficult to explain what was passing in him at that moment. The fact is, Then he had made his way to the back of the stairs and to the passage on the ground that, as he said, why shouldn't he? And everyone did go that way.
But he had not ventured to penetrate further. Evidently, he did not dare to do so. Not because there was anything he did not dare, but just because he did not care to, because he preferred to be in hiding. So here he was. Waiting now for a chance to slip in, and he had been waiting for it two hours and a half. Why not wait? Villal himself had waited. But what had Villal to do with it? thought Mr. Goliathkin. How does Villal come in? But how am I to—to go and walk in? Eh, you dummy, said Mr. Goliathkin, pinching his benumbed cheek with his benumbed fingers. You silly fool. You silly old Goliathkin. Silly fool of a surname. But these compliments paid to himself were only by the way and without any apparent aim.
Now he was on the point of pushing forward and slipping in. The refreshment room was empty, and no one was in sight. Mr. Goliathkin saw all this through the little window. In the steps he was at the door and had already opened it. Should he go in or not? I'll go in. Why not? Do the bold always lie open? Reassuring himself in this way, our hero, suddenly and quite unexpectedly, treated behind the screen. No, he thought. Ah! Now somebody's coming in. Yes, they've come in. Why did I twaddle when there were no people about? Even so, I shall go and slip in. No, how slip in, when a man has such a temperament? Three. What a low tendency. I'm as scared as a hen. Being scared is our special line. That's the fact of the matter.
To be abject on every occasion is our line. No need to ask us about that. Just stand here, like a post, and that's all. At home, I should be having a cup of tea now. It would be pleasant, too, to have a cup of tea. If I come in later, Petrushka, I'll crumble. Maybe. Shall I go home? Damnation take all this. I'll go. And that'll be the end of it. Reflecting on his position in this way, Mr. Golurkin dashed forward as though someone had touched a spring in him. In two steps he found himself in the refreshment room, flung off his overcoat, took off his hat, hurriedly thrust these things into a corner, straightened himself and smoothed himself down. Then he moved on to the tea room, and from the tea room darted into the next room, slipped almost unnoticed between the car players, who were at the tip-top of excitement.
Then Mr. Golikin forgot everything that was going on about him, and went straight as an arrow into the drawing-room. As luck would have it, they were not dancing. The ladies were permeating up and down the room in picturesque groups. The gentlemen were standing about in twos and threes, or flitting about the room, engaging partners. Mr. Golikin noticed nothing of this. He saw only Clara Osserfavner, Near her, Andrei Filipovich, then Vladimir Semyonovich, two or three officers, and finally two or three other young men, who were also very interesting and, as anyone could see at once, were either very promising or had actually done something. He saw someone else, too, or rather he saw nobody and looked at nobody, but moved by the same spring which had set him crashing into the midst.
of a pole to which he had not been invited. He moved forward, and then forwarder, and forwarder. On the way he jostled against the counsellor, and trod on his foot, and incidentally stepped on a very venerable old lady's dress and turret a little, pushed against a servant with a tray, and then ran against somebody else. And not noticing all this, Passing further and further forward, he suddenly found himself facing Clara Zofaona. There is no doubt whatever that he would, with the utmost delight, without winking an eyelid, have sung through the earth at that moment. But what has once been done cannot be recalled, can never be recalled. What was he to do? If I, to intrigue, if I fail, I don't lose heart.
If I succeed, I persevere. Mr. Golikin was, of course not, one to intrigue, and not accomplished in the art of polishing the floor with his boots, and so, indeed, it proved. Besides, the Jesuits had some hand in it, too. Mr. Golikin had no thoughts to spare for them now. All the moving, noisy, laughing groups were suddenly hushed as though at a signal, and, little by little, crowded round Mr. Golikin. However, seemed to hear nothing, to see nothing, he could not look. He could possibly not look at anything. He kept his eyes on the floor, and stood, giving himself his word of honor, in passing, to shoot himself, one way or the other, that night. Making this war, Mr. Koolitkin inwardly said to himself, Here goes, and to his own great astonishment, began unexpectedly to speak.
He began with congratulations and polite wishes. The congratulations went off well, but over the good wishes our hero stammered. He felt that if he stammered, all would be lost at once. And so it turned out. He stammered and floundered, floundering. He blushed crimson, blushing. He was overcome with confusion. In his confusion, he raised his eyes. Raising his eyes, he looked about him. Looking about him, he almost swooned. Everyone stood still. Everyone was silent. A little nearer there was laughter. Mr. Goliath confessed a humble, imploring look on Andrei Filippovich. Andrei Filippovich responded with such a look that if our hero had not been utterly crushed already, he certainly would have been crushed a second time.
That is, if that were possible, the silence lasted long.
This rather concerned with my domestic circumstances and my private life, Henry Philipovich? Our hero half-dead articulated in a scarcely audible voice. It is not an official incident, Henry Philipovich. For shame, sir, for shame, Henry Philipovich pronounced in a half-whisper. With an incredible air of indignation, he pronounced these words, and giving Clara Suffena his arm, he returned away from Mr. Goliatkin. "'I've nothing to be ashamed of,' andriy filipovitch," answered Mr. Golikin. "'Also,' in a whisper, turning his miserable eyes about him, trying helplessly to discover in the amazed crowd something on which he could gain a footing in retrieve his social position. "'Why? It's all right.
It's nothing. Gentlemen, why? What's the matter? Why? It might happen to anyone,' whispered Mr. Golikin. Moving a little away, and trying to escape from the crown surrounding him. They made way for him. Our hero passed through two rows of inquisitive and wandering spectators. Fate drew on him. He felt himself that fate was leading him on. He would have given a great deal, of course, for a chance to be back in the passage, by the back stairs, without having committed a breach of propriety. But as that was utterly impossible, he began Trying to creep away into a corner and to stand there, modestly, decorously, apart, without interfering with anyone, without attracting a special attention, but at the same time to win the favourable notice of his host and the company.
At the same time, Mr. Goliatkin felt as though the ground were giving way under him, as though he was staggering, falling. At last he made his way to a corner and stood in it. Like an unconcerned, rather indifferent spectator, leaning his arms on the backs of two chairs, taking complete possession of them in that way, and trying, as far as he could to glance confidently at also Fivanovich's guests, grouped about him. Standing nearest him was an officer, a tall and handsome fellow, beside whom Goliathkin felt himself an insect. These two chairs, Lieutenant, are intended, one for Clara Osserfabina, and other for Princess Mr. Scheherdorf. I'm taking care of them for them, said Mr. Golikin, breathlessly, turning his imploring eyes on the officer.
The Lieutenant said nothing, but turned away with a murderous smile. Check in this direction. Our hero was about to try his luck in another quarter, and directly addressed an important counselor with a cross of great distinction on his breast. But the counsel looked him up and down, with such a frigid stare that Mr. Golikin felt distinctly as though a whole bucketful of cold water had been thrown over him. He subsided into silence. He made up his mind that it was better to keep quiet, not to open his lips, and to show that he was all right, that he was like everyone else, and that his Position, as far as he could see, was quite a proper one. With this object he revitted his gaze on the lining of his coat, then raised his eyes and fixed them upon a very respectable-looking gentleman.
"'That gentleman has a wig on,' thought Mr. Goliadkin, "'and if he takes off that wig he would be bald. His head will be as bare as the palm of my hand.' Having made this important discovery, Mr. Goliadkin thought of the Arab emirs. Whose heads are left bare and shaven if they take off the green turbans they wear as a sign of their descent from the Prophet Muhammad. Then probably from some special connection of ideas with the Turks, he thought of the Turkish slippers, and at once, apropos of that, recalled the fact that Andrei Filippovich was wearing boots, and that his boots were more like slippers than boots. It was evident that Mr. Goldilocks had become, to some extent, reconciled to his position.
"'What if the Chantilly'r,' flashed Mr. Goldilocks's mind, were to come down from the ceiling and fall upon the company? I would rush at once to save Clara Zofabner. "'Save her,' I should cry. "'Don't be alarmed, madam. It's of no consequence. I will rescue you.' "'Aye, then.' At that moment Mr. Golyarty looked about in search of Clara Zofaina, and saw Zerasimitch, or Zofievanovitch's old butler. Zerasimitch, with a most anxious and solemnly official air was making straight for him. Mr. Golyarty started in front from an unaccountable but most disagreeable sensation. He looked about him mechanically, and it occurred to his mind, that if only he could somehow creep off somewhere, unobserved, on this lie, simply disappear, that it behaved as though he had done nothing at all, as though the matter did not concern him in the least.
But before our hero could make up his mind to do anything, Gerasimitch was standing before him. "'Do you see, Gerasimitch?' said our hero, with a little smile addressing Gerasimitch. "'You go and tell them. Do you see the candle?' There in the chandelier, Jarosimich. It will be falling down directly. So you now, you must tell them to see to it. It really will fall down, Jarosimich. The candle? No, the candle's running straight. Somebody else is asking for you, sir. Who's asking for it, Jarosimich? I really can't say, sir, who it is. A man with a message. Is Jakob Petrovich Goliathkin here? Says he. Then call him out. Says he. On very urgent and important business, you say? No, Gerasimitch, you are making a mistake, in that you are making a mistake, Gerasimitch.
I doubt it, sir. No, Gerasimitch, it isn't doubtful. There is nothing doubtful about it, Gerasimitch. Nobody is asking for me. But I am quite at home here. That is, in my right place, Gerasimitch. Mr. Golitkin took a breath and looked about him. Yes, everyone in the room. All had their eyes fixed upon him, and were listening in a sort of solemn expectation. The men had crowded a little nearer, and with all attention, a little farther away, the ladies were whispering together. The master of the house made his appearance at no great distance from Mr. Goldilocks, and though it was impossible to detect from his expression that he, too, was taking a close and direct interest in Mr. Goldilocks's position, for everything was being done with delicacy.
Yet, nevertheless, it all made our hero feel that the decisive moment had come for him. Mr. Collierkin saw clearly that the time had come for an old stroke, the chance of putting his enemies to shame. Mr. Collierkin was in great agitation. He was aware of a sort of inspiration, and in a quivering and impressive voice he began again addressing the waiting butler. "'No, my dear fellow. No one's calling for me. You're mistaken.' I will say more. You were mistaken this morning, too, when you assured me, dared to assure me, I say, he raised his voice, that also Faye Ivanovich, who has been my benefactor for as long as I can remember, and has in a sense been a father to me, was shutting his door upon me.
At a moment of solemn family rejoicing for his paternal heart, Mr. Goliath looked about him complacently, but with deep feeling, A tear glittered on his eyelashes. "'I repeat, my friend,' our hero concluded, "'you were mistaken. You were cruelly and unpardonably mistaken.' The moment was a solemn one. Mr. Goliathkin felt that the effect was quite certain. He stood with modesty, downcast eyes, expecting also Fivanovich to embrace him. Excitement and perplexity were apparent in the guests, even The inflexible and terrible Jarasmich faltered over the words I doubted. When suddenly the ruthless orchestra, apropos of nothing, struck up a polka, all was lost, all was scattered to the wings. Mr. Goliathkin started.
Jarasmich stepped back. Everything in the room began undulating like the sea, and Vladimir Semyonovich led to dance with Clara Zafavna. While the handsome lefinet followed with Princess Shesha Hanout, onlookers, curious and delighted, squeezed in to watch them dancing the polka, an interesting fashionable new dance, which everyone was crazy over. Mr. Goliathkin was, for the time, forgotten, but suddenly all were thrown into excitement, confusion, and puzzle. The music ceased. A strange incident had occurred. Tired out with the dance, and almost breathless with fatigue, Clara Zufaevner, with glowing cheeks and a heaving bosom, sank into an armchair. Completely exhausted, all hearts turned to the fascinating creature, all weighed with one another in complimenting her and thanking her for the pleasure conferred on them.
All at once stood before her, Mr. Goliatkin. He was pale, extremely perturbed. He, too, seemed completely exhausted. He could scarcely move. He was smiling for some reason. He stretched out his hand, imploringly. Clara Ossur Fabian was so taken aback that she had not time to withdraw hers, and mechanically got up at his invitation. Mr. Golodkin lurched forward, first once, then a second time, then lifted his leg, then made a scrape. Then gave a sort of stamp, then stumbled. He, too, wanted to dance with Clara Zufabna. Clara Zufabna uttered a shriek. Everyone rushed to release her hand from Mr. Goliatkin's, and in a moment our hero was carried almost ten paces away by the rush of the crowd. A circle formed round him, too.
Two old ladies, whom he had almost knocked down in his retreat, raised a great shrieking and outcry. The confusion was awful. All were asking questions. Everyone was shouting. Everyone was finding fault. The orchestra was silent. Our hero whirled round in a circle, and mechanically, with a semblance of a smile, muttered something to himself, such as, Why not? And that the poker, so far at least, as he could say, was a new, very interesting dance, invented for the diversion of the ladies. But that Since things had taken this turn, he was ready to consent. But Mr. Goliatkin's consent, no one apparently thought of asking. Our hero was suddenly aware, with some one's hand, was laid on his arm, that another hand was pressed against his back, that he was, with peculiar solitude, being guided in a certain direction.
At last he noticed that he was going straight to the door. Mr. Goliatkin wanted to say something, to do something. But no. He no longer wanted to do anything. He only mechanically kept laughing in answer. At last he was aware that they were putting on his great coat, that his hat was thrust over his eyes. Finally he felt that he was in the entry on the stairs in the dark and cold. At last he stumbled. He felt that he was falling down a precipice. He tried to cry out, and suddenly he found himself in the courtyard. The air blew fresh on him. He stood still for a minute. At that very instant the strains reached him. After the orchestra striking up again, Mr. Goliakyn suddenly recalled it all. It seemed to him that all his flagging energies came back to him again, where he had been standing, as though reverted to the spot.
But now he started off and rushed away headlong, anywhere into the air, into freedom. Where do a chance might take him?
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5 05 - Chapter 5 16:43
V. The Double by Feodor Dostoevsky Translated by Constance Garnett.
Chapter Five. It was striking midnight from all the clock towers in Petersburg when Mr. Goliadkin, beside himself, ran out on the Fontanka Quay, close to the Ismolovsky Bridge, fleeing from his foes, from persecution, From a hailstorm of nips and pinches aimed at him, from the shrieks of excited old ladies, from the oohs and ahs of women, and from the murderous eyes of Andrei Filipovich. Mr. Goliatkin was killed, killed entirely, in the full sense of the word, and if he still preserved the power of running, it was simply through some sort of miracle, a miracle in which at last he refused himself to believe. It was an awful November night, wet, foggy, rainy, snowy, teeming with colds in the head.
Fevers, swollen faces, quenzeys, inflammations of all kinds, and descriptions, teeming, in fact, with all the gifts of a Petersburg November. The wind howled in the deserted streets, lifting up the black water of the canal, above the rings on the bank, and irritably brushing against the lean lampposts, which chimed in with its howling in a thin, shrill creak, keeping up the endless, squeaky, jangling concert with which every inhabitant of Petersburg is so familiar. Snow and rain were falling both at once. Lashed by the wind, the streams of rainwater spurted almost horizontally, as though from a fireman's hose, pricking and stinging the face of the luckless Mr. Goliadkin, like a thousand pins and needles.
In the stillness of the night, broken only by the distant rumbling of carriages, the howl of the wind, and the creaking of the lamp-posts, there was the dismal sound of the splash and gurgle of water, rushing from every roof, every porch, every pipe, and every cornice, On to the granite of the pavement. There was not a soul, near or far. And indeed, it seemed there could not be as such an hour, and in such weather. And so only Mr. Goliatkin, along with his despair, was fleeing in terror along the pavements of Fontanka, with his usual rapid little step, in haste to get home, as soon as possible, to his flat on the fourth story in Chesterlovatchy Street. Though the snow, the rain, and all the nameless horrors of a raging snowstorm and fog under a Petersburg November sky, were attacking Mr.
Goliatkin, already shattered by misfortunes, were showing him no mercy, giving him no rest, drenching him to the bone, gluing up his eyelids, blowing right through him from all sides, baffling and perplexing him, though conspiring and combining with all his enemies to make a grand day, evening, and night for him. In spite of all this, Mr. Goliatkin was almost insensible to his final proof of the persecution of destiny. So violent had been the shock and the impression made upon him a few minutes before at the civil counsellor Beridemyov's. If any disinterested spectator could have glanced casually at Mr. Goliatkin's painful progress, he would certainly have said that Mr. Goliatkin looked as though he wanted to hide from himself, as though he were trying to run away from himself.
Yes, it really was so. One may say more. Mr. Goliatkin did not want only to run away from himself, but to be obliterated, to cease to be. to return to dust. At the moment he took in nothing surrounding him, understood nothing of what was going on about him, and looked as though the miseries of this stormy night, of the long tramp, the rain, the snow, the wind, all the cruelty of the weather, did not exist for him. The goulash slipping off the boot on Mr. Goliadkin's right foot was left behind in the snow and slush on the pavement of Fontanka, and Mr. Goliadkin did not think of turning back to get it, did not, in fact, notice that he had lost it. He was so perplexed that— In spite of everything surrounding him, he stood several times stock-still in the middle of the pavement, completely possessed by the thought of his recent horrible humiliation.
At that instant he was dying, disappearing, and he suddenly set off again like mad, and ran and ran without looking back, as though he were pursued, as though he were fleeing from some still more awful calamity. The position was truly awful. At last Mr. Goljadkin halted in exhaustion. leaned on the rail in the attitude of a man whose nose was suddenly begun to bleed, and began looking intently at the black and troubled waters of the canal. All that is known is that at that instant Mr. Goliatkin reached such a pitch of despair, was so harassed, so tortured, so exhausted, and so weakened, and what feeble faculties were left him, that he forgot everything, forgot the Ismailovsky Bridge, forgot Shestelovshny Street, forgot his present plight.
After all, what did it matter to him? The thing was done. The decision was affirmed and ratified. What could he do? All at once. All at once he started, and involuntarily skipped a couple paces aside. With unaccountable uneasiness, he had been gazing about him. But no one was there. Nothing special had happened. And yet, and yet he fancied that just now, that very minute, someone was standing near him, beside him, also leaning on the railing. And, marvelous to relate, he'd even said something to him. Said something quickly, abruptly. Not quite intelligibly, but something quite private, something concerning himself. "'Why? Was it my fancy?' said Mr. Goliadkin, looking round once more. "'But where am I standing?' "'Heh, heh!' he thought finally, shaking his head.
Then he began gazing with an uneasy, miserable feeling into the damp, murky distance, straining his sight, doing his utmost to pierce with his short-sighted eyes the wet darkness that stretched all around him. There was nothing new, however. Nothing special caught the eye of Mr. Goliadkin. Everything seemed to be all right, as it should be, that is. The snow was falling more violently, more thickly, and in larger flakes. Nothing could be seen twenty paces away. The lamp-post creaked more shrilly than ever, and the wind seemed to intone its melancholy song, even more tearfully, more piteously, like an importune beggar whining for a copper to get a crust of bread. At the same time, a new sensation took possession of Mr.
Gliadkin's whole being. Agony upon agony, terror upon terror, a feverish tremor ran through his veins. The moment was insufferably unpleasant. Well, no matter. Perhaps it's no matter at all, and there's no stain on anyone's honor. Perhaps it is as it should be, he went on, without understanding what he was saying. Perhaps it will be all for the best in the end, and there will be nothing to complain of, and everyone will be justified. Talking like this, and comforting himself with words, Mr. Goliadkin shook himself a little, shook off the snow. which had drifted in thick layers on his hat, his collar, his overcoat, his tie, his boots, and everything. But his strange feeling, his strange obscure misery he could not get rid of, could not shake off.
Somewhere in the distance there was the boom of a cannon-shot. "'Ach! What weather!' thought our hero. "'Phew! Isn't there going to be a flood? It seems as though the water has risen so violently.' Mr. Goliadkin hardly said or thought this when he saw a person coming towards him. Belated, no doubt, like him, through some accident. An unimportant casual incident, one might suppose, but for some unknown reason, Mr. Goyadkin was troubled, even scared, and rather flurried. It was not that he was exactly afraid of some ill-intentioned man, but just that, perhaps, after all, who knows, this belated individual, flashed through Mr. Goyadkin's mind, maybe he's that very thing, maybe he's the very principal thing in it, and isn't here for nothing.
But it's here with an object, crossing my path and provoking me. Possibly, however, he did not think this precisely, but only had a passing feeling of something like it, and very unpleasant. There was no time, however, for thinking and feeling. The stranger was already within two paces. Mr. Goyadkin, as he invariably did, hastened to assume a quite peculiar air, an air that expressed clearly that he, Goyadkin, kept himself to himself, that he was all right, that the road was wide enough for all. And that he, Goliatkin, was not interfering with any one. Suddenly he stopped short, as though petrified, as though struck by lightning, and quickly turned round after the figure which had only just passed him, turned as though some one had given him a tug from behind, as though the wind had turned him like a weathercock.
The passer-by vanished quickly in the snow-storm. He, too, walked quickly. He was dressed like Mr. Goliatkin, and, like him, too, wrapped up from head to foot. And he, too, tripped and trotted along the pavement of Fontanka with rapid little steps that suggested that he was a little scared. "'What? What is it?' whispered Mr. Glyadkin, smiling mistrustfully, though he trembled all over. An icy shiver ran down his back. Meanwhile the stranger had vanished completely. There was no sound of his step, while Mr. Glyadkin still stood and gazed after him. At last, however, he gradually came to himself. "'Why, what's the meaning of it?' He thought with vexation. Why, have I really gone out of my mind, or what?
He turned and went on his way, making his footsteps more rapid and frequent, and doing his best not to think of anything at all. He even closed his eyes at last at the same object. Suddenly, through the howling of the wind and the uproar of the storm, the sound of steps very close at hand reached his ears again. He started and opened his eyes. Again, a rapidly approaching figure stood out black before him, some twenty paces away. This little figure was hastening, tripping along, hurrying nervously. The distance between them grew rapidly less. Mr. Goliadkin could by now get a full view of the second belated companion. He looked full at him and cried out with amazement and horror. His legs gave way under him.
It was the same individual who had passed him ten minutes before, and who now, quite unexpectedly, turned up facing him again. This was not the only marvel that struck Mr. Goliadkin. He was so amazed that he stood still. He cried out, tried to say something, and rushed to overtake the stranger, even shouted something to him, probably anxious to stop him as quickly as possible. The stranger did, in fact, stop ten paces from Mr. Goliadkin, so that the light from the lamp-post that stood near fell full upon his whole figure, stood still, turned to Mr. Goliadkin, and with an impatient and anxious face waited to hear what he would say. Excuse me, possibly I'm mistaken. Our hero brought out in a quavering voice.
The stranger, in silence and with an air of annoyance, turned and rapidly went on his way, as though in haste to make up for the two seconds he had wasted on Mr. Yadkin. As for the latter, he was quivering in every nerve. His knees shook and gave way under him, and with a moan he squatted on a stone at the edge of the pavement. There really was reason, however, for his being so overwhelmed. The fact is that the stranger seemed to him somehow familiar. That would have been nothing, though. But he recognized, almost certainly recognized this man. He had often seen him, that man, had seen him sometime, and very lately, too. Or could it have been? Surely not yesterday. But again, that was not the chief thing.
The mystical Yadkin had often seen him before. There was hardly anything special about the man. The man at first sight would not have aroused any special attention. He was just a man like anyone else. A gentleman like all other gentlemen, of course. And perhaps he had some good qualities, and a very valuable one, too. In fact, he was a man who was quite himself. Mr. Goliatkin cherished no sort of hatred or enmity, not even the slightest hostility toward this man. Quite the contrary, it would seem, indeed, and yet, and this was the real point, he would not for any treasure on earth have been willing to meet that man, and especially to meet him as he had done now. For instance, we may say more.
Mr. Goliatkin knew that man perfectly well. He even knew what he was called, what his name was, and yet nothing would have induced him And again, for no treasure on earth would have consented to name him, to consent to acknowledge that he was called so-and-so, that his father's name was this, and his surname was that. Whether Mr. Goliatkin's stupefaction lasted a short time or a long time, whether he was sitting for a long time on the stone of the pavement, I cannot say. But, recovering himself a little at last, he suddenly fell to running, without looking around, as fast as his legs could carry him. His mind was preoccupied. Twice he stumbled and almost fell. And through this circumstance his other boot was also bereaved of its goulash.
At last, Michiglyadkin slackened his pace a little to get breath, looked hurriedly round, and saw that he had already, without being aware of it, ran past part of the Nevsky prospect, and was now standing at the turning into Litanyi Street. Michiglyadkin turned into Litanyi Street. His position at that instant was like that of a man standing at the edge of a fearful precipice, while the earth is bursting open under him, as already shaking, moving, rocking for the last time. Falling, drawing him into the abbess, and yet the luckless wretch has not the strength nor the resolution to step back. To avert his eyes from the yawning gulf below, the abbess draws him, and at last he leaps into it of himself, himself hastening the moment of destruction.
Mr. Goyadkinou felt and was firmly convinced that some other evil could certainly befall him on the way, that some unpleasantness would overtake him, that he would, for instance, meet his stranger once more. But, strange to say, He positively desired that this meeting considered it inevitable, and all he asked was that it might be all quickly over, that he should be relieved from his position in one way or another, but as soon as possible. And meanwhile he ran on and on, as though moved by some external force, for he felt a weakness and numbness in his whole being. He could not think of anything, though his thoughts caught at everything like brambles. A little lost dog, soaked and quivering, attached himself to Mr.
Goyadkin, and ran beside him, scurrying along with tail and ears drooping, looking at him from time to time with timid comprehension. Some remote, long-forgotten idea, some memory of something that had happened long ago, came back into his mind now, kept knocking at his brain as with a hammer, vexing him, and refusing to be shaken off. "'Ech, that horrid little cur,' whispered Mr. Goliadkin, not understanding himself. At last he saw his stranger at the turning into Italianski Street. This time the stranger was not coming to meet him, but was running in the same direction as he was. And he, too, was running, a few steps in front. At last they turned into Shestanovsky Street. Mr. Goyadkin caught his breath.
The stranger stopped exactly before the house in which Mr. Goyadkin lodged. He heard a ring at the bell, and almost at the same time the grating of the iron bolt. The gate opened, the stranger stooped, darted in, and disappeared. Almost at the same instant Mr. Goyadkin reached the spot, and like an arrow flew in at the gate. Heedless of the grumbling porter, he ran, gasping for breath, into the yard, and immediately saw his interesting companion, whom he had lost sight of for a moment. The stranger darted towards its staircase, which led to Mr. Goyadkin's flat. Mr. Goyadkin rushed after him. The stairs were dark, damp, and dirt. At every turning there was heaped up masses of refuse from the flats, so that any unaccustomed stranger who found himself on the stairs in the dark was forced to travel to and fro, for half an hour in danger of breaking his legs, pressing the stairs as well as the friends who had lived in such an inconvenient place.
But Mr. Goyadkin's companion seemed as though familiar with it, as though at home. He ran up lightly, without difficulty, showing a perfect knowledge of his surroundings. Mr. Goyadkin had almost caught him up. In fact, once or twice the stranger's coat flicked him on the nose. His heart stood still. The stranger stopped before the door of Mr. Goyadkin's flat, knocked on it, and— Which would, however, have surprised Mr. Glyadkin at any other time. Petrushka, as though he had been sitting up in expectation, opened the door at once, and, with a candle in his hand, followed the stranger as the ladder went in. The hero of our story dashed into his lodging beside himself. Without taking off his hat or coat, he crossed the little passage and stood still in the doorway of his room, as though thunderstruck.
All his presentments had come true. All that he had dreaded and surmised was coming to pass in reality. His breath failed him. His head was in a whirl. The stranger, also in his coat and hat, was sitting before him on his bed, and with a faint smile, screwing up his eyes, nodded to him in a friendly way. Mr. Goyadkin wanted to scream, but could not, to protest in some way, but his strength failed him. His hair stood on end, and he almost fell down with horror. And indeed there was good reason. He recognized his nocturnal visitor. Nocturnal visitor was no other than himself. Mr. Goyadkin himself, another Mr. Goyadkin, but absolutely the same as himself, in fact, what is called a double in every respect.
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6 06 - Chapter 6 34:47
Golikin Woke Up In His Bed At Once All The Extraordinary Events Of The Previous Day And the wild, incredible night, with all its almost impossible adventures, presented themselves to his imagination and memory with terrifying vividness, such intense, diabolical malice on the part of his enemies. And, above all, the final proof of that malice froze Mr. Golyadkin's heart. But at the same time, it was all so strange, incomprehensible, wild, it seemed so impossible, that it was really hard to credit the whole business. Mr. Collierkin was, indeed, ready to admit himself that it was all an incredible delusion, a passing aberration of the fancy, a darkening of the mind, if he had not fortunately known by bitter experience to what length Spike will sometimes carry any one.
What a pitch of ferocity an enemy may reach when he is bent on avenging his honor and prestige.
Besides, Mr. Goliatkin's exhausted limbs, his heavy head, his aching back, and the malignant cold in his head, bore vivid witness to the probability of his expedition of the previous night and upheld the reality of it, and, to some extent, of all that had happened during the expedition. And, indeed, Mr. Goliatkin had known long, long before something was Wayne got up among them, that there was some one else with them. But after all, thinking it over thoroughly, he made up his mind to keep quiet, to submit, and not to protest for the time. They are simply plotting to frighten me, perhaps, and when they see that I don't mind, that I make no protest, but keep perfectly quiet and put up with it meekly, they'll give it up.
They'll give it up of themselves. Give it up of their own accord. Such, then, were the thoughts in the mind of Mr. Goliatkin, as, stretching in his bed, trying to rest his exhausted limbs, he waited for Petrushka to come into his room as usual. He waited for a full quarter of an hour. He heard the lazy scamp fiddling about with the summer wear behind the screen, and yet he could not bring himself to call him. We may say more. Mr. Golikin was a little afraid of confronting Petrushka. Why? Goodness knows, he thought. Goodness knows how that rascal looks at it all. He keeps on saying nothing, but he has his own ideas. At last the door creaked, and Petrushka came in with a tray in his hands. Mr. Golikin stole a timid glance at him, impatiently waiting to see what would happen, waiting to see whether he would Not say something about a certain circumstance.
But Petrushka said nothing. He was, on the contrary, more silent, more glum, and ill-humoured than usual. He looked askance from under his brows at everything. Altogether, it was evident that he was very much put out about something. He did not even glance at his master, which, by the way, rather piqued the latter. Setting all he had brought on the table, he turned and went out of the room without a word. He knows, he knows, he knows all about it. That scoundrel, Mr. Goliatkin gumbled to himself as he took his tea. Yet our hero did not address a single question to his servant. Though Petrushka came into his room several times afterwards on various errands, Mr. Goliatkin was in great trepidation of spirit.
He dreaded going to the office. He had a strong presentment that there he would find something that would not be just so. You may be sure, he thought, that as soon as you go you will light upon something. Isn't it better to endure in patience? Isn't it better to wait a bit now? Let them do what they like there. But I'd rather stay here a bit today. Recover my strength. Get better, and think over the whole affair more thoroughly. Then afterwards I could seize the right moment, fall upon them like snow from the sky, and get off scot-free myself. Reasoning like this, Mr. Golutkin spoke pipe after pipe. Time was flying. It was nearly half-past nine. Why, it's half-past nine already, thought Mr. Golutkin.
It's late for me to make my appearance. Besides, I'm ill. Of course I'm ill. I'm certainly ill. Who denies it? What's the matter with me? If they send to make inquiries, let the executive clerk come. And, indeed, what is the matter with me, really? My back aches, I have cough, and a cold in my head, and, in fact, it's out of the question for me to go out, utterly out of the question, in such weather I might be taken ill, and, very likely, Die. Nowadays especially the death rate is so high. With such reasoning, Mr. Kolytkin succeeded at last in setting his conscience at rest, and defending himself against the reprimands he expected from Andrea Philipovich for neglect of his duty. As at all, in such cases, our hero was particularly fond of justifying himself in his own eyes with all sorts of irrefutable arguments, and so completely setting his conscience at rest.
And so now, having completely soothed his conscience, he took up his pipe, filled it, and had no sooner settled down comfortably to smoke than he jumped up quickly from the sofa, flung away the pipe, briskly washed, shaved and brushed his hair, got into his uniform, and so on, snatched up some papers, and flew to the office. Mr. Golicon went into his department timidly. Inquivering expectation of something unpleasant, an expectation which was nonetheless disagreeable for being vague and unconscious. He sat timidly down in his invariable place next to the head clerk, Anton Antonovic, Shetrodochkin. Without looking at anything or allowing his attention to be distracted, he plunged into the contents of the papers that lay before him.
He made up his mind and vowed to himself to avoid, as far as possible, anything provocative. Anything that might compromise him, such as an indiscreet question, just or unseemly allusion to any incidents of the previous evening. He made up his mind also to abstain from the usual interchange of civilities with his colleagues, such as inquiries after health and such like. But evidently it was impossible, until they questioned to keep to this. Anxiety and uneasiness in regard to anything near him that was annoying always worried him far more than the annoyance itself. And that was why, in spite of his inward voice, to refrain from entering into anything, whatever happened, and to keep aloof from everything, Mr.
Goliklim, from time to time, on the sly, very, very quietly, raised his head, and stealthily looked about him, to right and to left, peeped at the countenances of his colleagues, and tried to gather whether There were not something new in particular in them referring to himself, and with sinister motives concealed from him. He assumed that there must be a connection between all that had happened yesterday and all that surrounded him now. At last, in his misery, he began to long for something. Goodness knows what, to happen to put an end to it. Even some calamity he did not care. At this point, Destiny caught Mr. Goliatkin. He had heartily felt his desire when his doubts were solved in the strange and the most unexpected manner.
The door leading from the next room suddenly gave a soft and timid creak, as though to indicate that the person about to enter was a very unimportant one, and a figure, very familiar to Mr. Goliatkin, stood shyly before the very table at which our hero was seated. The letter did not raise his head. No. He only stole a glance at him, the thornish glance. But he knew all, he understood all, to every detail. He grew hot with shame, and buried his devoted head in his papers with precisely the same object with which the ostrich, pursued by the hunters, hides his head in the burning sand. The new arrival bowed to Andrew Filippovich, and thereupon he heard a voice speaking. in the regulation tone, of condescending tone, of politeness, with which all persons in authority address their subordinates in public offices.
Take a seat here, said Andrey Philip Houtch, motioning the newcomer to Anton Antonovich's table. Here, opposite to Mr. Goldilocks, and we'll soon give you something to do. Andrey Philip Houtch ended by making a rapid gesture. that decorously admonished the newcomer of his duty, and then he immediately became engrossed in the study of the papers that lay in a heap before him. Mr. Golikin lifted his eyes at last, and that he did not fall into a swoon was simply because he had foreseen it all from the first, that he had been forewarned from the first. Guessing in his soul who the stranger was, Mr. Golikin's first moment was to look quickly about him, To see whether there was any whispering, any office joke being cracked on the subject, whether anyone's face was agape but wonder, whether, indeed, someone had not fallen under the table from terror.
But to his intense astonishment, there was no sign of anything of the sort. The behavior of his colleagues and companions surprised him. It seemed contrary to the dictates of common sense. Mr. Golikin was positively scared at this extraordinarily reticent. The fact spoke for itself. It was strange, horrible, uncanny thing. It was enough to rouse anyone. All this, of course, only passed rapidly through Mr. Golikin's mind. He felt as though he were burning in a slow fire, and indeed there was enough to make him The figure that was sitting opposite Mr. Golikin was now his terror, was his shame, was his nightmare of the evening before. In short, was Mr. Golikin himself. Not the Mr. Golikin who was sitting now in his chair, with his mouth wide open and his pen petrified in his hands.
Not the one who acered as assistant to his chief. Not the one who liked to efface himself and slink away in the crowd. Not the one whose department plainly said, "'Don't touch me, and I won't touch you,' or, "'Don't interfere with me. You see, I'm not touching you.' No, this was another Mr. Gullerkin. Quite different, yet at the same time, exactly like the first. The same height, the same figure, the same clothes, the same baldness. In fact, nothing. Absolutely nothing was lacking to complete the likeness, so that if one were to set them side by side, nobody, absolutely nobody, could have undertaken to distinguish which was the real Mr. Goliathkin, and which was the new one, which was the original, and which was the copy.
Our hero was, if the comparison can be made, in the position of a man upon whom some practical joker Her stealthily, by way of just, turned a burning grass. What does it mean? Is it a dream? he wondered. Is it reality, or the continuation of what happened yesterday? And besides, by what right is all this being done? Who sanctioned such a clerk? Who authorized this? Am I asleep? Am I in a waking dream? Mr. Golikin tried pinching himself, even tried to screw up his courage to pinch Someone else. No, it was not a train, and that was all about it. Mr. Golikin felt that the sweat was trickling down him in big drops. He felt that what was happening to him was something incredible, unheard of, and for that very reason was to complete his misery, utterly, unseemly.
For Mr. Golikin realized and felt how disadvantageous it was to be the first example Of such a perilous adventure, he even began to doubt his own existence, and though he was prepared for anything, and had been longing for his doubts to be settled in any way whatever, yet the actual reality was startling in its unexpectedness. His misery was poignant and overwhelming. At times he lost all power of thought and memory. Coming to himself, after such a moment, he noticed that he was mechanically And unconsciously, moving the pen over the paper, mistrustful of himself, he began going over what he had written, and could make nothing out of it. At last, the other Mr. Golutkin, who had been sitting discreetly and decorously at the table, got up and disappeared through the door into the other room.
Mr. Golutkin looked around. Everything was quiet. He heard nothing but the scratching of pens, the rustle of turning over pages. End the conversation in the corners, farthest from Andrew Philipowitz's seat. Mr. Kolyakyn looked at Antonin Antonovich, and as, in all probability, our hero's countenance fully reflected his real condition and harmonized with the whole position, and was consequently, from one point of view, very remarkable. Good-natured, Antonin Antonovich, laying aside his pen, inquired after his health. In marked sympathy. "'I am very well, thank God, Anton Antonovich,' said Mr. Goliatkin, stammering. "'I am perfectly well, Anton Antonovich. I am all right, Anton Antonovich,' he added, uncertainly, not yet fully trusting Anton Antonovich, whose name he had mentioned so often.
"'I fancied you were not quite so well, though that's not to be wondered at. No.' Indeed. Nowadays especially, there's such a lot of illness going about. Do you know? Yes, Anton Antonovich. I know there is such a lot of illness. I did not mean that, Anton Antonovich. Mr. Goliatkin went on, looking intently at Anton Antonovich. You see, Anton Antonovich, I don't even know you. I don't even know half you, that is, I mean to say. How to approach this matter, Anton Antonovich? How so? I really... Do you know? I must confess I don't quite understand. You must explain, you know, in what way you are in difficulties, said Anton Antonovich, beginning to be in difficulties himself, seeing that there were actually tears in Mr.
Goldilocks' eyes. Really, Anton Antonovich? I hear. There's a clerk here, Antonin Antonovitch. Well, I don't understand now. I mean to say, Antonin Antonovitch, there was a new clerk here. Yes, there is, a namesake of yours. What? cried Mr. Goliathkin. I say, a namesake of yours. His name is Goliathkin, too. Isn't he a brother of yours? No, Antonin Antonovitch. I— Hmm. You don't say so? Why, I thought it must be a relation of yours. Do you know? This is all of family likeness. Mr. Goldilocks was petrified with astonishment, and for the moment he could not speak. To treat so lightly such a horrible, unheard-of thing, a thing undeniably rare and curious in its way, a thing which would have amazed even an unconcerned spectator, to talk of a family resemblance when he could see himself as in a looking-glass.
"'Do you know, Yakov Petrovich, what I advise you to do?' Anton Antonovich went on. "'Go and consult a doctor. Do you know? You look somehow quite unwell. Your eyes look so peculiar. You know, there's a peculiar expression in them.' "'No.' Antonin Antonevich. I feel, of course, that is, I keep wanting to ask about this clerk. Well, that is, have you not noticed, Antonin Antonevich, something peculiar about him, something very marked? That is? That is, I mean, Antonin Antonevich, a striking likeness with somebody, for instance, with me, for instance. You spoke just now, you say, Antonin Antonevich, of a family likeness. You let slip. The remark, you know, there really are sometimes twins exactly alike, like two drops of water, so that they can't be told apart.
Well, it's that that I mean. To be sure, said Antonia Antonovitch, after a moment's thought, speaking as though he were struck by the fact for the first time, yes, indeed, you're right. There is a striking likeness, and you're quite right in what you say. You really might be mistaken for one another. He went on, opening his eyes wider and wider. As—and do you know, Yakov Petrovich, it's positively a marvelous likeness. Fantastic. In fact, as the saying is—that is, just as you—have you observed, Yakov Petrovich? I wanted to ask you to explain it. Yes, I must confess. I didn't take particular notice at first. It's wonderful. It's really wonderful. And—'You know, you're not a native of these parts, are you, Yakov Petrovich?' "'No, he's not from these parts—you know, either.
Perhaps he comes from the same part of the country as you do.' Where—may I make bold to inquire—did your mother live for the most part?' You say, Antoninowicz, that he's not a native of these parts. "'No, he's not. And indeed—' How strange it is," continued the talkative Anton Antonovich, for whom it was a genuine treat to gossip. It may well arouse curiosity, and yet, you know, you might pass him by, brush against him, without noticing anything. But you mustn't be upset about it. It's just—it's a thing that does happen, do you know? The same thing, I must tell you, happened to my aunt. On my mother's side, she saw her own double before her death. No, excuse me for interrupting you, Antonin Antonovich.
I wanted to find out, Antonin Antonovich, how that clerk, that is, on what footing is he here? Only the place of Semyon Ivanovich, to fill the vacancy left by his death. The post was vacant, so he was appointed. Do you know? I'm told poor Semyon Ivanovich left three children, all tiny dots. The widow fell at the feet of His Excellency. They do say she's hiding something. She's got a bit of money, but she's hiding it. No, I answered Antonovitch. I was still referring to that circumstance. You mean? To be sure. But why are you so interested in that? I tell you, not to upset yourself. All this is temporary, to some extent. Why, after all, you know, you have nothing to do with it. So it has been ordained by God Almighty.
It's his will, and it is sinful repining. His wisdom is apparent in it. As far as I can make out, Yakov Petrovich, you are not to blame in any way. There are all sorts of strange things in the world. Mother Nature is liberal with her gifts, and you are not called upon to answer for it. You won't be responsible. Here, for instance, you have heard, I expect, of those—what's their name? Oh, the Siamese twins, who are joined together at the back, live and eat and sleep together. I'm told they get a lot of money. Allow me, Antony Antonevich. I understand, I understand, yes. But what of it? It's no matter, I tell you. As far as I can see, there's nothing for you to upset yourself about. After all, he's a clerk.
As a clerk, he seems to be a capable man. He says his name is Golutkin, that he's not a native of this district, and that he's a titular councillor. He had a personal interview with His Excellency. And how did His Excellency... It is all right. I am told he gave a satisfactory account of himself, gave his reasons, said, It's like this, your excellency, and that he was without means and anxious to enter the service, and would be particularly flattered to be serving under his excellency. All that was proper, you know. He expressed himself neatly. He must be a sensible man, but of course he came with a recommendation. He couldn't have gotten without that. Oh, from whom? That is, I mean, who is it has had a hand in this shameful business?
Yes, a good recommendation, I'm told. His Excellency, I'm told, laughed with Andrei Filippovich. Laughed with Andrei Filippovich? Yes, he only smiled and said that it was all right, and that he had nothing against it. So long as he did his duty. Well. And what more? You relieve me to some extent, Andrew Antronowicz. Go on. I'm free to you. Excuse me. I must tell you again. Well, then... Come. It's nothing. It's a very simple matter. You mustn't upset yourself, I tell you. And there's nothing suspicious about it. No, I... That is? Antonovich. I want to ask you. Didn't his Excellency say anything more about me, for instance? Well, to be sure—no, nothing of the sort. You can set your mind quite at rest.
You know, it is, of course, a rather striking circumstance. And at first—why? Here, I, for instance, I scarcely noticed it. I really don't know why I didn't notice it till you mentioned it. But you can set your mind at rest entirely. He said, nothing particular. Absolutely nothing, added good-natured Antonin Tonovitch, getting up from his chair. So then, Antonin Tonovitch, I—oh, you must excuse me. Here I've been gossiping about these trivial matters, and I've business that is important and urgent. I must inquire about it. Antonin Tonovitch, and the Philipo's voice sounded. summoning him politely. His Excellency has been asking for you. This minute. I'm coming this minute. Andrei Filipovich. And Antonin Antonovich, taking a pile of papers, flew off first to Andrei Filipovich, and then into His Excellency's room.
Then what is the meaning of it? thought Mr. Goliatkin. Is there some sort of game going on? So the wind's in the quarter now. That's just as well. So things have taken a much pleasanter turn, our hero said to himself, rubbing his hands, and so delighted that he scarcely knew where he was. So, our position is an ordinary thing. So it turns out to be all nonsense. It comes to nothing at all. No one has done anything, really. And they are not perching. The rascals, they are sitting busy. Over their work. That's splendid. Splendid. I like the good-natured fellow. I've always liked him, and I'm always ready to respect him. Though, it must be said, one doesn't know what to think. This Anton Antonovich.
I'm afraid to trust him. His gray hair, and he's getting shaky. It's an immense and glorious thing that His Excellency said nothing, and let it pass. It's a good thing. I approve. Only why does Andrea Filippovich interfere with his grins? What's he got to do with it, the old rogue? Always on my track, always like a black cat, on the watch to run across a man's path, always thwarting and annoying a man, always annoying and thwarting a man. Mr. Golikin looked around him again, and again his hopes revived. Yet he felt that he was troubled by one remote idea, an unpleasant idea. It even occurred to him that he might try somehow to make up to the clerks to be the first in the field, even, perhaps when leaving the office or going up to them, as though about his work, to drop a hint in the course of conversation, saying, This is how it is.
What a striking likeness, gentlemen, a strange circumstance. A powerless farce, that is, treated all lightly, and in this way, sound the depth of the danger. Devil's breed in still waters, our hero concluded inwardly. Mr. Golyakyn, however, only contemplated this. He thought better of it in time. He realized that this would be going too far. That's your temperament, he said to himself, tapping himself lightly on the forehead. As soon as you gain anything, you are delighted. You are a simple soul. No, you and I had better be patient, Yakov Petrovich. Let us wait, and be patient. Nevertheless, as we have mentioned already, Mr. Golyakkin was buoyed up with the most confident hopes, feeling as though he had risen from the dead.
No matter, he thought. It's as though a hundred tons had been lifted off my chest. Here is the circumstance, to be sure. The box has been opened by the lid. Krylov is right, a clever chap, a rogue, that Krylov, a great fabled right. And as for him, let him work in the office, and good luck to him, so long as he doesn't meddle or interfere with anyone. Let him work in the office. I consent and approve. Meanwhile the hours were passing, flying by, And before he noticed the time it struck four, the office was closed. And the Philipowitz took his hat, and all followed his example in due course. Mr. Goliath King twaddled a little on purpose, long enough to be the last to go out when all others had gone their several ways.
Going out from the street, he felt as though he were in Paradise, so that he even felt inclined to go the longer way round, and to walk along The Nevsky prospect. To be sure, this is destiny, thought our hero. This is an unexpected turn in affairs, and the weather is more cheerful, and the frost, and the little sledges, and the frost suits the Russian. The Russian gets on capitally with the frost. I like the Russian, and the dear little snow, and the first few flakes in the autumn. The sportsman would say, It would be nice to go shooting hares in the first nerve. Well there, it doesn't matter. This was how Mr. Goliatkin's enthusiasm found expression. Yet something was threatening in his brain, not exactly melancholy, but at times he had such a knowing in his heart that he did not know how to find relief.
Let us wait for the day, though, and then we shall rejoice. And, after all, you know, What does it matter? Come, let us think over. Let us look at it. Come, let us consider it. My young friend, let us consider it. Why, a man's exactly like you, in the first place. Absolutely the same. Well, what is there in that? If there is such a man, why should I weep over it? What is it, to me? I stand aside, I whistle to myself, and that's all. That's what I laid myself open to. And that's all about it. Let him work in the office. Well, it's strange and marvelous, they say, that the Siamese twins—but why bring in the Siamese twins? They are twins, of course. But even great men, you know, sometimes look queer creatures.
In fact, we know from history that the famous Souverauve used to crow like a cock. But there— He did all that with political motives, and he was a great general. But what are generals after all? Well, I keep myself to myself, that's all. I don't care about anyone else, and secure in my innocence, I score my enemies. I'm not one to intrigue, and I'm proud of it. Gentle, straightforward, neat, and nice, meek and mild. All at once Mr. Colliarton broke off. His tongue failed him, and he began trembling like a leaf. He even closed his eyes for a minute, hoping, however, that the object of his terror was only an illusion. He opened his eyes at last, and stole the timid plants to the right. No, it was not an illusion.
His acquaintance of that morning was tripping along by his side, smiling, peeping into his face, and apparently seeking an opportunity to begin a conversation with him. The conversation was not begun. However, they both walked like this for about fifty paces. All Mr. Goliatkin's efforts were concentrated on muffling himself up, hiding himself in his coat, and pulling his hat down as far as possible over his eyes. To complete his modification, his companion's coat and had looked as though they had been taken off Mr. Koolitkin himself. Sir, our hero articulated at last, trying to speak almost in a whisper, and not looking at his companion. We are going different ways, I believe. I am convinced of it.
In fact, he said, after a pause, I am convinced, indeed, that you quite understand me, he added, rather severely in conclusion. I could have wished his companion pronounced at last. I could have wished—no, no doubt, you will be magnanimous and pardon me. I don't know to whom to address myself here, my circumstances. I trust you will pardon my intrusiveness. I fancied, indeed, that, moved by compassion, you showed some interest in me this morning. On my side, I felt drawn to you from the first moment. I—I At this point Mr. Goliatkin inwardly wished that his companion might sink into the earth. If I might venture to hope that you would accord me an indulgent hearing, Yakov Petrovich, we here. You had better come home with me, answered Mr.
Goliatkin. We will cross now to the other side of the Nevsky Prospect. It will be more convenient for us there, and then by the little back street. We'd better go by the back street. Very well. By all means, let us go by the back street. Our hero's mere companion responded timidly, suggesting by the tone of his reply that it was not for him to choose, and that in his position he was quite prepared to accept the back street. As for Mr. Golutkin, he was utterly unable to grasp what was happening to him. He could not believe in himself. He could not get over his amazement.
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He recovered himself a little on the staircase as he went up to his flat. Oh, I'm a sheep's head, he railed at himself inwardly. Where am I taking him? I am thrusting my head into the noose. What will Petrushka think, seeing us together? What will the scoundrel dare to imagine now? He's suspicious. But it was too late to regret it. Mr. Goliadkin knocked at the door. It was opened, and Petrushka began taking off the visitor's coat as well as his master's. Mr. Goliadkin looked askance, just stealing a glance at Petrushka, trying to reach his countenance and divine what he was thinking. But to his intense astonishment, he saw that his servant showed no trace of surprise, but seemed, on the contrary, To be expecting something of the sort.
Of course, he did not look morose, as it was. He kept his eyes turned away, and looked as though he would like to fall upon somebody. Hasn't somebody bewitched them all to-day? thought our hero. Some devil must have got around them. There certainly must be something peculiar in the whole lot of them to-day. Damn it all! What a worry it is! Such were Mr. Goliadkin's thoughts and reflections as he led his visitor into his room and politely asked him to sit down. The visitor appeared to be greatly embarrassed. He was very shy, and humbly watched every movement his host made, caught his glance, and seemed trying to divine his thoughts from them. There was a downtrodden, crushed, scared look about all his gestures, so that, if the companion may be allowed, he was at that moment rather like the man who, having lost his clothes, is dressed up in somebody else's.
The sleeves worked up to the elbows, the waist is almost up to his neck, and he keeps every minute pulling down the short waistcoat. He wriggles sideways and turns away, tries to hide himself or peeps into every face, and listens where the people are talking of his position, laughing at him or putting him to shame, and he is crimson with shame and overwhelmed confusion and wounded vanity. Mr. Glyakin put down his hat in the window, and carelessly sent it flying into the floor. The visitor darted at once to pick it up, brushed off the dust and carefully put it back, while he laid his own on the floor near a chair, on the edge of which he meekly seated himself. This little circumstance did something to open Mr.
Goyetkin's eyes. He realized that the man was in great straits, and so did not put himself out for his visitor, as he had done at first, for a properly leaving all that to the man himself. The visitor, for his part, did nothing either. Whether he was shy, a little ashamed, or from politeness in waiting for his host to begin is not certain, and would be difficult to determine. At that moment Petrushka came in. He stood still in the doorway. and fixed his eyes in the direction furthest from where the visitor and his master were seated. "'Shall I bring in dinner for two?' he said carelessly, in a husky voice. "'I don't know. You—yes. Bring dinner for two, my boy.' Petrushka went out. Mr. Glyadkin glanced at his visitor, the latter crimson to his ears.
Mr. Glyadkin was a kind-hearted man, and so in the kindness of his heart he at once elaborated a theory. "'The fellow's hard up,' he thought. "'Yes.' And in his situation only one day. Most likely he suffered in his time. Maybe it's good clothes are all that he has, and nothing to get him at dinner. Ah, poor fellow, how crushed he seems! But no matter. In a way it's better so. "'Excuse me,' began Mr. Goliatkin. "'Allow me to ask what I may call you.' "'I—I—I'm Yakov Petrovich,' his visitor almost whispered, as though conscience-stricken and ashamed. As though apologizing for being called Yakov Petrovich, too. Yakov Petrovich? repeated our visitor, unable to conceal his confusion. Yes, just so.
The same name is yours, responded the meek visitor, venturing to smile and speak a little jocosely. But at once he drew back, assuming a very serious air, though a little disconcerted, noticing that his host was in no joking mood. You? Allow me to ask you, to what am I indebted for the honor? "'Knowing your generosity and your benevolence,' interposed the visitor in a rapid but timid voice, half rising from his seat, "'I have ventured to appeal to you and to beg for your acquaintance and protection,' he concluded, choosing his phrases with difficulty, and trying to select words not too flattering or servile, that he might not compromise his dignity, and not so bold as to suggest an unseemly equality.
In fact, one may say, the visitor behaved like a gentlemanly beggar, with a darned waistcoat, with an honorable passport in his pocket, who has not yet learned by practice to hold out his hand properly for alms. "'You perplex me,' answered Mitzko Yadkin, gazing round at himself, his walls, and his visitor. "'And what could I—that is, I mean, in what way could I be of service to you?' "'I felt drawn to you, Yakov Petrovich, at first sight. And, graciously forgive me, I've built my hopes, Yakov Petrovich. I—I'm in a desperate plight here, Yakov Petrovich.' "'I'm poor. I've had a great deal of trouble, Yakov Petrovich, and have only recently come here, learning that you, with your innate goodness and excellence of heart, are of the same name,' Mr.
Glyatkin frowned, "'of the same name as myself, and a native of the same district. I made up my mind to appeal to you, and to make known to you my difficult position.'" "'Very good. Very good. I really don't know what to say,' Mr. Glyatkin responded in an embarrassed voice. "'We'll have a talk after dinner.'" The visitor bowed. Dinner was brought in. Petrushka laid the table, and Mr. Yadkin and his visitor proceeded to partake of it. The dinner did not last long, for they were both in a hurry. The host, because he felt ill at ease, and was, besides, ashamed that dinner was a poor one. He was partly ashamed because he wanted to give the visitor a good meal, and partly because he wanted to show him he did not live like a beggar.
The visitor, on his side, too, was in terrible confusion and extremely embarrassed. When he had finished the piece of bread he had taken, he was afraid to put out his hand to take another piece, was ashamed to help himself to the best morsels, and was continually assuring his host that he was not at all hungry. The dinner was excellent, that he was absolutely satisfied with it, and should not forget it to his dying day. When the meal was over, Mr. Glyadkin lighted his pipe and offered a second, which was brought in to his visitor. They sat facing each other, and the visitor began telling his adventures. Mr. Glyadkin, Jr.'s story lasted for three or four hours. His history was, however, composed of the most trivial and wretched, if one may say so, incidents.
It dealt with details of service in some law court in the provinces, of prosecutors and presidents of some department intrigues, of the depravity of some registration clerks, of an inspector, of the sudden appointment of a new chief in the department, of how the second, Mr. Lyakin, had suffered quite without any fault on his part, of his aged aunt, Pelagia Semyonova, of how, through various intrigues on the part of his enemies, he had lost his situation, and had come to Petersburg on foot over the harassing and wretched time he had spent here in Petersburg, how, for a long time, he had tried in vain to get a job, had spent all his money, had nothing left, had been living almost in the street, living on a crust of bread, and washed it down with his tears, slept on the bare floor, and finally how some good Christian had exerted himself on his behalf, had given him an introduction, and had nobly got him into a new berth.
Mr. Goyadkin's visitor shed tears as he told the story, and wiped his eyes with a blue-checked handkerchief that looked like oilcloth. He ended by making a clean breast of it to Mr. Goyadkin, and confessing that he was not only for the time without means of subsidence and money for a decent lodging, but had not even the wherewithal to fit himself out properly, said he had, he said in conclusion, been able to get together enough for a pair of wretched boots, and that he had had to hire a uniform for the time. Mr. Goyadkin was melted. He was genuinely touched, even though his visitor's story was the paltriest story. Every word of it was like heavenly manna to his heart. The fact was that Mr. Goyadkin was beginning to forget his last misgivings, to surrender his soul to freedom and rejoicing, and at last mentally dubbed himself a fool.
He was also natural, and what a thing to break his heart over. What a thing to be so distressed about. To be sure there was there, really was, one ticklish circumstance. But, after all, it was not a misfortune. It could be no disgrace to a man. It could not cast a slur on his honor or ruin his career, if he were innocent, since nature himself was mixed up in it. Moreover, the visitor begged for protection, wept, railed at destiny, and seemed such an artless, pitiful, insignificant person, with no craft or malice about him, and he seemed now to be ashamed of himself, though perhaps on different grounds, of the strange resemblance of his countenance with that of Mr. Goliathkins. His behavior was absolutely unimpeachable.
His one desire was to please his host, and he looked as a man looks who feels conscience-stricken, and to blame it in regard to someone else. If any doubtful point were touched upon, for instance, the visitor at once agreed with Mr. Goyadkin's opinion. If, by mistake, he advanced an opinion in opposition to Mr. Goyadkin's, and afterwards a notice that he had made a slip, he immediately corrected his mistake, explained himself, and made it clear that he meant the same thing as his host. They thought as he did, and took the same view of everything as he did. In fact, the visitor made every possible effort to make up to Mr. Goliadkin, so the latter made up his mind, at last, that his visitor must be a very amiable person in every way.
Meanwhile, tea was brought in. It was nearly nine o'clock. Mr. Goliadkin felt it of very good humor, grew lively and skittish, let himself go a little, and finally plunged into a most animated and interesting conversation with his visitor. In his festive moments, Mr. Glyadkin was fond of telling interesting anecdotes. So now he told the visitor a great deal about Petersburg, about its entertainments and attractions, about the theater, the clubs, about Prulov's picture, and about the two Englishmen who came from England to Petersburg on purpose to look at the iron railing of the summer garden, and returned at once when they had seen it, about the office, about Olyssi Ivanovich and Andrei Filippovich, about the way that Russia was progressing, was hour by hour progressing towards a state of perfection.
So that arts and letters flourish here today, about an anecdote he had lately read in the Northern Bee concerning a boa constrictor in India of immense strength, about Baron Brownbouse, and so on. In short, Mr. Goyadkin was quite happy. First, because his mind was at rest. Secondly, because so far from being afraid of his enemies, he was quite prepared now to challenge them all to mortal combat. Thirdly, because he was now in the role of patron and was doing a good deed. And he was conscious at the bottom of his heart that he was not perfectly happy, that there was still a hidden worm gnawing at his heart. It was only a tiny one. He was extremely worried by the thought of the previous evening at Elisovia Ivanovich's.
He would have given a great deal now for nothing to have happened of what took place then. It's no matter, though, our hero decided at last, and he firmly resolved in his heart to behave well in future and never be guilty of such pranks again. As Mr. Goyatkin was now completely worked up, And had suddenly become almost blissful. The fancy took him to have a jovial time. Rum was brought in by Petrushka, and Punch was prepared. The visitor and his host drained a glass each, and then a second. The visitor appeared even more amiable than before, and gave more than one proof of his frankness and charming character. He entered keenly into Mr. Goliathkin's joy, seemed only to rejoice in his rejoicing, and to look upon him as his one and only benefactor.
Taking up a pen and a sheet of paper, He asked Goliadkin not to look at what he was going to write, but afterwards showed his host what he had written. It turned out to be a verse of four lines, written with a great deal of feeling, in excellent language and handwriting, and evidently was the composition of the amiable visitor himself. The lines were as follows. If thou forget me, I shall not forget thee. Though all things may be, do not thou forget me. With tears in his eyes, Mr. Goliadkin embraced his companion, and— Completely overcome by his feelings, he began to initiate his friend to some of his own secrets in private affairs. Andrei Filippovich and Clara Ulsefina being prominent in his remarks.
"'Well, you may be sure we shall get on together, Yakov Petrovich,' said our hero to his visitor. "'You and I will take to each other like a fish to the water, Yakov Petrovich. We shall be like brothers. We'll be cunning, my dear fellow. We'll work together. We'll get up in intrigue, too, to pay them out. To pay them out, we'll get up in intrigue, too.' "'And don't you trust any of them. I know you, Yakov Petrovich, and I understand your character. You'll tell them everything straight out, you know. You're a guileless soul. You must hold aloof from them all, my boy.' His companion entirely agreed with him, thanked Mr. Glyadkin, and he too grew tearful at last. "'Do you know, Yasha?' Mr. Glyadkin went on in a shaking voice, weak with emotion.
"'You must stay with me for a time, or stay with me forever. We shall get on together. What do you say, brother, eh?' And don't you worry or repine, because there's such a strange circumstance about us now. It's a sin to repine, brother. It's natural, and Mother Nature is liberal with her gifts. So there, brother Yasha, it's from love for you that I speak, from brotherly love. But we'll be cunning, Yasha. We'll lay a mind, too, and we'll make them laugh the other side of their mouths. They reached to the third and fourth glasses of punch at last, and the mystical Yadkin began to be aware of two sensations, the one that he was extraordinarily happy and the other that he could not stand on his legs.
The guest was, of course, invited to stay the night. A bed was somehow made up on two chairs. Mr. Goliatkin, Jr. declared that under a friend's roof the bare floor would be a soft bed, that for his part he could sleep anywhere, humbly and gratefully, that he was in paradise now, that he had been through a great deal of trouble and grief in his time. He had seen ups and downs, had all sorts of things to put up with, and who could tell what the future would be? Maybe he would still have more to put up with. Mr. Goyadkin, Sr. protested against this, and began to maintain that one must put one's faith in God. His guest entirely agreed, observing that there was, of course, no one like God. At this point, Mr.
Goyadkin, Sr. observed that in certain respects the Turks were right in calling upon God even in their sleep. Then, though disagreeing with certain learned professors in the slanders, they had promulgated against the Turkish prophet, Muhammad, and recognized him as a great politician in his own line. Mr. Glyakin passed to a very interesting description of an Algerian barber-shop, which he had read in a book of miscellanies. The friends laughed heartily at the simplicity of the Turks, but paid due tribute to their fanaticism, which they ascribed to opium. At last the guest began undressing, and thinking in the kindness of his heart that very likely he hadn't even a decent shirt, Mr. Glyakin went behind the screen to avoid embarrassing a man who had suffered enough, and partly to reassure himself as far as possible about Petrushka.
To sound him. to cheer him up if he could, to be kind to the fellow, so that every one might be happy, and that everything might be pleasant all around. It must be remarked that Petrushka still rather bothered Mr. Goliatkin. "'You go to bed now, Pator,' Mr. Goliatkin said blandly, going into his servant's domain. "'You go to bed now, and wake me up at eight o'clock. Do you understand, Petrushka?' Mr. Goliatkin spoke with exceptional softness and friendliness, but Petrushka remained mute. He was busy making his bed, and did not even turn round to face his master. Which he ought to have done out of simple respect. Did you hear what I said, Petr? Michiko Yadkin went on. You go to bed now, and wake me tomorrow at eight o'clock.
Do you understand? Why, I know that. What's the use of telling me? Petrushka grumbled to himself. Well, that's right, Petrushka. I only mention it to you that you might be happy and at rest. Now we are all happy, so I want you, too, to be happy and satisfied. And now I wish you good night. Sleep, Petrushka, sleep. We all have to work. Don't think anything amiss, my man. Mr. Goliatkin began, but stopped short. Isn't this too much, he thought? Haven't I gone too far? That's how it always is. I always overdo things. Our hero felt much dissatisfied with himself, as he left Petrushka. He was, besides, rather wounded by Petrushka's grumpiness and rudeness. One jest with the rascal. His master does him too much honor, and the rascal does not feel it, thought Mr.
Goliatkin. But there, that's the nasty way of all that sort of people. Somewhat shaken, he went back to his room, and seeing that his guest had settled himself for the night, he sat down on the edge of his bed for a minute. "'Come, you must own Yasha,' he began in a whisper, wagging his head. "'You're a rascal, you know. What a way you treated me. You see, you've got my name. Do you know that?' he went on, jesting in a rather familiar way with his visitor. At last saying a friendly good-night to him, Michiko Yadkin began preparing for the night. The visitor, meanwhile, began snoring. Michiko Yadkin, in his turn, got into bed. Laughing and whispering to himself. You are drunk today, my dear fellow, Yakov Petrovich.
You rascal. You old Goliatkin. What a surname to have. Why, what are you so pleased about? You'll be crying tomorrow, you know, you sniveller. What am I to do with you? At this point, a rather strange sensation pervaded Mr. Goliatkin's whole being. Something like doubt or remorse. A bit overexcited and let myself go, he thought. Now I've got a noise in my head, and I'm drunk. I couldn't restrain myself. Asked that I am, and I've been babbling bushels of nonsense. And, like a rascal, I was planning to be so sly. Of course, to forgive and forget, gingeries is the height of virtue. That's a bad thing. Nevertheless, yes, that is so. At this point, Mr. Gojadkin got up, took a candle, and went on tiptoe to look once more at his sleeping guest.
He stood over him for a long time, meditating deeply. An unpleasant picture, a burlesque, a regular burlesque, and that's the fact of the matter. At last, Mr. Glyakin settled down finally. There was a humming, a buzzing, a ringing in his head. He grew more and more drowsy, tried to think about something very important, some delicate question, but could not. Sleep descended upon his devoted head, and he slept as people generally do sleep, who are not used to drinking, and have consumed five glasses of punch at some festive gathering.
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8 08 - Chapter 8 36:19
The Double. By Fyodor Dostovsky. Translated by Constance Garnet. Chapter Eight. Mr. Goliath can wake up next morning at eight o'clock as usual. As soon as he was awake, he recalled all the adventures of the previous evening. and frowned as he recalled them. Ah! I did play the fool last night, he thought, sitting up and glancing at his visitor's bed. But what was his amazement when he saw in the room no trace, not only of his visitor, but even of the bed on which his visitor had slept? What does it mean? Mr. Goyukin almost shrieked. What can it be? What does his new circumstance portend? While Mr. Golikin was gazing in open-mouthed bewilderment at the empty spot, the door creaked, and Petrushka came in with the tea-tray.
"'Where? Where?' our hero said in a voice hardly audible, pointing to the place which had been occupied by his visitor the night before. At first Petrushka made no answer, and did not look at his master, but fixed his eyes upon the corner to the right. Till Mr. Goliatkin felt compelled to look into that corner, too, after a brief silence. However, Petrushka, in a rude and husky voice, answered that his master was not at home. "'You idiot! Why, I'm your master, Petrushka,' said Mr. Goliatkin, in a breaking voice, looking open-eyed at his servant. Petrushka made no reply, but he gave Mr. Goliatkin such a look that the latter Crimsoned to his ears, looked at him with an insulting reproachfulness almost equivalent to open abuse.
Mr. Goliathkin was utterly flabbergasted, as the saying is, at last Petrushka explained that the other one had gone away an hour and a half ago, and would not wait. His answer, of course, sounded truthful and probable. It was evident that Petrushka was not lying. that his insulting look and the phrase, the other one, employed by him, were only the result of the disgusting circumstance with which he was already familiar. But still he understood, though dimly, that something was wrong, and that destiny had some other surprise, not altogether a pleasant one, in store for him. All right, we shall see, he thought to himself. We shall see. In due time we'll get to the bottom of all this. Oh, Lord, have mercy upon us," he moaned in conclusion, in quite a different voice.
And why did I invite him? To what end did I do all that? Why, I am thrusting my head into their thievish noose myself. I am tying the noose with my own hands. Ah! You fool! You fool! You can't resist babbling like some silly boy, some chancery clerk, some wretched creature of no class at all, some rag, some rotten disc cloth. You're a gossip, an old woman. Oh, all ye saints! And he wrote verses, the rogue, and expressed his love for me. How could, how can I show him the door in a polite way if he turns up again? The rogue. Of course, there are all sorts of ways and means. I can say this is how it is, my salary being so limited, or scare him off in some way, saying that, taking this and that into consideration, I am forced to make clear that he would have to pay an equal share of the cost of board and lodging, and pay the money in advance.
Hmm. No. Damn it all. No. That would be degrading to me. It's not quite delicate. Couldn't I do something like this? Suggest to Petrushka that he should annoy him in some way, should be disrespectful, be rude, and get rid of him in that way. Set them at each other in some way. No. Damn it all. No. It's dangerous. And again, if one looks at it from that point of view, it's not the right thing at all. Not the right thing at all. But there, even if he doesn't come, it will be a bad lookout, too. I babbled to him last night. Ah! It's a bad lookout. A bad lookout. Ah! We're in a bad way. Oh, I'm a cursed fool, a cursed fool. You can't train yourself to behave as you ought. You can't conduct yourself reasonably.
Well, what if he comes and refuses? And God grant he may come. I should be very glad if he come. Such were Mr. Golubkin's reflections as he swallowed his thing and glanced continually at the clock on the wall. It's a quarter to nine. It's time to go. And something will happen. What will there be there? I should like to know what exactly lies hidden in this. That is, the object, the aim, and the various intrigues. It would be a good thing to find out. What all these people are plotting, and what will be their first step, Mr. Golyardkin could endure no longer. He threw down his unfinished pipe, dressed instead of for the office, anxious to ward off the danger, if possible, and to reassure himself about everything by his presence in person.
There was a danger. He knew himself that there was a danger. We will get to the bottom of it. said Mr. Goliathen, taking off his coat and goulash's in the entry. We'll go into all these matters immediately. Making up his mind to act in this way, our hero put himself to rights, assumed a correct and official error, and was just about to pass into the adjoining room, when suddenly, in that very doorway, he jostled against his acquaintance of the day before, his friend and companion. Mr. Goldilocks Jr. seemed not to notice Mr. Goldilocks Sr., though they met almost nose to nose. Mr. Goldilocks Jr. seemed to be busy. To be hastening somewhere was breathless. He had such an official, such a businesslike air.
It seemed as though anyone could read his face, and thrust it with a special commission. Oh! It's you, Yakov Petrovich, said our hearer, clutching the hand of his last night's visitor. Presently, presently, excuse me. Tell me about it afterwards, cried Mr. Golikin, Jr., dashing on. But excuse me, I believe, Yakov Petrovich, you want it? What is it? Make hasten explain. At this point the visitor of the previous night halted, as though reluctantly and against his will. and put his ear almost to Mr. Goliatkin's nose. I must tell you, Yakov Petrovich, that I am surprised at your behavior, behavior which seemingly I could not have expected at all. There's a proper form for everything. Go to his excellency's secretary, and then appeal in the proper way to the directors of the office.
Have you got your petition? You? I really don't know, Yakov Petrovich. You simply amaze me. Yakub Petrovich, you certainly don't recognize me, or with characteristic Katie, you're joking. Oh, it's you, said Mr. Golutkin, Jr., seemingly only now to recognize Mr. Golutkin, Sr. So it's you. Well, have you had a good night? Then, smiling a little, a formal, unconventional smile, by no means the sort of smile that was befitting, For, after all, he owned a debt of gratitude to Mr. Golikin, Sr. Smiling this formal and conventional smile, Mr. Golikin, Jr. added that he was very glad Mr. Golikin, Sr. had had a good night. Then he made a slight bow, and shuffling a little with his feet, looked to the right and to the left, then dropped his eyes to the floor, made for the side door, muttering in a hurried whisper that he had A special commission.
Dashed into the next room, he vanished like an apparition. Well, this is square, muttered our hero, petrified for a moment. This is square. This is a strange circumstance. At this point, Mr. Golikin felt as though he had pins and needles all over him. However, he went on to himself, as he made his way to his department. However, I spoke long ago of such a circumstance. I had presentment long ago that he had a special commission. Why? I said yesterday the man must certainly be employed on some special commission. Have you finished copying out the document you had yesterday, Yakov Petrovich? Antonin Tonowitz said to Turkin, asked Mr. Golutkin, when the latter was seated beside him. Have you got it here?
Yes, murmured Mr. Golikin, looking at the head clerk with a rather helpless glance. That's right. I mention it because Andrei Filipovich has asked for it twice. I'll be bound. His Excellency wants it. Yes, it's finished. Well, that's all right, then, I believe, Anton Antonovich. I have always performed my duties properly. I am always scrupulous over the work entrusted to me by my superiors, and I attend to it conscientiously. Yes. Why? What do you mean by that? I mean nothing, Anton Antonovitch. I only want to explain, Anton Antonovitch, that I—that is—I meant to express that spite and malice sometimes spared no person, whatever in their search for their daily and revolving food. Excuse me, I quite don't understand you.
What person are you alluding to? I only meant to say, Antony Antonyović, that I am seeking the straight path, and I scorn going to work in a roundabout way, that I am not one to intrigue, and that, if I may be allowed to say so, I may very justly be proud of it. Yes, that's quite so. And to the best of my comprehension, I thoroughly endorse your remarks. But allow me to tell you, Yakov Petrovich, that personalities are not quite permissible in good society, that I, for instance, am ready to put up with anything behind my back, for everyone's abuse behind his back. But to my face, if you please, my good sir, I don't allow anyone to be impudent. I've grown gray in the government service. And I don't allow anyone to be impudent to me in my old age.
No, Anton Antonovich, you see, Anton Antonovich, you haven't quite caught my meaning. To be sure, Anton Antonovich, I, for my part, would only think it an honor. Well, then, I ask pardon, too. We've been brought up in the old school. It's too late for us to learn. Your new-fangled face. I believe we have had understanding enough for the service of our country up to now. As you are aware, sir, I have an order of merit for twenty-five years at approachable service. I feel it, Antony Antonovich, on my side, too. I quite feel all that. But I didn't mean that. I'm speaking of a mask, Antony Antonovich. A mask. Again, you. I am apprehensive that you are taking this too in a wrong sense, that is the sense of my remarks.
As you say yourself, Antonio Antonovich, I am simply enunciating a theory, that is, I am advancing the idea, Antonio Antonovich, that persons who wear a mask have become far uncommon. And that nowadays it is hard to recognize the man beneath the mask. Well, do you know, it's not altogether so hard. Sometimes it's fairly easy. Sometimes one need not go far to look for it. No, you know, Antoine, Antoine, which I say, I say of myself, that I, for instance, do not put up on a mask except when there is a need to it. That is simply at Carnival time. Or that, at some festive gathering, speaking in the little sense, where I do not wear a mask before people in daily life, speaking in another less obvious sense, that's what I meant to say, Antonin Tonevich.
Oh, well. But we must stop all this, for now I have no time to spare. said Antonin Tonowicz, getting up from his seat and collecting some papers in order to report upon them to His Excellency. Your business, as I imagine, will be explained in due course without delay. You will see for yourself whom you should censor and whom you should blame, and thereupon I humbly beg you to spare me from further explanations and arguments which interfere with my work. No, Antonin Tonowicz. Mr. Golutkin, turning a little pale, began to the retreating figure of Anton Antonovich. I had no intention of the kind. What does that mean? Our hero went on to himself. When he was left alone, what quarter is the wind in now, and what is one to make of his new turn?
At the very time when our bewildered and half-crushed hero was setting himself to solve this new question, There was a sound of movement and bustle in the next room. The door opened, and Andrei Filipovich, who had been on some business in His Excellency's study, appeared breathless in the doorway, and called to Mr. Goliatkin. Knowing what was wanted and anxious not to keep entering Filipovich's waiting, Mr. Goliatkin leaped up from his seat, and as was fitting, immediately bustled for all he was worth getting the manuscript. that was required finally neat and ready, and preparing to follow the manuscript, and Andrew Philipovich, into His Excellency's study. Suddenly, almost slipping under the arm of Andrew Philipovich, who was standing right in the doorway, Mr.
Goliatkin, Jr. darted into the room in a breathless haste and bustle. With a solemn and resolutely official air, He bounded straight up to Mr. Golikin, Sr., who was expecting nothing less than such a visitation. The papers, Yakov Petrovich? The papers? His Excellency has been pleased to ask for them. Have you got them ready? Mr. Golikin, Sr.'s friends whispered in a hurried undertone. Andrei Filipovich is waiting for you. I know he is waiting without your telling me, said Mr. Golikin, Sr. in a hurried whisper. No, Yakov Petrovich, I do not mean that. I do not mean that at all, Yakov Petrovich, not that at all. I sympathize with you, Yakov Petrovich, and humbly moved by genuine interest, which I most humbly beg you to spare me.
Allow me. Allow me. Allow me. You will put it in an envelope, of course, Yakov Petrovich, and you will put a mark on the third page. Allow me, Yakov Petrovich. You will love me, if you please. But I say there's a blot here. Yakov Petrovich, did you know there was a blot here? At this point, Andrey Filipovich called Yakov Petrovich a second time. One moment, Andrey Filipovich. I'm only just... Do you understand Russian, sir? It would be best to take it out with a penknife. Yakov Petrovich, you had better lie upon me. You had better not touch it yourself. Yakov Petrovich, rely upon me. I will do it with a penknife. Andrey Filipovich called Mr. Goliathkin a third time. But allow me. Where is the plot?
I don't think there's a plot at all. It's a huge plot. Here it is. Here, allow me. I saw it here. You just let me, Yakov Petrovich. I'll just touch it with the penknife. I'll scratch it out with the penknife from true-hearted sympathy. There. See? It's done. At this point, and quite unexpectedly, Mr. Golikin, Jr., overpowered Mr. Golikin, Sr., in the momentary struggle that had risen between them, and so, entirely against the latter's will, suddenly, without primal reason, took possession of the document required by the authorities, and, instead of scratching it out with the penknife in true-hearted sympathy, as he had perfidiously promised Mr. Golikin, Sr., Hurriedly rolled it up, putting it under his arm.
In two bounds was beside Andrew Philip Hough, who noticed none of his maneuvers, and flew with the latter into the director's room. Mr. Golrikin remained as though riveted to the spot, holding the penknife in his hand, and apparently on the point of scratching something out with it. Our hero could not yet grasp his new position. He could not at once recover himself. He felt the blow, but thought that it was somehow all right. In terrible, indescribable misery, he tore himself at last from his seat, rushed straight into the director's room, imploring Heaven on the way that it would be all right. In the farthest most room, which adjoined the director's private room, he ran straight upon Andrew Philip Hodge.
in company with his namesake. Both of them moved aside. Andrey Filipovich was talking with a good-humoured smile. Mr. Goliath, considering his namesake, was smiling too, falling upon andrey Filipovich, and tripping about at a respectful distance from him, and was whispering something in his ear with a delighted air, to which andrey Filipovich assented with a gracious nod. In a flash our hero grasped the whole position. The fact was, that the work had surpassed His Excellency's expectations as he learned afterwards, and was finished punctually by the time it was needed. His Excellency was extremely pleased with it. It was even said that His Excellency had said thank you to Mr. Goliath, Jr., had thanked him warmly, had said that he would remember it on occasion and would never forget it.
Of course. The first thing Mr. Goldilocks did was to protest, to protest with the utmost vigor of which he was capable. Pale as death, and hardly knowing what he was doing, he rushed up to Henry Philipsovich. But the latter, hearing that Mr. Goldilocks' business was a private matter, refused to listen, observing firmly that he had not a minute to spare for his own affairs.
The curtness of his tone and his refusal struck Mr. Golutkin. I had better, perhaps, try in another quarter. I had better appeal to Antonin Tonowich. But to his disappointment Antonin Tonowich was not available either, he too was busy or something somewhere. Ah! It was not without design that he had asked me to spare him explanation and discussion, thought our hero. This was what he wanted. This was what the old rogue had in mind. In that case, I shall simply make bold to approach His Excellency. Still pale, and feeling that his brain was in complete ferment, greatly perplexed as to what he ought to decide to do, Mr. Golikin sat down on the edge of the chair. It would have been a great deal better if it had all been just nothing.
He kept insinuously thinking to himself, indeed, such a mysterious business was utterly improbable. In the first place, it was nonsense, and in the second it could not happen. Most likely, it was imagination, or something else happened, and not what really did happen, or perhaps I went myself, and somehow mistook myself for someone else. In short, it was an utterly impossible thing. Mr. Goliathkin had no sooner made up his mind that it was an utterly impossible thing that Mr. Goliathkin, Jr. flew into the room with papers in both hands, as well as under his arm, saying two or three words about business to Andrew Philipovich as he passed. Exchanging remarks with one, polite greetings with the other, and familiarities with the third, Mr.
Goliathkin, Jr., Having apparently no time to waste, seemed on the point of leaving the room, but luckily for Mr. Golikin Sr. he stopped near the door to say a few words as he passed two or three clerks who were at work there. Mr. Golikin Sr. rushed straight at him. As soon as Mr. Golikin saw Mr. Golikin Sr.'s movement, he began immediately, with great uneasiness. Looking about him to make his escape, but our hero already held his last night's guest by the safe. The clerk surrounding the two titular consulars stepped back and waited with curiosity to see what would happen. The senior titular consular realized the public meeting was not on his side. He realized that they were intriguing against him.
which made it all the more necessary to hold his own now. The moment was a decisive one. "'Well,' said Mr. Golikin, Jr., looking rather impatiently at Mr. Golikin, Sr., the latter could hardly breathe. "'I don't know,' he began. "'In what way to make plain to you the strangeness of your behavior, sir?' "'Well, go on.' At this point, Mr. Golikin, Jr., turned round and winked to the clerk standing round, As though to give them to understand that our comedy was beginning. The impudence and shamelessness of your manners with me, sir, in the present case unmasks your true character, better than any words of mine could. Don't rely on your ticket-ray. It's worthless. Come on, come, Yakovitrovich. Tell me now, how did you spend the night?
Answered Mr. Goldilocks, Jr., looking at Mr. Goldilocks, Sr., straight in the eye. "'You forget yourself, sir,' said the titular consular, completely flabbergasted, hardly able to feel the floor under his feet. "'I trust that you will take a different tone.' "'My darling,' exclaimed Mr. Goldilocks, Jr., making a rather unseemly grimace at Mr. Goldilocks, Sr., and suddenly, quite unexpectedly, with the pretence of caressing him, he pinched his chubby cheek with two fingers. Our hero grew as hot as fire. As soon as Mr. Goliath noticed that his opponent, quivering in empty limbs, speechless with rage, as red as a lobster, had exasperated beyond all intuance, would actually be driven to attack him, he promptly and in the most shameless way hastened to be beforehand with his victim, patting him two or three times on the cheek, tickling him two or three times.
Playing with him for a few seconds in this way, while his victim stood rigid and beside himself, with fury to the no little diversion of the young man standing around, Mr. Goliatkin, Jr., ended with a most revolting shamelessness by giving Mr. Goliatkin, Sr., a poke in his rather prominent stomach, and with a most venomous and suggestive smile, said to him, "'You are mischievous, Brother Yakov.' You are mischievous. We'll be sly, you and I, Yakov Petrovich, we'll be sly. Then and before our hero could gradually come to himself after the attack, Mr. Goliatkin, Jr., with a little smile beforehand to the spectator standing around, suddenly assumed a most businesslike busy and official air, dropped his eyes to the floor and drawing himself in, shrinking together and pronouncing rapidly, on a special commission, He cut a paper with his short leg, and drafted away into the next room.
Our hero could not believe his eyes, and was still unable to pull himself together. At last he roused himself, recognizing in a flash that he was ruined, in a sense annihilated, that he had disgraced himself and sullied his reputation, that he had been turned into ridicule and treated with contempt in the presence of spectators. that he had been treacherously insulted by one whom he had looked on only the day before as his greatest and most trustworthy friend, that he had been put to utter confusion. Mr. Golgiokin, Sr. rushed in pursuit of his enemy. At the moment he would not even think of the witnesses of his ignominy. "'They're all in a conspiracy together,' he said to himself. "'They stand by each other and set each other on to attack me.
After taking a dozen steps, however, R perceived clearly that all pursuit would be vain and useless, and so he turned back. You won't get away, he thought. You will get caught on day. The wolf will have to pay for the sheep's tears. With ferocious composure and the most resolute determination, Mr. Gulligan went up his chair and sat down upon it. You won't escape, he said again. No, it was not a question of passive resistance. There was determination and pugnacity in the air, and anyone who had seen how Mr. Koliakon at that moment, flushed and scarcely able to restrain his excitement, stabbed his pen to the instant, and with that fury he began scribbling on the paper, could be certain beforehand that the matter would not pass off like this.
And could not end in a simple, womanish way. In the depth of his soul he formed a resolution, and in the depth of his heart, swore to carry it out. To tell the truth, he still did not quite know how to act, or rather did not know at all. But never mind, that did not matter. Imposture and shamelessness do not pay nowadays, sir. Imposture and shamelessness, sir. Lead to no good, but lead to the halter. Grishka Autrypio was the only one, sir, who gained by imposure deceiving the blind people, and even that not for long. In spite of this last circumstance, Mr. Gulliakon proposed to wait till such time as the mask should fall from certain persons and something should be made manifest. For this it was necessary, in the first place, That office hours should be over as soon as possible.
Until then, our hero proposed to take no step. He knew, then, how he must act after taking that step, how to arrange his own plan of action, to abase the horn of arrogance, and crush the snake gnawing the dust in contemptible impotence. To allow himself be treated like a rag used for wiping dirty boots, Mr. Goliathkin could not. He could not consent to that, especially in the present case. Had it not been for that last insult our hero might have, perhaps, bought himself to control his anger, he might, perhaps, have been silent, have submitted, and not have protested too obstinately. He would just have disputed a little, have made a slight complaint, have proved that he was in the right. Then he would...
Have given way a little, then perhaps he would have given way a little more, then he would have come down altogether. Then especially, when the opposing party solemnly admitted that he was right, perhaps he would have overlooked it completely, would even have been a little touched. They might, even perhaps, who could tell, spring up a new, close, warm friendship. on an even broader basis than the friendship of last night, so that this friendship might, in the end, completely eclipse the unpleasantness of the rather unseemly resemblance of the two individuals, so that both the titular conciliars might be highly delighted, and might go on living till they were a hundred, and so on. To tell the whole truth, Mr.
Golurkin began to regret a little that he stood up for himself and his rights, and had at once come in for unpleasantness in consequence. Should he give in, thought Mr. Golodkin? Say he was joking. I would forgive him. I would forgive him even more if he would acknowledge it aloud. But I won't let myself be treated like a rag, and have not allowed even persons very different from him to treat me so. Stillness, I will permit a depraved person to attempt it. I am not a rag. I am not a rag, sir. And Shad Ahirur made up his mind. You are in fault yourself, sir, he thought. He made up his mind to protest with all his might to the very last. That was the sort of man he was. He could not consent to allow himself to be insulted, still less to allow himself to be treated as a rag, and, above all, to allow a thoroughly vicious man to treat him so.
No quarrelling, however, no quarrelling, possibly. If someone wanted, if someone, for instance, actually insisted on turning Mr. Golikin into rag, he might have done so without opposition and punishment. Mr. Golikin was himself conscious of this at times. And he would have been a rag, and not Golikin. Yes, an asty filthy rag. But that rag would not have been a simple rag. It would have been a rag possessed of dignity. It would have been a rag possessed of feelings and sentiments. Even though dignity was defenseless and feelings could not assert themselves, and lay hidden deep down in the filthy folds of the rag, still the feelings were there. The hours dragged on incredibly slowly. At last it struck four.
Soon after, all got up. Following the head of the department, moved each on his homeward way. Mr. Golikin mingled with the crowd. He kept a whittled lookout, and did not lose sight of the man he wanted. At last, our hero saw that his friend ran up to the office attendants, who handed the clerks their overcoats, and hung about near them, waiting for his in his usual nasty way. The minute was a decisive one. Mr. Golikin forced his way somehow through the crowd. and anxious not to be left behind, he, too, began fussing about his overcoat. Mr. Golikin's friend and companion was given his overcoat first because, on this occasion, too, he had succeeded, as he always did, in making up to them, whispering something to them, cringing upon them, and getting round them.
After putting on his overcoat, Mr. Golikin, Jr., glanced ironically at Mr. Golikin, Sr., Acting in this way, openly and defiantly, looked about him with his characteristic insolence. Finally he tripped to and from among the other clerks, no doubt in order to leave a good impression of them. Said a word to one, whispered something to the other, respectfully accosted at her, directed a smile at her fourth, gave his hand to a fifth, and gaily darted downstairs. Mr. Goldick and Sr. flew after him. and, to his inexpressible delight, overtook him on the last step, and seized him by the collar of his overcoat. It seemed as though Mr. Golikin, Jr. was a little disconcerted, and he looked about him with a helpless air.
"'What do you mean by this?' he whispered to Mr. Golikin, at last, in a weak voice. "'Sir, if you're a gentleman, I trust that you remember our friend's relationships yesterday,' said our hero. "'Ah, yes, well, did you see the pearl?' Furious rendered Mr. Golikin, senior, speechless for a moment. I slept well, sir. But allow me to tell you, sir, that you are playing a very complicated game. Why so? My enemies say that, answered abruptly the man who called himself Mr. Golikin. In saying this, he unexpectedly freed himself from the feeble hand of the real Mr. Golikin. As soon as he was free, he rushed away from the stairs, looked round him, saw a cab, Ran up to it, got in, and in one moment vanished from Mr.
Gould can see in his sight. The despairing titular counselor, abandoned by all, gazed about him, but there was no other cab. He cried to run, but his legs gave way under him. With a look of open-mounted astonishment on his countenance, feeling crushed and shriveled up, he leaned helplessly against the lamppost, and remained so. for some minutes, in the middle of the pavement. It seemed as though all were over for Mr. Golikhan.
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9 09 - Chapter 9 39:23
Everything apparently, and even nature itself, seemed up in arms against Mr. Goliadkin. But he was still on his legs and unconquered. He felt that he was unconquered. He was ready to struggle. He rubbed his hands with such feeling and such energy when he recovered from his first amazement that it could be deduced from his very air that he would not give in. Yet the danger was imminent. It was evident. Mr. Goliadkin felt it. But how to grapple with it, with this danger? That was the question. The thought even flashed through Mr. Goliadkin's mind for a moment. After all, why not leave it so? Simply give up. Why? What is it? Why, it's nothing. I'll keep it apart as though it were not I," thought Mr.
Glyadkin. I'll let it all pass. It's not I, and that's all about it. He's separate, too. Maybe he'll give it up, too. He'll hang about, the rascal. He'll hang about. He'll come back and give it up again. That's how it will be. I'll take it meekly. And, indeed, where is the danger? Come, what danger is there? I should like anyone to tell me where the danger lies in this business. It is a trivial affair." An everyday affair. At this point, Mr. Glyadkin's tongue failed. The words died away on his lips. He even swore at himself for this thought. He convicted himself on the spot of abjectness, of cowardice for having this thought. Things were no forwarder, however. He felt that to make up his mind to some course of action was absolutely necessary for him at the moment.
He even felt that he would have given a great deal to anyone who could have told him what he must decide to do. Yes, but how could he guess what? Though, indeed, he had no time to guess. In any case, that he might lose no time, he took a cab and dashed home. "'Well, what are you feeling now?' he wondered. "'What are you graciously pleased to be thinking of, Yakov Petrovitch? What are you doing? What are you doing now, you rogue, you rascal? You've brought yourself to this plight, and now you're weeping and whimpering.' So Michiko Yadkin taunted himself as he jolted along in the vehicle. To taunt himself and so irritate his wounds was, at this time, A great satisfaction to Mr. Goliatkin. Almost a voluptuous enjoyment.
Well, he thought, if some magician were to turn up now, or if it could come to pass in some official way, and I were told, give a finger of your right hand, Goliatkin, and it's a bargain with you. There shall not be the other Goliatkin, and you will be happy. Only you won't have your finger. Yes, I would sacrifice my finger. I would certainly sacrifice it. I would sacrifice it without winking. The devil take it all. The despairing titular counsellor cried at last, "'Why, what is it all for? Well, it all had to be—yes, just this had to be, as though nothing else were possible. And it was all right at first. Everyone was pleased and happy. But there it had to be. There's nothing to be gained by talking, though you must act.' And so, almost resolved upon some action, Mr.
Goyadkin reached home, and without a moment's delay snatched up his pipe, And, sucking at it with all his might and puffing out clouds of smoke to right and to left, he began pacing up and down the room in a state of violent excitement. Meanwhile Petrushka began laying the table. At last Mr. Goliatkin made up his mind completely, flung aside his pipe, put on his overcoat, said he would not dine at home, and ran out of the flat. Petrushka, panting, overtook him on the stairs, bringing the hat he had forgotten. Mr. Goliatkin took his hat. One did say something incidentally to justify himself in Petrushka's eyes, that the latter might not think anything particular, such as, what a queer circumstance!
Here he forgot his hat, and so on. But as Petrushka walked away at once, and would not even look at him, Vichko Yadkin put on his hat without further explanation, ran downstairs, and repeating to himself that perhaps everything might be for the best. That affairs would somehow be arranged, though he was conscious, among other things, of a cold chill right down to his heels. He went out into the street, took a cab, and hastened to Andrei Filippovich's. "'Would it not be better tomorrow, though?' thought Mr. Llyadkin, as he took hold of the bell-rope of Andrei Filippovich's flat. "'And, besides, can I say in particular? There is nothing particular in it. It's such a wretched affair. Yes, it really is wretched.
Paltry, yes.' That is almost a paltry affair. Yes, that's what it is, the incident. Suddenly, Mr. Goliatkin pulled at the bell. The bell rang. Footsteps were heard within. Mr. Goliatkin cursed himself on the spot for his hastiness and audacity. His recent unpleasant experiences, which he had almost forgotten over his work, and his encounter with Andrei Filippovich immediately came back into his mind. But by now it was too late to run away. The door opened. Luckily for Mr. Goliatkin, he was informed that Andrei Filippovich had not returned from the office and had not dined at home. "'I know where he dines. He dines near the Ismailovsky Bridge,' thought our hero, and he was immensely relieved. To the footman's inquiry of what message he would leave, he said, "'It's all right, my good man.
I'll look in later,' and he even ran downstairs with a certain cheerful briskness. Going out into the street, he decided to dismiss the cab and paid the driver. When the man asked for something extra, saying he had been waiting in the street and not spared his horse for his honor, he gave him five kopecks extra, and even willingly, and then walked on. It really is such a thing, thought Mr. Gliadkin, that it cannot be left like that. Though, if one looks at it that way, looks at it sensibly, why am I hurrying about, here, in reality? Well, yes, though, I will go on discussing why I should take a lot of trouble, why I should rush about, exert myself. Worry myself, and wear myself out. To begin with, the thing's done, and there's no recalling it.
Of course, there's no recalling it. Let us put it like this. A man turns up with a satisfactory reference, said to be a capable clerk, of good conduct. Only he is a poor man, and has suffered many reverses, all sorts of ups and downs. Well, poverty is not a crime, so I must stand aside. Why, what nonsense is it? Well, he came, he is so made, the man is so made by nature itself. That he is like another man, as though they were two drops of water, as though he were a perfect copy of another man. How could they refuse to take him in to the department on that account? If it is fate, it is only fate. If it is only blind chance that it is to blame, is he to be treated like a rag? Is he to be refused a job in the office?
Why, what would become of justice after that? He is a poor man, hopeless, downcast. It makes one's heart ache. Compassion bids one care for him. Yes. There's no denying. There would be a fine set of head officials if they took the same view as a reprobate like me. What an addle pace I am. I am foolishness enough for a dozen. Yes, yes, they did right, and many thanks to them for being good to a poor, luckless fellow. Why? Let us imagine for a moment that we are twins, that we have been born twin brothers, and nothing else. There it is. Well, what of it? Why nothing? All the clerks can get used to it. And an outsider? Coming into our office would certainly find nothing unseemly or offensive in the circumstance.
In fact, there was really something touching it. To think that the Divine Providence created two men exactly alike in the heads of the department, seeing the Divine handiwork provided for two twins. It would, of course, Mr. Goyadkin went on, drawing a breath and dropping his voice. It would, of course, it would, of course, have been better if there had been, if there had been nothing of this touching kindness, and if there had been no twins either. The devil take it all. And what need was there for it? And what was the particular necessity that it admitted of no delay? My goodness! The devil has made a mess of it. Besides, he has such a character, too. He's of such a playful, horrid disposition.
He's a scoundrel. He's such a nimble fellow. He's such a toady. He's such a lickspittle. He's such a golyadkin. I dare say he will misconduct himself. Yes. He'll disgrace my name, the Blackguard. And now I have to look after him, and wait upon him? What an infliction! But, after all, what of it? It doesn't matter. Granted, he's a scoundrel. Well, let them be a scoundrel. But to make up for it, the other one's honest, so he will be a scoundrel, and I'll be honest, and they'll say that this Goliathkin's a rascal. Doesn't take any notice of him, and doesn't mix up with him the other. But the other one's honest, virtuous, mild, free from malice, always to be relied upon in the service, and worthy of promotion.
That's how it is. Very good. But what if? What if they get us mixed up? He is equal to anything. Ah, Lord, have mercy upon us. He will counterfeit a man. He will counterfeit him, the rascal. He will change one man for another as though he were a rag, and not reflect that a man is not a rag. Ach, have mercy on us. Oh, what a calamity! Reflecting and lamenting in this way, Mr. Goliatkin ran on, regardless of where he was going. He came to his senses in Nevsky Prospect, only owing to the chance that he ran so neatly full tilt into a passer-by. that he saw stars in his eyes. Mr. Goyetkin muttered his excuses without raising his head, and was only after the passer-by, muttering something far from flattering, had walked a considerable distance away, that he raised his nose and looked about to see where he was, and how he had got there.
Noticing when he did so that he was close to the restaurant in which he had sat for a while before the dinner-park at Eloussi Ivanovich's, our hero was suddenly conscious of a pinching and nipping sensation in his stomach. He remembered that he had not dined. He had no prospect of a dinner-party anywhere, and so, without losing precious time, he ran upstairs into the restaurant to have a snack of something as quickly as possible, and to avoid delay by making all the haste he could. And though everything in the restaurant was rather dear, that little circumstance did not on this occasion make Mr. Goldadkin pause. And, indeed, he had no time to pause over such a trifle. In the brightly-lidded room, the customers were standing in rather a crowd, round the counter, Upon which lay heaps of all sorts of such edibles, as are eaten by well-bred persons at lunch.
The waiter scarcely had time to fill glasses, to serve, to take money, and give change. Mr. Goyadkin waited for his turn, and modestly stretched out his hand for a savory patty. Retreating into a corner, turning his back on the company, and eating with appetite, he went back to the attendant, put down his plate, and, knowing the price, took out a ten-kopeck piece and laid the coin on the counter, catching the waiter's eye as though to say, Look, here's the money, one pie, and so on. One ruble, ten kopecks is your bill, the waiter filtered through his teeth. Mr. Goliatkin was a good deal surprised. You're speaking to me? I? I took one pie, I believe. You've had eleven, the man said confidently.
You? So it seems to me. I believe you're mistaken. I really took only one pie, I think. I counted them. You took eleven. Since you've had them, you must pay for them. We don't give anything away for nothing. Mr. Goyadkin was petrified. What sorcery is this? What is happening to me? he wondered. Meanwhile, the man waited for Mr. Goyadkin to make up his mind. People crowded round Mr. Goyadkin. He was already feeling in his pocket for a silver rouble, to pay the full amount at once, to avoid further trouble. Well, if it was eleven—it was eleven, he thought, turning as red as a lobster. Why, a man's hungry, so he eats eleven pies. Well, let him eat, and may it do him good. And there was nothing to wonder in that, and there was nothing to laugh at.
At that moment something seemed to stab Mr. Goliadkin. He raised his eyes, and, at once, he guessed the riddle. He knew what the sorcery was. All his difficulties were solved. In the doorway of the next room, almost directly behind the waiter, and facing Mr. Goliadkin in the doorway, which, till that moment, our hero had taken for a looking-glass, a man was standing. He was standing. Mr. Goliadkin was standing. Not the original Mr. Goyadkin, the hero of our story, but the other Mr. Goyadkin, the new Mr. Goyadkin. The second Mr. Goyadkin was apparently in excellent spirits. He smiled to Mr. Goyadkin, the first, nodded to him, winked, shuffled his feet a little, and looked as though in another minute he would vanish, would disappear into the next room, and then go out, maybe by a back way out.
And there it would be, and all pursuit would be in vain. In his hand he had the last morsel of the tenth pie. And before Mr. Goliatkin's very eyes, he popped it into his mouth and smacked his lips. "'He had impersonated me, the scoundrel,' thought Mr. Goliatkin, flushing hot with shame. "'He is not ashamed of the publicity of it. Do they see him? I fancy no one notices him.' Mr. Goliatkin threw down his rouble as though it burnt his fingers, and without noticing the waiter's insolently significant grin, a smile of triumph and serene power, he extricated himself from the crowd, and rushed away without looking round. We must be thankful that at least he has not completely compromised anyone," thought Mr.
Glyadkin, Sr. We must be thankful to him, brigand, and to fate, that everything was satisfactorily settled. The waiter was rude, that was all. But after all, he was in the right. One ruble and ten kopecks were owing, so he was in the right. We don't give things away for nothing, he said, though he might have been more polite. The rascal. All this Mr. Glyadkin said to himself as he went downstairs to the entrance. But on the last step, He stopped suddenly, as though he had been shot, and suddenly flushed till the tears came into his eyes at the insult to his dignity. After standing stock-still for half a minute, he stamped his foot, resolutely, at one bound, leapt from the step into the streets, and, without looking round, rushed breathless and unconscious of fatigue back home.
Without changing his coat, though it was his habit to change into an old coat at home, without even stopping to take his pipe, he sat down on the sofa, drew the inkstand towards him, took up a pen, got a sheet of note-paper, And with a hand that trembled from inward excitement, began scribbling the following epistle. Dear Sir Yakov Petrovich, I should not take up my pen if my circumstances and your actions, sir, had not compelled me to that step. Believe me that nothing but necessity would have induced me to enter upon such a discussion with you. And therefore, first of all, I beg you, sir, to look upon this step of mine, not as a premeditated design to insult you, but as the inevitable consequence of the circumstances that is a bond between us now.
I think that's all right, proper, courteous, though not lacking in form and firmness. I don't think there's anything for him to take off endsat. Besides, I'm fully within my rights," thought Mr. Glyadkin, reading over what he had written. Your strange and sudden appearance, sir, on a stormy night, after the coarse and unseemly behavior of my enemies to me, whom I feel too much contempt even to mention their names, was the starting point of all the misunderstanding existing between us at the present time. Your obstinate desire to persist in your course of action, sir, and forcibly to enter the circle of my existence and all my relations in practical life transgresses every limit imposed by the merest politeness in every rule of civilized society.
I imagine there is no need, sir, for me to refer to the seizure by you of my papers, and particularly to your taking away my good name, in order to gain the favor of my superiors, favor you have not deserved. There is no need to refer here either to your intentional and insulting refusal of the necessary explanation in regard to us. Finally, to admit nothing, I will not allude here to your last strange on my, or, may even say, your incomprehensible behavior to me in the coffee-house. I am far from lamenting over the needless, for me, loss of a ruble, but I cannot help expressing my indignation at the recollection of your public outrage upon me. To the detriment of my honor, And what is more, in the presence of several persons of good breeding, though not belonging to my circle of acquaintance.
"'Am I not going too far?' thought Mr. Glyadkin. "'Isn't it too much? Wouldn't it be too insulting? That taunt about good breeding, for instance?' "'But there, it doesn't matter. I must show him the resoluteness of my character. I might, however, to soften him, flatter him, and butter him up at the end. But there, we shall see.' "'But I should not weary you with my letter, sir.' If I were not firmly convinced that the nobility of your sentiments, and your open, candid character, would suggest to you yourself a means for retrieving all lapses, and returning everything to its original position, with full confidence I venture to rest assured that you will not take my letter in a sense derogatory to yourself, and at the same time that you will not refuse to explain yourself expressly on this occasion by letter, sending the same by my man.
In expectation of your reply, I have the honor, dear sir, to remain, your humble servant, Y. Goliatkin. Well, that is quite all right. That thing's done. It has come to letter-writing. But who is it to blame for that? He is to blame himself. By his own action, he reduces a man to the necessity of resorting to epistaltory composition, and I am within my rights. Reading over his letter for the last time, Mr. Goliatkin folded it up, sealed it, and called Petrushka. Petrushka came in looking, as usual, sleepy and cross about something. "'You will take this letter, my boy. Do you understand?' Petrushka did not speak. "'You will take it to the department. There you must find the secretary on duty. Varamyev.
He is the one on duty to-day. Do you understand that?' "'I understand.' "'I understand? He can't even say I understand, sir?' "'You must ask the secretary, Varamyev.' and tell him that your master desired you to send his regards, and humbly requests him to refer to the address book of our office, and find out where the titular counselor, Goliadkin, is living. Petrushka remained mute, and, as Mr. Goliadkin fancied, smiled. Well, so you see, Pator, you have to ask him for the address, and find out where the new clerk, Goliadkin, lives. Yes. You must ask for the address, and then take this letter there. Do you understand? I understand. If there were you— Have to take the letter, that gentleman to whom you have to give this letter, that Goliathkin.
What are you laughing at, you blockhead? What is there to laugh at? What is it to me? I wasn't doing anything, sir. It's not for the likes of us to laugh. Oh, well, if that gentleman should ask, How is your master? How is he? If he, well, if he should ask you anything, you hold your tongue and answer. My master is all right, and begs you for an answer to his letter. Do you understand? Yes, sir. Well, then, say, my master is all right, and quite well. Say, and is just getting ready to pay a call, and he asks you, say, for an answer in writing. Do you understand? Yes. Well, go along, then. Why, what a bother I have with this blockhead, too. He's laughing, and there's nothing to be done. What's he laughing at?
I live to see trouble. Here, I live like this to see trouble. Though perhaps it may all turn out for the best. That rascal will be loitering about for the next two hours now. I expect he'll go off somewhere else. No sending him anywhere. What a misery it is! What misery has come upon me? Feeling his troubles to the full, our hero made up his mind to remain passive for two hours, until Petrushka returned. For an hour of the time he walked about the room, smoked, then put aside his pipe and sat down to a book. Then he lay down on the sofa, then took up his pipe again, then again began running about the room. He tried to think things over, but was absolutely unable to think about anything. At last the agony of remaining passive reached the climax, and Mr.
Goyarkin made up his mind to take a step. Petrushka will come in another hour, he thought. I can give the key to the porter. And I myself can, so to speak. I can investigate the matter. I shall investigate the matter in my own way. Without loss of time and haste to investigate the matter, Mr. Goyarkin took his hat, went out of the room, locked up his flat, and went into the porter, gave him the key, together with ten kopecks. Mr. Goliatkin had become extraordinarily free-handed of late, and rushed off. Mr. Goliatkin went first on foot to the Ismailovsky Bridge. It took him half an hour to get there. When he reached the goal of his journey, he went straight into the yard of the house so familiar to him, and glanced up at the windows of the civil councillor, Berendiev's flat.
Except for three windows hung with red curtains, all the rest was dark. Osofey Ivanovitch is no visitors to-day. thought Mr. Goyadkin. They must all be staying at home today. After standing for some time in the yard, our hero tried to decide on some course of action, but he was apparently not destined to reach a decision. Mr. Goyadkin changed his mind, and with a wave of his hand went back into the street. No, there's no need for me to go today. What could I do here? No, I'd better, so to speak, I'll investigate the matter personally. Coming to this conclusion, Mr. Goyadkin rushed off to his office. He had a long way to go. It was horribly muddy. Besides, and the wet snow lay about in thick drafts.
But it seemed as though difficulty did not exist for our hero at the moment. He was drenched, though, it is true, and he was a good deal spattered with mud. But that's no matter, so long as the object is obtained. And Mr. Goliatkin certainly was nearing his goal. The dark mass of the huge government building stood up black before his eyes. Stay, he thought. Where am I going? And what am I going to do here? Suppose I do find out where he lives. Meanwhile, Petrushka will certainly have come back and brought me the answer. I am only wasting my precious time. I am simply wasting my time. Though shouldn't I, perhaps, go in and see Vromyev? But no, I'll go later. Ach! There is no need to have gone out at all.
But there, it's my temperament. I have a knack of always seizing a chance in rushing ahead of things, whether there is a need to or not. Hmm. What time is it? It must be nine by now. Petrushka must come and not find me at home. It was pure folly on my part to go out. Ugh! It is really a nuisance. Sincerely acknowledging that he had been guilty of an act of folly, our hero ran back to Shoslovachny Street. He arrived there, weary and exhausted. From the porter he learned that Petrushka had not dreamed of turning up yet. To be sure, I foresaw, it would be so, thought our hero. And meanwhile it's nine o'clock. Ugh! He's such a good-for-nothing chap. He's always drinking somewhere. Mercy on us! Would a day had fallen to my miserable lot!
Reflecting in this way, Mr. Goyadkin unlocked his flat, got a light, took off his outdoor things, lighted his pipe, and, tired, worn out, exhausted, and hungry, lay down on the sofa and waited for Petrushka. The candle burnt dimly. The light flickered on the wall. Mr. Goyadkin gazed and gazed, and thought and thought, and fell asleep at last, worn out. It was late when he woke up. The candle had almost burned down. A smoking and on the point of going out. Mr. Goyadkin jumped up, shook himself, and remembered it all, absolutely all. Behind the screen you heard Petrushka snoring lustily. Mr. Goyadkin rushed to the window. Not a light anywhere. He opened the movable pane. All was still. The city was asleep, as though it were dead.
So it must have been two or three o'clock. So it proved to be indeed. The clock behind the partition made an effort and struck two. Mr. Goyadkin rushed behind the partition. He succeeded somehow, though only after great exertions, in rousing Petrushka, making him sit up in his bed. At that moment the candle went out completely. About ten minutes passed before Mr. Goliatkin succeeded in finding another candle and lighting it. In the interval Petrushka had fallen asleep again. "'You scoundrel, you worthless fellow,' said Mr. Goliatkin, shaking him again. "'Will you get up? Will you wake?' After half an hour of effort Mr. Goliatkin succeeded, however, in rousing his servant thoroughly. and dragging him out from behind the partition.
Only then our hero remarked the fact that Petrushka was what is called dead drunk, and could hardly extend on his legs. "'You good-for-nothing fellow,' cried Mr. Goliatkin. "'You ruffian! You'll be the death of me. Good heavens! Whatever has he done with the letter? Ach, my God, where is it? And why did I write it? As though there were any need for me to have written it. I went scribbling away out of pride, like a noodle. I've got myself into this fix out of pride.' That is what dignity does for you, you rascal. That is dignity. Come. What have you done with the letter, you ruffian? To whom did you give it? I didn't give anyone any letter. I never had any letter. So there— Mr. Goyadkin wrung his hands in despair.
Listen, Peter. Listen to me. Listen to me. I am listening. Where have you been? Answer. Where have I been? I've been to see good people. Was it to me? Oh, Lord, have mercy on us. Where did you go, to begin with? Did you go to the department? Listen, Petar, perhaps you're drunk? Me? Drunk? If I should be stuck on the spot this minute, not a drop, not a drop. So there. No, no, it's no matter your being drunk. I only asked. It's all right, your being drunk. I don't mind, Petrushka, I don't mind. Perhaps it's only that you have forgotten, but you'll remember it all. Come, try to remember. Have you been to that clerk's? To Varmieff's? Have you been to see him or not? I have not been, and there is no such clerk, not if I were this minute.
No, no, Peter, no, Petrushka. You know I don't mind. Why, you see, I don't mind. Come, what happened? To be sure, it's cold and damp in the street. And so a man has a drop, and it's no matter. I am not angry. I have been drinking myself to-day, my boy. Come, think, and try and remember. Did you go to Varmieff? Well, then, now, this is how it was. It's the truth. I did go. If this very minute— Come, that is right, Petrushka. That is quite right that you have been. You see, I'm not angry. Come, come. Our hero went on, coaxing his servant more and more, patting him on his shoulder, and smiling to him. Come, you had a little nip, you scoundrel. You had two pennyworth of something, I suppose. You're a sly rogue.
Well, that's no matter. Come. You see that I'm not angry? I'm not angry, my boy. I'm not angry. No, I'm not a sly rogue. Say what you like. I only went to see some good friends. I'm not a rogue, and I have never been a rogue. Oh, no, no, Petrushka. Listen, Petrushka. You know I'm not scolding when I called you a rogue. I said that in fun. I said it in good sense. You see, Petrushka, it is sometimes a compliment to a man when you call him a rogue, a cunning fellow, that he's a sharp chap and will not let anyone take him in. Some men like it. Come, come. It doesn't matter. Come, tell me, Petrushka, without keeping anything back, openly, as to a friend, did you go to Vermiav's, and did he give you the address?
He did give me the address. He did give me the address, too. He's a nice gentleman. Your master, says he, is a nice man, says he. Very nice man, says he. I send my regards, says he. To your master, thank him and say that I like him, says he. "'How'd I respect your master?' says he. "'Because,' says he, "'your master,' Petrushka,' says he, "'is a good man. And you,' says he, "'Petrushka, are a good man, too.'" "'Ah, mercy on us! But the address—the address, you Judas!' The last word, Mr. Goliatkin uttered almost in a whisper. "'And the address—he did give me the address, too.'" "'He did? Well, where does Goliatkin, the clerk Goliatkin, the titular councillor, live?' "'Why,' says he, "'Golyadkin will now be at Shestilovshny Street.
When you get into Shestilovshny Street, take the stairs on the right, it's on the fourth floor. And there,' he says, "'you'll find Golyadkin.' "'You scoundrel!' our hero cried, out of patience at last. "'You're a ruffian. Why, that's my address. Why, you are talking about me.' "'But there's another Golyadkin. I'm talking about the other one, you scoundrel.' "'Well, that's as you please.' What is it to me? Have it your own way." And the letter? The letter? What letter? There wasn't any letter, and I didn't see any letter. But what have you done with it, you scoundrel? I delivered the letter. I delivered it. He sent his regards. Thank you, says he. Your master's a nice man, says he. Give my regards, says he, to your master.
But who said that? Was it Goliatkin said it? Patrushka said nothing for a moment, and then, with a broad grin, he stared straight into his master's face. Listen, you scoundrel! began Mr. Legatkin, breathless, beside himself with fury. Listen, you rascal! What have you done to me? Tell me what you've done to me. You've destroyed me, you villain. You've cut the head off my shoulders, you Judas. Well, have it your own way. I don't care," said Petrushka in a resolute voice, retreating behind the screen. Come here! Come here, you ruffian! I'm not coming to you now. I'm not coming at all. What do I care? I'm going to good folks. Good folks live honestly. Good folks live without— Falsity, and they never have doubles.
Mr. Goliatkin's hands and feet went icy cold. His breath failed him. Yes, Petrushka went on. They never have doubles. God doesn't afflict honest folk. You worthless fellow. You are a drunk. Go to sleep now, you ruffian, and tomorrow you'll catch it, Mr. Goliatkin added in a voice hardly audible. As for Petrushka, he muttered something more than he could be heard getting into bed, making the bed creak. After a prolonged yawn, he stretched, and at last began snoring, and slept asleep of the just, as they say. Mr. Goyadkin was more dead than alive. Patrushka's behavior, his very strange hints, which were yet so remote that it was useless to be angry at them, especially as they were uttered by a drunken man, and, in short, the sinister turn taken by the affair altogether.
All this shook Mr. Goyadkin to the depths of his being. And what possessed me to go for him in the middle of the night? said our hero, trembling all over from a sickly sensation. "'Weren't the devil made me have anything to do with a drunken man? What could I expect from a drunken man? Whatever he says is a lie.' But what was he hinting at, the ruffian? "'Lord, have mercy on us. And why'd I write that letter? I'm my own enemy. I'm my own murderer. And if I couldn't hold my tongue, I'd go scribbling nonsense. And what now? You are going to ruin. You are like an old rag, and yet you worry about your pride, you say.' My honor is wounded. You must stick up for your honor. My own murderer, that is what I am.
Thus spoke Mr. Goyetkin, and hardly dared to stir for terror. At last his eyes fastened upon an object which excited his interest to the utmost. In terror, lest the object that caught his attention should prove to be an illusion, a deception of his fancy, he stretched out his hand to it with hope, with dread, with indescribable curiosity. No, it was not a deception, not a delusion. It was a letter—really a letter—undoubtedly a letter—and addressed to him. Mr. Goyadkin took the letter from the table. His heart beat terribly. No doubt that scoundrel brought it, he thought, put it here, and then forgot it. No doubt that is how it happened. No doubt that is just how it happened. The letter was from Varyamov, a young fellow clerk who had once been his friend.
"'I had a presentment of this thought,' thought our hero, "'and I had a presentment of all that there will be in the letter.' The letter was as follows. Dear Sir Yakov Petrovitch, your servant is drunk, and there is no getting any sense out of him. For that reason, I prefer to reply by letter. I hasten to inform you that the commission you have entrusted to me, that is, to deliver a letter to a certain person you know, I agree to carry out carefully and exactly. That person, who is very well known to you, and who has taken the place of a friend to me, whose name I will refrain from mentioning, because I do not wish unnecessarily to blacken the reputation of a perfectly innocent man, Lodge is with us at Carolina Ivanova's, in the room in which, when you were among us, the infantry officer from Tamboff used to be.
That person, however, is always to be found in the company of honest and true-hearted persons, which is more than one can say for some people. I intend from this day to break off all connection with you. It's impossible for us to remain on friendly terms, and to keep up the appearance of comradeship congruous with them. And therefore I beg you, dear sir, immediately on the receipt of this candid letter from me, to send me the two roubles you owe me for the razor of foreign make which I sold you seven months ago, if you will kindly remember, when you are still living with us in the lodgings of Karolina Ivanova, a lady whom I respect from the bottom of my heart. I am acting in this way, because you— From the accounts I hear from sensible persons, who have lost their dignity and reputation, and have become a source of danger to the morals of the innocent and uncontaminated.
For some persons are not straightforward, their words are full of falsity, and their show of good intentions is suspicious. People can always be found capable of insulting Carolina Ivanova, who is always irreproachable in her conduct, and an honest woman, and, what's more, a maiden lady, though no longer young, though On the other hand, of a good foreign family. In this fact I have been asked to mention in this letter by several persons, and I speak also for myself. In any case, you will learn all in due time, if you haven't learned it yet, that you have made yourself notorious from one end of the town to the other. According to the accounts I hear from sensible people, and consequently might well have received intelligence relating to you, my dear sir, that a certain person you know, whose name I will not mention here, for certain honorable reasons, is highly respected by right-thinking people.
and is, moreover, of lively and agreeable disposition, and is equally successful in the service and the society of persons of common sense, is true in word and in friendship, and does not insult behind their back those whom he has on friendly terms to their face. In any case, I remain your obedient servant, N. Varamyev. P.S. You had better dismiss your man. He is a drunkard and probably gives you a great deal of trouble. You had better engage Kepstafi, who used to be in service here, is not out of place. Your present servant is not only a drunkard, but what's more, he's a thief, for only last week he sold a pound of sugar to Karolina Ivanovna at less than cost price, which, in my opinion, he could not have done otherwise than by robbing you in a very sly way, little by little, at different times.
I write this to you for your own good, although some people can do nothing but insult and deceive everybody, especially persons of honesty and good nature. What is more, they slander them behind their back and misrepresent them. simply from envy, and because they can't call themselves the same. V. After reading Varyamov's letter, our hero remained for a long time sitting motionless on his sofa. A new light seemed breaking through the obscure and baffling fog which had surrounded him for the last two days. Our hero seemed to reach a partial understanding, tried to get up from the sofa, to take a turn about the room, to rouse himself, to collect his scattered ideas, to fix them upon a certain object, and then to sit himself to rights a little, Think over his position thoroughly.
But as soon as he tried to stand up, he fell back again at once, weak and helpless. Yes, of course, I had a presentment of all that. How he writes, though. And what is the real meaning of his words? Supposing I do understand the meaning, but what is it leading to? He should have said straight to me, This and that is wanted, and I would have done it. Things have taken such a turn, things have come to such an unpleasant pass. Oh, if only tomorrow would make haste and come, and I could make haste and get to work. I know now what to do. I shall say this and that. I shall agree with his arguments. I won't sell my honor. But, maybe, but he, that person we know of, that disagreeable person, how does he come to be mixed up in it?
And why has he turned up here? Oh, if tomorrow would make Haston come. They'll slander me before then. They are intriguing. They are working to spite me. The great thing is not to lose time, and now, for instance, to write a letter, and to say this and that, and then I agree to this and that. And as soon as it is daylight tomorrow, send it off before you can do anything. And so, checkmate them, get in before them, the darlings, they will ruin me by their slanders. That's the fact of the matter." Mr. Goliatkin drew the paper to him, took up a pen, wrote the following missive, and I'll answer to the secretary's letter. Dear Sir Nestor Ignatievich, with amazement mingled with heartfelt distress, I have perused your insulting letter to me.
For I see clearly that you are referring to me when you speak of certain discreditable persons and false friends. I see with genuine sorrow how rapidly the calamity has spread, and how deeply it has taken root, to the detriment of my prosperity, my honor, and my good name. And this is the more distressing and mortifying that even honest people of a genuinely noble way of thinking, and, what is even more important, of straightforward and open dispositions, abandon the interests of honorable men with all the qualities of their hearts. Attached themselves to the pernicious corruption, which in our difficult and immoral age has unhappily increased, and multiplied so greatly, and so disloyally. In conclusion, I will say that the debt of two rubles of which you remind me I regard as a sacred duty to return to you in its entirety.
As for your hints concerning a certain person of the female sex, concerning the intentions, calculations, and various designs of that person, I can only tell you, sir, that I have but a very dim and obscure understanding of those insinuations. Permit me, sir, to preserve my honorable way of thinking, and my good name undefiled. In any case, I am ready to stoop till a written explanation is more secure, and I am, moreover, ready to enter into conciliatory proposals on mutual terms, of course. To that end, I beg you, my dear sir, to convey to that person my readiness for a personal arrangement, and, what is more, to beg her to fix the time and place of the interview. It grieved me, sir, to read your hints of my having insulted you, having been treacherous to our original friendship, And having spoken ill of you, I ascribe this misunderstanding to the abominable clumny, envy, and ill-will of those whom I may justify stigmatize as my bitterest foes.
But I suppose they do not know that innocence is strong enough through its very innocence, that the shamelessness, the insolence, and the revolting familiarity of some persons sooner or later gains the stigma of universal contempt, and that such persons come to ruin through nothing but their own worthlessness. and the corruption of their own hearts. In conclusion, I beg you, sir, to convey to those persons that their strange pretensions and their dishonorable and fantastic desire to squeeze others out of their position, which those others occupy, by the very existence to this world, and to take their place are deserving of contempt, amazement, compassion, and what is more, the madhouse. Moreover, such efforts are severely prohibited by law, which, in my opinion, is perfectly just.
Every one ought to be satisfied with his own position. Every one has his fixed position, and if this is a joke, it is a joke in very bad taste. I will say more. It is utterly immoral, for I make bold to assure you, sir, my own views, which I have expounded above, in regard to keeping one's own place, are purely moral. In any case, I have the honor to remain your humble servant, Y. Goldjadkin.
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10 10 - Chapter 10 54:02
Golgiukin, our hero passed a very bad night. That is, he did not get thoroughly off to sleep for five minutes. As though some practical joker had scattered bristles in his bed, he spent the whole night in a sort of half-sleeping state, tossing from side to side, from right to left, Moaning and groaning, dozing off for a moment, waking up again a minute later. And all was accompanied by a strange misery, vague memories, hideous visions, in fact, everything disagreeable that can be imagined. At one moment the figure of Andrew Philip Horowitz appeared before him in a strange, mysterious half-light. It was a frigid, wrathful figure, with a cold, harsh eye, and with stiffly polite word of blame on its lips.
And as soon as Mr. Goliath began going up to Henry Filippovich to defend himself in some way, and to prove to him that he was not at all such as his enemies represented him, that he was like this and like that, and that he even possessed innate virtues of his own, superior to the average, a person Only too well known for his discreditable behavior appeared on the scene, and by some most revolting means instantly frustrated poor Mr. Gullikin's efforts on the spot. Almost before the lader's eyes blackened his reputation, trampled his dignity in the mud, and then immediately took possession of his place in the service and in society. At another time, Mr. Gullikin's head Felt sore from some sort of slight blow, or flight conferred and humbly accepted, received either in the course of daily life, or somehow in the performance of his duty, against which blow it was difficult to protest.
And while Mr. Goliakyn was racking his brains over the question of why it was difficult to protest even against such a blow, this idea of a blow gradually melted away into a different form, into the form Of some familiar trifling, or rather important piece of nastiness which he had seen, heard, or even himself committed, and frequently committed, indeed, and not on nasty ground, not from any nasty impulse, even, but just because it happened, sometimes, for instance, out of delicacy, and other time, owing to his absolute defenselessness, In fact, because, because, in fact, Mr. Goliakkin knew perfectly well because of what, at this point, Mr. Goliakkin, plushed in his sleep, and smoothing his plushes, muttered to himself that in this case he ought to be able to show the strength of his character, he ought to be able to show in this case the remarkable strength of his character, and then wound up by asking himself, What, after all, is strength of character?
I understand it now. But what irritated and enraged Mr. Gulliakyn most of all was that, invariably, at such a moment, a person well known for his undignified burlesque turned up uninvited, and, regardless of the fact, that the matter was apparently settled. He, too, would begin muttering, with an unseemly little smile, What's the use of strength of character? How could you and I, Yakov Petrovich, have strength of character? Then Mr. Goliathkin would dream that he was in the company of a number of persons, distinguished for their wit and good breeding, that he, Mr. Goliathkin too, was conspicuous for his wit and politeness, that everybody like him, which was very agreeable to Mr. Goliathkin too, was conspicuous for his wit and politeness.
And that, at last, Mr. Gulliakhin himself, with gratification, overheard the host, drawing one of the guests' sides, speak in his, Mr. Gulliakhin's praise, and all of a sudden, apropos of nothing, there appeared again a person notorious for his treachery and brutal impulses, in the form of Mr. Gulliakhin, Jr., and on the spot, at once, by his very appearance on the scene, Mr. Goliathkin, Jr. destroyed the whole triumphant glory of Mr. Goliathkin, Sr., eclipsed Mr. Goliathkin, Sr., trampled him in the mud, and, at last, proved clearly that Goliathkin, Sr., that is, the genuine one, was not the genuine one at all, but the sham, and that he, Goliathkin, Jr., was the real one, that, in fact, Mr. Goliathkin, Sr.
was not at all What he appeared to be was something very disgraceful, and that consequently he had no right to mix in a society of honorable and well-bred people. And all this was done so quickly that Mr. Golikin had not time to open his mouth before all of them were subjugated, body and soul, by the wicked, shamed Mr. Golikin, and with profound contempt rejected him, the real and innocent Mr. Golikin. There was not left one person, even the most insignificant of the company, to whom the false and worthless Mr. Golikin would not make up in his blandest manner, upon whom he would not fawn in his own way, before whom he would not burn sweet and agreeable incense, so that the flattered person simply sniffed and sneezed till the tears came.
In token of the intensest pleasure, And the worst of it, that all this was done in a flash. The swiftness of movement of the false and worthless Mr. Guliken was marvelous. He sincerely had time, for instance, to make up to one person and win his good graces, and before one could wink an eye he was at another. He stealthily falls on another, drops a smile of benevolence, twirls on his shot, round Though rather wooden-looking leg. And already he's at a third, and is cringing upon a third. He's making up to him in a friendly way. Before one has time to open one's mouth, before one has time to feel surprised, he's at a fourth. At the same manoeuvres with him, it was horrible. Sorcery and nothing else.
And everyone was pleased with him, and everyone liked him, and everyone was exalting him, and always proclaiming in chorus that his politeness and sarcastic wit were infinitely superior to the politeness and sarcastic wit of the real Mr. Goliathkin, and putting the real and innocent Goliathkin to shame thereby, and rejecting the veritable Mr. Goliathkin, and showing and pushing out the loyal Mr. Goliathkin, and showering blows on the man so well known for his love towards his fellow-creatures. In misery, in terror, and in fury, in a cruel retreat, Mr. Gulliakhin ran out into the street and began trying to take a cab in order to drive straight to His Excellencies, or, at any rate, to Andy Philipovich.
But horror! The cabman absolutely refused to take Mr. Gulliakhin, saying, "'We cannot drive two gentlemen exactly alike, sir. A good man tries to honestly, Your Honor, and never has a double.' Overcome with shame, the unimpeachable honours Mr. Golikin looked around and did, in fact, assure himself with his own eyes that the cabman and Petrushka, who had joined them, were all quite right, for the depraved Mr. Golikin was actually on the spot beside him, close at hand, and with his characteristic nastiness was again, at this crucial moment, certainly preparing to do something very unseemly, and quite out of keeping, with that gentlemanliness of character which is usually acquired by good breeding, that gentlemanliness of which the loathsome Mr.
Golutkin, the second, was always boasting on every opportunity. Beside himself, with shame and despair, the utterly ruined, though perfectly Mr. Golutkin, dashed headlong away, wherever fate might lead him, but with every step he took, with every thund of his foot, On the granite of the pavement, there left, as though, out of the earth, a Mr. Golikin, precisely the same, perfectly alike, and of a revolting depravity of heart. And all these precisely similar Golikins sat running after one another as soon as they appeared, and stretched in a long chain-like file of geese, hopping after the real Mr. Golikin. So there was nowhere to escape from these duplicates, so that Mr. Golikin, who was in every way deserving of compassion, was breathless with terror, so that at last a terrible multitude of duplicates had sprung into being, so that the whole town was obstructed at last by the duplicate Golikins, and the police officer, seeing such a breach of Deckerham, was obliged to seize all these duplicates by the collar and to put them into the watch-house.
which happened to be beside him. Our hero woke up, and, numb and chilled with horror, felt that his waking state was hardly more cheerful. It was oppressive and harrowing. He was overcome by such anguish that it seemed as though some one were gnawing at his heart. At last Mr. Golikin could endure it no longer. This shall not be, he cried, resolutely sitting up in the bed. And after this exclamation he felt fully awake. It seemed as though it were rather late in the day. It was unusually light in the room. The sunshine filtered through the frozen panes and flooded the room with light. We surprised Mr. Golikin not a little, and, so far as Mr. Golikin could remember, at least, there had scarcely ever been such exceptions in the course of the heavenly luminary before.
Our hero had hardly time to wonder at this when he heard the clock buzzing behind the partition as thought it was just on the point of striking. Now, thought Mr. Golikin, and he prepared to listen with painful suspense. But to complete, Mr. Golikin's astonishment clock whirled and struck only once. "'What does this mean?' cried our hero, finally leaping out of bed and unable to believe his ears. He rushed behind the screen, just as he was. It was actually one o'clock. Mr. Golikin glanced at Petrushka's bed, but the room did not even smell of Petrushka. His bed had long been made and left. His boots were nowhere to be seen either. The Petrushka was not in the house. Mr. Golikin rushed to the door.
The door was locked. But where is he? Where is Petrushka? He went on in a whisper, conscious of intense excitement and feeling a perceptible tremor. Run all over him. Suddenly a thought floated into his mind. Mr. Golikhin rushed to the table, looked all over it. Felt all around. Yes, it was true. His letter of the night before to Vahramyev was not there. Petrushka was nowhere behind the screen, either. The clock had just struck one, and some new points were evident to him in Vahramyev's letters. Points that were obscure at first sight, though now they fully were explained. Petrushka had evidently been bribed at last. Yes, yes, that was so. So this was how the chief plot was hatched, cried Mr.
Golutkin, slapping himself on the forehead, opening his eyes wider and wider, so in that filthy German woman's den the whole power of evil lies hidden now. So she was only making a strategic diversion in directing me to the Ismailovsky Bridge. She was putting me off the scent, confusing me, the worthless witch, and in that way laying her mind's, yes, that is so. If one only looks at the thing from that point of view, all of this is bound to be so, and the scoundrel's appearance on the scene is fully explained. It's all part and parcel of the same thing. They've kept him in reserve a long while. They had him in readiness for the evil day.
This is how it has all turned out. This is what it has come to. But there, never mind. No time has been lost so far.
At this point, Mr. Golikin, recollected with order, That it was past one in the afternoon. What if they had succeeded by now? he uttered a moan. But now they are lying. They have not had time. We shall see. He just after fashion seized paper and a pen, and scribbled the following missive. Dear Yakov Petrovich, Either you or I, but both together, is out of the caution. And so I must inform you that Your strange, absurd, and at the same time impossible desire to appear to be my twin, and to give yourself out as such, serves no other purpose than to bring about your complete disgrace and discomfisher, and so I beg you, for the sake of your own advantage, to step aside and make way for really honorable men of loyal aims.
In the opposite case, I am ready to determine upon extreme measures. I laid on my pen in a weight. However, I remain ready to oblige or to meet you with pistols. Why don't, Goliath Kinn. Our hero rubbed his hands unistinguishably when he finished the letter, then pulling on his great coat and putting on his hat. He unlocked his flat with a spare key and set off for the department. He reached the office, but could not make up his mind to go in. It was by now too late. It was half past two. By Mr. Golikin's watch, all at once a circumstance of apparently little importance settled some doubts in Mr. Golikin's mind. A flushed and breathless figure suddenly made its appearance from behind the screen of the department building, and with a stealthy movement like a rat he darted up the steps and into the entry.
It was a copying clerk called Ostafyev, a man Mr. Golikin knew very well, who was rather useful and ready to do anything for a trifle. Knowing also Vyev's weak spot and surmising that, after his brief unavoidable absence, he would probably be greedier than ever for tips, our hero made up his mind not to be sparing of them, and immediately darted up the steps, and then, into the entry after him, called to him and, with a mysterious air, drew him aside into a convenient corner behind a huge iron stove. And having led him there, our hero began questioning him. "'Well, my dear fellow, how are things going in there? You understand me?' "'Yes, Your Honor. I wish you good health, Your Honor. All right, my good man, all right.
But I'll reward you, my good fellow. Well, you say, how are things?' What is your honor asking? At this point, also Fiave held his hand as though by accident before his open mouth. You see, my dear fellow, this is how it is. But don't you imagine. Come, is Andrea Filippovich here? Yes, he is here. And are the clerks here? Yes, sir. They are here as usual. And his excellency, too. Here the man... held his hand before his mouth again, and looked rather curiously and strangely at Mr. Guliken. So at least our hero fancied. And there's nothing special there, my good man? No, sir, certainly not, sir. So there's nothing concerning me, my friend? Is there nothing going on there? That is nothing more than, eh?
Nothing more? You understand, my friend? No, sir. I've heard nothing so far, sir. Again the man put his hand before his mouth, and again looked rather strangely at Mr. Golikin. The fact was Mr. Golikin was trying to read all Zofiev's contents, trying to discover whether there was not something hidden in it, and, in fact, he did look as though he were hiding something. Also, Zofiev seemed to grow colder and more childish, and did not enter into Mr. Golikin's interest with the same sympathy as at the beginning of the conversation. He is to some extent justified, thought Mr. Golikin. After all, what am I to him? Perhaps, as he has already been deprived by the other side, and that's why he's just been absent.
But here, I'll try him, Mr. Golikin realized at that moment for Coppix had arrived. Here, my dear fellow. I'm feeling grateful for your honor's kindness. I'll give you more than that. Yes, your honor. I'll give you some more directly, and when the business is over, I'll give you as much again. Do you understand? The clerk did not speak. He stood at attention and stared fixedly at Mr. Golikin. Come, tell me now. Have you heard nothing about me? I think so far I have not, so to say. Nothing so far. Also, Fiave, like Mr. Golikin, spoke terribly and persevered a mysterious air, moving his eyebrows a little. Looking at the ground, trying to fall into the suitable tone, and in fact doing his very utmost to earn what had been promised him, for what he had received already, he reckoned as already earned.
And you know nothing? So far nothing, sir. Listen, you know, maybe you will know. Later on, of course, maybe I shall know. It's a poor lock-out, thought our hero. Listen, here's something more, my dear fellow. I am truly grateful to your honor. Was Vahramyev here yesterday? Yes, sir. And somebody else, was he? Try and remember, brother. The man ransacked his memory for a moment, and could not think of nothing appropriate. No, sir, there wasn't anybody else. Hmm. A silence followed. Listen, brother. Here's some more. Tell me all. Every detail. Yes, sir. Olsefiery had now become as soft as silk, which was just what Mr. Golikin needed. Explain to me, now, my good man, what footing is he on? All right, sir—a good one, sir, answered the man, gaping open eye at Mr.
Golikin. How do you mean, all right? Well, it's just like that, sir. Here Olsefiery twitched his eyebrows significantly. But he was utterly nonplussed, and didn't know what more to say. It's a poor look-out, thought Mr. Golikin, and hasn't anything more happened in there about Bahra Miyev? But everything is just as usual. Think a little. There is, they say. Come out? Come what? Also, Fyev put his hand in front of his mouth. Wasn't there a little from here to me? Miyev? The attendant went to Bahramyev's lodging to their German landlady, so I'll go and ask him, if you like. Do me a favor, brother. For goodness sake, I only mean—you mustn't imagine anything. Brother, I only mean—yes. You question him, brother.
Find out whether they're not getting up something concerning me. Find out whether he's acting—that is— What I want. That is what you must find out, my dear fellow, and then I'll reward you, my good man. I will, Your Honor. And Ivan Semyonovich sat in your place today, sir. Ivan Semyonovich? Oh, really? You don't say so. Andriy Filipovich told him to sit there. Really? How did that happen? You must find out, brother. For God's sake, find out. Brother, find it all out, and I'll reward you, my dear Philip. That's what I want to know. And don't you imagine anything, brother. Just so, sir, just so. I'll go at once. And aren't you going in today, sir? No, my friend. I only came to have a look around, my friend, and I'll reward you afterwards, my friend.
Yes, sir. The man ran rapidly and eagerly up the stairs, and Mr. Golikin was left alone. It's a poor lookout, he thought. Eh? It's a bad business—a bad business, eh? Things are in a bad way with us now. What does it all mean? What do the Tronquist's insinuations mean? For instance, in whose trickery was it? Ah, I know whose it was. And what a thing this is. No doubt they found out. and made him sit there. But after all, did they set him there? It was Antje Filippa which set him there. And with what object, probably they have found out. That is Bahramihaib's work. That is not Bahramihaib. He is as stupid as an Ashen post. Bahramihaib is, and they are all at work on his behalf, and they are act that scoundrel on to come here for the same purpose, and the German woman brought up her grievance, the one-eyed hussy.
I've always suspected that this intrigue was not without an object, that in all this old womanish gossip there must be something. And I said as much to Christian Ivanovich, telling him that it's sworn to cut a man's throat, in a moral sense, of course, And they pounced upon Karolina Ivanovna. Yes. There are master hands at work in this. One can say. Yes, sir. There are master hands at work in this. Not Vahramiev's. I've said already that Vahramiev is stupid, but I know who it is behind it all. It's that practical, that imposter. It's only that he relies upon— which is partly proved by his successors in the best society, and it would certainly be desirable to know on what footing he stands now.
What he is now among them. Only why have they taken Ivan Semyonovich? What the devil do they want with Ivan Semyonovich? Could not they have found anyone else? Though it would come to the same thing whoever it had been, and the only thing I know, is that I have suspected Ivan Simeonovich for a long time past. I noticed long ago what a nasty, horrid old man he was. They say he lends money and takes interest like any Jew. To be sure, the bear's the leading spirit in the whole affair. One can detect the bear in the whole affair. It began in this way. It began at the Ismailovsky bridge. That is how it began. At this point, Mr. Golik confronted. As though he had been taken a bit out of a lemon, probably remembering something very unpleasant.
But there, it doesn't matter, he thought. I keep harping on my own troubles. What will also Favre find out? Most likely he is staying on, or has been delayed somehow. It is a good thing, in a sense, that I am intriguing like this, and am laying mines on my side too. I've only to give also Fierre ten kopeks, and he's, so to speak, on my side. Only the point is, is he really on my side? Perhaps they've got him on their side, too. And they're carrying on in intrigue by means of him on their side, too. He looks a ruffian, the rascal, a regular ruffian. He's hiding something, the rogue. No. Nothing, says he, and I am deeply grateful to your honor, says he. You ruffian, you! He heard a noise. Mr. Golikin shrank up and skipped behind the stove.
Someone came downstairs and went out in the street. What could that be going away now? Our hero thought to himself. A minute later, footsteps were audible again. At this point, Mr. Golikin could not resist poking the very tip of his nose beyond. His corner. He poked it out and instantly withdrew it again, as though someone had pricked it with a pin. This time someone he knew well was coming. That is the scoundrel, the intriguer, and the reprobate. He was approaching with his usual mean tripping little step, prancing and shuffling with his feet, as though he were going to kick someone. The rascal. said our hero to himself. Mr. Golikin could not, however, help observing that the rascal had under his arm a huge green portfolio belonging to His Excellency.
He's on a special commission again, thought Mr. Golikin, flushing crimson and shrinking into himself more than ever from the accession. As soon as Mr. Golikin, Jr., had slipped past Mr. Golikin, Sr., without observing him, in the least, Footsteps were heard from the third time, and this time Mr. Golikin guessed that these were also faves. It was, in fact, the sleek figure of a copying clerk, Pisa Rinko, by name. This surprised Mr. Golikin. Why had he mixed up other people in their secret? Our hero wondered. What barbarians? Nothing is sacred to them. Well, my friend, he brought out addressing Pisa Rinko. Who sent you, my friend? I've come about your business. There's no news so far from anyone.
But should there be any, we'll let you know. And also, Fiave, it was quite impossible for him to come, Your Honor. His Excellency has walked through the room twice, and I've no time to stay. Thank you, my good man. Thank you. Only tell me. Upon my word, sir, I can't say. They are asking for us every minute. But if your honor will stay here, we'll let you know if anything happens concerning your little affair. No, my friend, just tell me. Excuse me. I've no time to stay, sir," said Mr. Raincoat, hearing away from Mr. Gullikin, who had flushed him by the lapel of his coat. I really can't. If your honor will stay here, we'll let you know. In a minute, my good man, in a minute, in a minute, my good fellow.
Tell you what, here's the letter, and I'll reward you, my good man. Yes, sir. Try and give it to Mr. Goliathkin, my dear fellow. Goliathkin? Yes, my man, to Mr. Goliathkin. Very good, sir. As soon as I get off, I'll take it, and you stay here, meanwhile. No one else will see you here. No, my good man, don't imagine. I'm not standing here to avoid being sane, but I'm not going to stay here now, my friend. I'll be close here, in the side of the street. There's a coffee-house here, so I'll wait there, and if anything happens, you'll let me know about anything. You understand? Very good, sir. Only let me go, I understand. And I'll reward you. Mr. Golikin called after Pisserenko, when he had last released him.
The rogue seemed to be getting rather rude, our hero reflected as He steadily emerged from behind the stove. There's some other dot here. That's clear. At first it was one thing and another. He was really in a hurry. Perhaps there's a great deal to do in the office, and His Excellency had been through the room twice. How did that happen? Ah, never mind. It may mean nothing, perhaps. But now we shall say— At this point, Mr. Golikin was about to open the door, intending to go out into the street, when suddenly, at that very instant, His Excellency's carriage was opened from within, and a gentleman jumped out. This gentleman was no other than Mr. Golikin, Jr., who had only gone out ten minutes before.
Mr. Golikin, Sr. remembered that the director's flat was only a couple of paces away. He has been out on a special commission, our hero thought to himself. When Mr. Golikin, Jr., took out of the carriage a thick green portfolio and other papers, finally giving some orders to the coachman, he approached the door, almost ran up against Mr. Golikin, Sr., purposefully, purposely avoiding noticing him, acting in this way expressly to annoy him, and mounted the office staircase at a rapid canter. It's a bad look-out, thought Mr. Golikin, and this is what it has come to know. Oh! Good Lord, look at him. For half a minute our hero remained motionless. At last he made up his mind, without pausing to think, though he was aware of a violent palpitation of heart and a tremor in all his limbs, he ran up the stair after his enemy.
Here goes. What does it matter to me? I have nothing to do with the case. He thought, taking off his hat, his great coat, and his colosius in the entry.
When Mr. Golikin walked into his office, it was already getting dusk. Neither Andrei Filipovic nor Anton Antonovich were in the room. Both of them were in the director's room, handing in reports. The director, so it was rumored, was in haste to report to a still higher excellency in consequence of this, and also because the light was coming on. And the office hours were almost over. Several of the clerks, especially the younger ones, were at the moment when our hero and third, enjoying a period of inactivity, gathered together in groups. They were talking, arguing, and laughing, and some of the most youthful, that is, belonging to the lowest grades in the service, had got up a game of pitchfarting in a corner by the window.
Knowing what was proper and feeling at the moment a special need to conciliate and get on with them, Mr. Gullikin immediately approached those with him he used to get on best, in order to wish them good-day and so on. But his colleagues answered his greetings rather strangely. He was unpleasantly impressed by a certain coldness, even curtness, one might almost say severity in their manner. No one shook hands with him. Some simply said good-day, and walked away. Others barely nodded. One simply turned away and pretended not to notice him. At last, some of them, and what mortified Mr. Golikin, most of them, some of the youngsters of the lowest grades, where lads who Mr. Golikin justly observed about them, were capable of nothing but hanging about and playing pitch and farthing at every opportunity.
Little by little, collected round, Mr. Golikin formed a group round him, and almost felt his way. They all looked at him with a sort of insulting curiosity. It was a bad sign, Mr. Golikin felt this, and when he judiciously decided not to notice it, suddenly a quite unexpected event completely finished him off, as they say, and utterly crushed him. At the moment, most trying to Mr. Golikin, Sr., suddenly, as though by design, There appeared, in the group, of fellow-clerks surrounding him the figure of a scoglick injunia, gay as ever, smiling a little, smiled as ever, nimble, too, as ever, in short, mischievous, skipping and tripping, chuckling and fawning, and sprightly tongue, and sprightly toe, as always, precisely as he had been the day before, at a very unpleasant moment, For Mr.
Gulickin, Sr., for instance. Grinding, tripping, and turning with a smile that seemed to say good evening to everyone, he squeezed his way into the group of clerks, shaking hands with one, slapping another on the shoulder, putting his arm round another, explaining to a fourth how he had come to be employed by His Excellency, where he had been, what he had done. What he had brought with him, to the fifth, probably his most intimate friend, he gave a resounding kiss. In fact, everything happened as it had in Mr. Gullickin's dream, when he had skipped about to his heart's content, polished them all off in his usual way, dispersed them all in his favor, whether he needed them or not, when he had lavished his blandishments to the delictation Of all the clerks, Mr.
Gullitkin, Jr., suddenly, and most likely by mistake, for he had not yet had time to notice his senior, held out his hand to Mr. Gullitkin, Sr., probably also by mistake. Though he had time to observe the dishonorable Mr. Gullitkin, Jr., thoroughly, our hero at once equally seized the hand so unexpectedly held out to him, and pressed it in the warmest and friendliest way, passed it With a strange, quite unexpected inner feeling, with a tearful emotion, whether our hero was misled by the first moment of his worthless foe, or was taken unawares, or, without recognizing it, felt at the bottom of his heart how defenseless he was. It was difficult to say. The fact remains that Mr. Golikinsenia, apparently knowing that he was doing, of his own free will, before witnesses, Solemnly shook hands with him, whom he called his mortal foe, with what was the amazement, the stupfaction and fury, what was the horror and shame of Mr.
Goldilkin, Sr., with his enemy and mortal foe, the dishonorable Mr. Goldilkin, Jr., noticing the mistake of that persecuted, innocent, perfidiously deceived man, without a trace of shame, of feeling, of compassion or of conscience. Pulled his hand away with insufferable rudeness and insolence. What was worse, he shook the hand as though it had been polluted with something horrid. What was more, he sped aside with disgust. Accompanying this with a most insulting gesture, worse still, he drew out his handkerchief, and in the most unseemly way wiped all the fingers that had brushed it. for one moment in the hand of Mr. Gulligan, Sr. When he did this, Mr. Gulligan, Jr. looked about him in his characteristic horrid way, took care that everyone should say what he was doing, glanced the people's eyes, and evidently tried to insinuate to everyone everything that was most unpleasant in regard to Mr.
Gulligan, Sr. Mr. Gulligan, Jr.'s revolting behavior seemed to arouse general indignation among the clerks that surrounded them. Even the frivolous youngsters showed their displeasure. A murmur of protest rose on all sides. Mr. Golikin could not but discern the gentle feeling, but suddenly an appropriate witticism that bubbled from the lips of Mr. Golikin, Jr., shattered and annihilated our hero's last hopes, and inclined to balance again in favor of his deadly An undeserving foe. He's a Russian for-blah. Gentlemen, allow me to introduce the useful for-blah, piped Mr. Golikin, Jr., with his characteristic insolence, pirating and threading his way among clerks, and directing their attention to the petrified, though genuine, Mr.
Golikin. Let us kiss each other, darling. He went on with insufferable familiarity addressing the man he had so trustlessly insulted. Mr. Gulligan, Jr.'s unworthy jest seemed to touch a responsive chord, for it contained an artful allusion to an incident, but with which all were apparently familiar. Our hero was painfully conscious of the hand of his enemies, but he had made up his mind by now. With glowing eyes, with pale face, with a fixed smile, he tore himself, somehow, out of the crowd, and— With the uneven, hurried steps made straight for His Excellency's private room. In the room next to the last he was met by Andrew Philipovich, who had only just come out from seeing His Excellency. And although there were present in this room at the moment a good number of persons, of whom Mr.
Goliukin knew nothing, yet our hero did not care to take such a fact into consideration. Boldly, resolutely, directly, almost wondering at himself, and inwardly admiring his own courage, without loss of time, he accosted Andrew Philipovich, who was a good deal surprised by the unexpected attack. "'Ah! What is it? What do you want?' asked the head of the division, not hearing Mr. Golikin's hesitation words. "'White Eye, Andrew Philipovich, may I have a conversation with His Excellency at once, in private.' Our hero said resolutely and distinctly, fixing the most determined glance on Andrey Filipovich. What next? Of course not. Andrey Filipovich scanned Mr. Goliath from head to foot. I say all this, Andrey Filipovich, because I am surprised that no one here unmasks the impostor and scoundrel.
What? Scoundrel. Andrey Filipovich, of whom are you pleased to speak in those terms? Of a certain person, Andrew Filippovich, I am alluding to Andrew Filippovich. To a certain person, I have the right. I imagine, Andrew Filippovich, that the authorities would surely encourage such action, added Mr. Gullikin, evidently hardly knowing what he was saying. Andrew Filippovich, but no doubt you see yourself, Andrew Filippovich, that this honorable action is a mark of my loyalty in every way. "'Of my looking upon my superior as a father,' and said, "'I as much as to say, look upon my benevolent superior as a father,' and blindly trust my faith to him. "'It's as much as to say,' you see." At this point Mr.
Goldilocks' voice trembled, and two tears ran down his eyelashes. As Andrew Philipovich listened to Goldilocks' he was so astonished that he could not help Stepping back a couple of paces, then he looked upon him uneasily. It was difficult to say how the matter would have ended, but suddenly the door of His Excellency's room was open, and he himself came out, accompanied by several officials. All the persons in this room followed in a string. His Excellency called to Andrew Phillips, and walked beside him, beginning to discuss some business details. When all Had set off and gone out of the room, Mr. Golikin woke up. Growing calmer, he took refuge under the wing of Anton Antonovich, who came last in the procession, and who, Mr.
Golikin fancied, looked stern and anxious. I have been talking nonsense. I have been making a mess again of it. Were there? Never mind, he thought. I hope at least... "'That you, Antoine Antonovitch, will consent to listen to me and to enter into my position,' he said quietly, in a voice that still trembled a little. "'Rejected by all, I appeal to you. I am still at a loss to understand what Andrea Filippovich's words mean, Antoine Antonovitch. Explain them to me, if you can. Everything will be explained in a due time,' Antoine Antonovitch replied sternly and emphatically, as Mr. Gullietkin fancied. with an air that gave him, plainly, to understand that Anton Antonovic did not wish to continue the conversation.
You will soon know all about it. You will be officially informed about everything to-day. What do you mean by officially informed, Anton Antonovic? Why officially? Our hero asked timidly. It is not for you and me to discuss what our superiors decide upon, Yakov Petrovich. Why our superiors? Antoine Antonovitch, said our hero, still more intimidated. Why, our superiors? I don't see what reason there is to trouble our superiors in the matter, Antoine Antonovitch. Perhaps you mean to say something about yesterday's doings, Antoine Antonovitch. Oh, no! Nothing to do with yesterday. There's something else amiss with you. What is there amiss, Antoine Antonovitch? I believe, Antoine Antonovitch, that I've— Nothing done amiss.
Why, you were meaning to be sly with some one, Antoine Antonovitch got in sharp lay, completely flabbergasting Mr. Gulikin. Mr. Gulikin started and turned as white as a pocket handkerchief. Of course, Antoine Antonovitch, he said in a voice hardly audible. If one listens to the voice of calumny and hears one's enemy's tales without hearing What the other side has to say in its defense, then of course, Antony Antonovich, one must suffer innocently and for nothing. To be sure, but your unseemly conduct in injuring the reputation of a virtuous young lady belonging to that benevolent, highly distinguished, and well-known family who had befriended you. What conduct do you mean, Antony Antonovich? What, I say?
Do you know anything about your praiseworthy conduct in regard to that other young lady who, though poor, is of honorable foreign extraction. Allow me, Anton Antonovitch, if you would kindly listen to me, Anton Antonovitch, and your treacherous behavior and slander of another person, your charging another person with your own sins. Ah! What do you call that? I did not send him away, Anton Antonovitch, said our hero with a tremor. I have never instructed Petrushka, my man, to do anything of the sort. He has eaten my bread, Antony Antonyović. He has taken advantage of my hospitality. Our hero he added expressively, and with deep emotion, so much so that his chin twitched a little, and tears were ready to start again.
"'That is only your talk, that he has eaten your bread,' answered Antony Antonyović, somewhat offended, and there was a perfidious note in his voice. which sent a pang to Mr. Gullikin's heart. Allow me, most humbly, to ask you again, Antony Antonevich. Is His Excellency aware of all this business? Upon my word, you must let me go now. Though I have not time for you now. You'll know everything you need to know today. Allow me, for God's sake, one minute, Antony Antonevich. Tell me afterwards. No, Antony Antonevich, I—you see— Antony Antonyo. Only listen. I am not one for free thinking, Antony Antonyo. I shun free thinking. I am quite ready for my part, and indeed I have given up that idea. Very good, very good.
I heard it, Aunt Rade. No, you have not heard it, Antony Antonyo. It is something else, Antony Antonyo. It is a good thing, really, a good thing, and pleasant to hear. As I have explained to you, Antony Antonyo, I admit that that divine providence has created two men exactly alike, and that a benevolent government, seeing the hand of the providence, provided a birth for two twins. That is a good thing, Antony Antonyo, and that I am very far from free-thinking. I look upon my benevolent government as a father. I say, yes, by all means, You are benevolent authorities, and you, of course. A young man must be in the service. Stand up for me, Antony Antonovich. Take my part, Antony Antonovich. I am all right, Antony Antonovich.
For God's sake, one little word more, Antony Antonovich. But by now Antony Antonovich was far away from Mr. Golikin. Our hero was so bewildered and overcome by all that had happened. and all that he had heard that he did not know where he was standing, what he had heard, what he had done, what was being done to him, and what was going to be done to him. With imploring eyes, he sought for Anton Antonovich in the crowd of clerks, that he might justify himself further in his eyes, and say something to him extremely high-toned and very agreeable and creditable to himself. But degrees, however, A new light began to break upon our hero's bewildered mind. A new and awful light that revealed at once a whole perspective of hitherto unknown and utterly unsuspective circumstances.
At that moment somebody gave our bewildered hero a poke in the ribs. He looked round. Pissarain Coe was standing before him. A letter, your honor. You've been taken out already, my good man. No. It was brought at ten o'clock this morning. Sergi Mihiaev, Viettendian brought it from Mr. Vahramiaev's lodging. Very good, very good. And I'll reward you now, my dear fellow. Saying this, Mr. Golikin thrust his letter in his side pocket of his uniform and buttoned every button of it. Then he looked around him, and to his surprise found that he was by now in the hall of the department, in a group of clerks, crowding at the outer door, for office hours were over. Mr. Goliathkin had not only failed to that moment to observe the circumstances, but had no notion how he suddenly came to be wearing his great coat in gouloshes, and to be holding his hat in his hand.
All the clerks were motionless, in reverential expectation, and the fact was that His Excellency was standing at the bottom of the stairs, Waiting for a carriage, which was for some reason late in arriving, and was carrying on a very interesting conversation with Andrei Filipovich and two counsellors. At a little distance from Andrei Filipovich stood Antony Antonevich and several other clerks, who were all smiles, saying that His Excellency was gracious to making a joke. The clerks, who were crowded at the top of the stair, were smiling too, in expectation of His Excellency's Laughing again. The only one who was not smiling was Fido Siewicz, the corpulent hall-porter who stood stiffly at attention, holding the handle of the door, waiting impatiently for the daily gratification that fell to his share, that is, the task of flinging one half of the door wide open with a swing of his arm, and then with a low bow reverentially making way for His Excellency to pass.
But the one who seemed to be more delighted than any, and to feel the most satisfaction of all, was the worthless and ungentlemanly enemy of Mr. Golikin. At that instant he possibly forgot all the cliques, and even gave up tripping and pirrowing in his usual odious way. He even forgot to make up to anybody. He was all eyes and ears. He even doubled himself up strangely. No doubt, in the strained effort to hear, and never took his eyes off his excellency. And only from time to time his arms, legs, and head twitched with faintly perceptible tremors that betrayed the sacred emotions of his soul. Ah! Isn't he in a state? thought our hero. He looks like a favorite. The rascal. I should like to know how it is that he deceives society.
Of every class. He has neither brains nor character, nor education nor feeling. He's a lucky rogue. Mercy, honest. How can a man, when you think of it, come and make friends with everyone so quickly? And he'll get on. I swear the fellow will get on. The rogue will make his way. He's a lucky rascal. I should like to know, too, what he keeps whispering to everyone. What plots he is hatching with all these people, and what secrets they are talking about. Lord, have mercy on us. If only I could get on with them, a little too, say this and that and the other, hadn't I better ask him, tell him I wouldn't do it again, say I'm in fault, and a young man must serve nowadays. Your Excellency, I am not going to be touched in any way either.
I shall bear it all the meekness and patience. So there, is that the way to behave? Though you'll never see through him. Though, the rascal, you can't reach him with anything you say. You can't hammer reason into his head. We'll make an effort, though. I may happen to hit on a good moment. So I'll make an effort. Feeling his uneasiness, his misery, and his bewilderment. that he couldn't leave things like this, that the critical moment had come, that he must explain himself to some one. Our hero began to move a little towards the place where his worthless and undeserving enemy stood, but at that very moment His Excellency's long-expected carriage rolled up into the entrance. Fedosevich flung open the door, and, winning double, let His Excellency pass out.
All the waiting clerks screamed out towards the door, and for a moment separated Mr. Gullickon, Sr. from Mr. Gullickon, Jr. You shan't get away, said our hero, forcing his way through the crowd, where he kept his eyes fixed upon the man he wanted. At last the crowd was first. Our hero felt he was free, and flew in pursuit of his enemy.
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11 11 - Chapter 11 23:58
Mr. Goliatkin'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 himself who was not running, 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. Goyadkin, almost breathless from the 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. Goliatkin, Jr., holding him by the button. "'My dear sir! I hope that you—' "'No, please do not hope for anything,' Mr. Goliatkin'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.
Goliatkin, Sr., while the latter held on to it with all the strength that had been vouchsafed to him by nature. Yakov Petrovich, only ten minutes. Excuse me. I have no time. You must admit, Yakov Petrovich. Please, Yakov Petrovich. For God's sake, Yakov Petrovich, let us have it out, in a straightforward way. One little second, Yakov Petrovich. My dear fellow, I can't stay. answered Mr. Goyadkin's dishonorable enemy, with uncivil familiarity, disguised as good-natured hardness. Another time, believe me, with my whole soul and all my heart. But now I really can't. Scoundrel! thought our hero. Yakov Petrovich! he cried miserably. I have never been your enemy. Spiteful people have described me unjustly.
I am really on my side, Yakov Petrovich. Shall we go in here together, at once, Yakov Petrovich? And with all my heart, as you have so justly expressed it, just now, and in straightforward, honorable language, as you have expressed it just now, here, into this coffee-house, there the facts will explain themselves. They will really, Yakov Petrovich, 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. Goliatkin, Jr., getting out of the cab, and shamelessly slapping our hero on the shoulder.
"'You friend of my heart, for your sake, Yakov Petrovich, I am ready to go by the back street, as you were pleased to observe so aptly on one occasion, Yakov Petrovich. "'Why, what a rogue he is, upon my word! He does just what he likes with one,' Mr. Goliatkin's false friend went on, fawning upon him, and cajoling him with a little smile. The coffee-house which the two Mr. Goyadkins 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. Goyadkin and his unworthy enemy went into the second room, where a puffy-looking boy with a closely-shaped head was busy with a bundle of chips at the stove, trying to revive the smouldering fire.
At Mr. Goyadkin, Jr.'s request, chocolate was served. And a sweet little lady tart. said Mr. Glyadkin, Jr., with a sly wink at Mr. Glyadkin, Sr. 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 beer-soup and their milk-soup, and we give them notes of different sorts. That's what we do, you fablier, you deceiver. All this Mr. Glyadkin, Jr. 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. Glyadkin, Sr., was by no means so stupid and deficient in breeding, in the manners of good society, as to believe in him, The infamous man resolved to change his tactics and to make a more pawn attack upon him. After uttering his disgusting speech, the false Mr. Glyadkin ended by slapping the real and substantial Mr. Glyadkin 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. Goliadkin, Sr., he pinched the ladder on the cheek. At the spectacle of such depravity, our hero boiled within, but was silent, only for the time, however.
"'That is the task 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. Goliadkin, Jr. 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. Gileadkin, Jr. 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 Petrovich?
"'There's only one thing I can tell you, Yakov Petrovich,' our hero answered, with sang-froid indignity. "'I've never been your enemy.' "'Hmm. 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 Petrovich,' answered Mr. Yadkin Sr., somewhat amazed. "'I don't know, Yakov Petrovich. From my standpoint, from a candid—' Honorable standpoint, Yakov Petrovich. You must admit Yakov Petrovich. Yes. But you know yourself, Yakov Petrovich, Mr. Goyadkin, Jr. answered in a soft and expressive voice, supposing 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 Petrovich. You are an intelligent man, and your reflections are just, Mr. Goyadkin, Jr. said in conclusion. Flattering Mr. Goyetkin, Sr., in an abject way, "'Life is not a game. You know yourself, Yakov Petrovich,' Mr. Goyetkin, Jr. added, with vast significance, assuming the character of a clever and learned man, who is capable of passing judgments on lofty subjects. "'For my part, Yakov Petrovich,' our hero answered warmly, "'for my part, scorning to be round about, and speaking boldly and openly, Using straightforward, honorable language, and putting the whole matter on an honorable basis, I tell you I can openly and honorably assert, Yakov Petrovich, that I am absolutely pure, and that you know it yourself, Yakov Petrovich.
The error is mutual. It may all be the world's judgment, the opinion of the Slavish crowd. I speak openly, Yakov Petrovich. Everything is possible. I will say, too, Yakov Petrovich, 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 Petrovich, 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 Petrovich, but let us drop all this, said Mr.
Goyadkin, Jr. 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 Petrovich. Nor I, answered our hero warmly, nor I either. My heart tells me, Yakov Petrovich, that I am not to blame on all this matter. Let us blame fate for all this, Yakov Petrovich," added Mr. Goyetkin Sr., in a quick, consultatory 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 Quincy. For my part, I confess, I have begun to wrap myself up in flannel. One may indeed, Yakov Petrovich, very easily get Quincy, our hero pronounced after a brief silence. Yakov Petrovich, 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. Olyadkin, Jr., reproachfully, speaking on this occasion, though only on this occasion, quite justly. Yakov Petrovich, I was in error. I see clearly now that I was in error in my unhappy letter to Yakov Petrovich.
I am ashamed to look at you, Yakov Petrovich. You wouldn't believe. Give me that letter that I may tear it to pieces before your eyes, Yakov Petrovich. 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 Petrovich. I was quite, I was grievously in error, Yakov Petrovich. You say so? Mr. Goyakin's perfidious friend inquired, rather casually and indifferently. I say that I was quite in error, Yakov Petrovich, and that for my part, quite without false shame I am. Ah, well, that's all right. That's a nice thing you are being in error, answered Mr.
Goliatkin, Jr. I even had an idea, Yakov Petrovich, our candid hero answered in a gentlemanly way, completely failing to observe the horrible profidity 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. Goliatkin took up his hat, still failing to observe his treachery. Mr. Goliatkin, Sr., 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. Goliatkin, Jr. 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—' But then his enemy's shamelessness passed all bounds. Seizing the two fingers of Mr. Yadkin's hand, and at first pressing them, the worthless fellow, on the spot, before Mr. Yadkin'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. Yadkin Sr. 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, they hardly knew what he was doing. The tart is certainly not bad. What do you think? Mr. Gliadkin, Jr., began upon his unseemly sallies again, reckoning, no doubt, upon Mr. Gliadkin's infinite patience. The stout German, for her part, looked at both her visitors with putry, vacant-looking eyes, smiling affably, and evidently not understanding Russian. Our hero flushed red as fire at the words of the unabashed Mr. Gliadkin, Jr., and, unable to control himself, rushed at him with the evident intention of tearing him to pieces, and finishing him off completely. But Mr. Glyadkin, Jr., 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 stupfaction with which Mr. Glyadkin, Sr., was naturally overcome, he recovered himself, and went at full speed after his insulting enemy, who had already gotten to a cab, whose driver was obviously in collusion with him. But 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, 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.
Oyetekin, Jr., 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, kicking with his hind legs in a horrid way. At last, her 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. Goyadkin. It was foggy, and nothing could be seen. It was difficult to tell, though, what street and what direction they were being taken. It seemed to Mr. Goyadkin That what was happening to him was somehow familiar. One instant he tried to remember whether he had a presentment 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.
Gliadkin 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 had quite a new turn to the affair. Mr. Goyadkin 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 Olsofey Ivanovitch is flat.
At the same instant he noticed that his enemy was mounting the steps, probably on his way to Olsofey 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. Yadkin 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. Our 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. Olyakkin seemed unconscious, and would pay no heed to anything. He came to himself, however, on Semenyavsky Bridge, and then only, through succeeding in tripping against and upsetting two peasant women in the wares they were selling, and tumbling over them.
That's no matter," thought Mr. Goyadkin. 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 the rouble. Suddenly a new light dawned upon Mr. Goyadkin. 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 forever.
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 counsellor, Olsofey Yovanovitch, No doubt desirous of securing me a place in relations and 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 Olsofya Ivanovich'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. Clara Osefevna. 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 the moment the object of the exclusive attention of everyone in the room, his gesticulating with both hands, perhaps some enigmatic words unconsciously addressed to the air. Probably all this prejudiced Mr. Glyatkin and the opinion of the customers, and even the waiter began to look at him suspiciously. Coming to himself, Mr. Glyatkin 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 icon, had sat down again and fixed his eyes upon Mr.
Glyadkin. Our hero looked vaguely about him and noticed that everyone, actually everyone, 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. Glyadkin 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, and saw that the attendant was coming up to him with a strange, 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 soiled 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. Glyadkin 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. Glyadkin. The waiter himself grinned. Mr. Goyatkin 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 Krestian Ivanovich had prescribed for him four days earlier. Yet the medicine that the same chemists floated through Mr. Goyatkin'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. Goliathkin'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 his brow and temples. So my life is in danger. Meantime there was a stir, a commotion in the room.
Everyone surrounded Mr. Goyatkin. Everyone talked to Mr. Goyatkin. Some even caught hold of Mr. Goyatkin. 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 Mikhev, 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. Glyatkin, signed by Andrei Filippovich, to give up the business in his hands to Ivan Semyonovich.
Taking the envelope and giving ten kopecks to the man, Mr. Glyatkin 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. Yadkin and move to the flat of Karolina Ivanovna, who had enticed him to take the place of Yevstafi.
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The double by Fyodor Dostoevsky, translated by Constance. Chapter Twelve Petruska came in swaggering with a strangely casual manner and an air of vulgar triumph on his face. It was evident that he had some idea in his head, that he felt thoroughly within his rights, and he looked like an unconcerned spectator, that is, as though he were anybody's servant rather than Mr. Golgiukin's. "'I say, you know, my good lad,' our hero began breathlessly. "'What time is it?' Without speaking, Petrushka went behind his partition, then returned, and in a—' The rather independent tone announced that it was nearly half past seven. Well, that's all right, my lad, that's all right. Come, you see, my boy, allow me to tell you, my good lad, that everything, I fancy, is at an end between us.
Petrushka said nothing. Well, now as everything is over between us, Tell me openly, as a friend, where have you been?" Where have I been? To see good people, sir. I know, my good lad, I know. I have always been satisfied with you, and I give you a character. What are you doing with them now? Why, sir, you know yourself. We all know a decent man won't teach you any harm. I know, my dear fellow, I know. Nowadays, good people are rare, my lad. Price them, my friend. Well, how are they? To be sure, they—only I can't serve you any longer, sir, as your honour must know. I know, my dear fellow. I know your zeal, and devotion. I have seen it all, my lad. I have noticed it. I respect you, my friend. I respect a good and honest man, even though he's a lackey.
Why, yes, to be sure. The like of us, of course, as you know yourself, are as good as anybody. That's so. We all know, sir, that there's no getting on without a good man.
Very well, very well, my boy. I feel it. Come. "'Here's your money, and here's your character. Now we'll kiss and say good-bye, brother. Come. Now, my lad, I'll ask one service for you, one last service,' said Mr. Golikin, in a solemn voice. "'You see, my dear boy, all sorts of things happen. Sorrow is concealed in gilded palaces, and there's no escaping it. You know, my boy, I've always been kind to you, my boy.' Petrushka remained mute.
I believe I've always been kind to you, my dear fellow. Come. How much linen have we now, my dear boy?
Well, it's all there. Linen, shirts, six, three pairs of socks, four shirt fronts, flannel widths, of under-linen, two sets, You know all that yourself. I've got nothing of yours, sir. I look after my master's belongings. Sir, I'm like that, sir. We all know. And I've never been guilty of anything of the sort, sir. You know yourself, sir. I trust you, my lad. I trust you. I didn't mean that, my friend. I didn't mean that. You know, my lad, I tell you what— To be sure, sir, we know that already. Why, when I used to be in service at the General Stolnyakov's, I lost the list through the families going away to Saratov. They've been a state there. I didn't mean that, my lad. I didn't mean that. Don't think anything of the sort, my dear fellow.
To be sure, it's easy, as you know yourself, sir. To take away the character of folks like us. And I've always given satisfaction. Ministers, generals, senators, counts. I've served them all. I've been at Prince Swichatkins, at Colonel Perry Boatkins, at General Nido Barrowes. They've gone away, too. They've gone to their property, as you all know. Yes, my lad. Very good, my lad. Very good. And I'm going away, my friend. A different path lies before each man. No one can tell what road he may have to take. Come, my lad. Put out my clothes now. Lay out my uniform, too. And my other trousers, my sheets, quilts, and pillows. Am I to pack them in a bag? Yes, my lad. Yes, the bag. Please. Who knows what may happen to us?
Come, my dear boy. You can go and find a carriage. A carriage? Yes, my lad. A carriage. A roomy one. Take it by the hour, and don't imagine anything. Are you planning to go far away, sir? I don't know, my lad. I don't know that either. I think you had better pack my feather bed, too. What do you think, my lad? I am relying on you, my dear fellow. Is your honor setting off at once? Yes, my friend, yes. Circumstances have turned out so. So it is. My dear fellow, so it is.
To be sure, sir, when we were in the regiment, the same thing happened to the lieutenant. They alloped from a country gentleman's. Alloped? How, my dear fellow? Yes, sir, alloped. And they were married in another house. Everything was got ready beforehand. There was a hue and cry after them. The late prince took their part, and so it was all settled. They were married, but—how is it, my dear fellow? How did you come to know, my boy? Why, to be sure the earth is full of rumors, sir. We know, sir—we've all, to be sure. There's no one without sin. Only I'll tell you now, sir. Let me speak plainly and well, girly, sir. Since it has come to this, I must tell you, sir, you have an enemy. You've a rival, sir—a powerful rival.
So there— I know, my dear fellow, I know. You know yourself, my dear fellow. So, you see, I am relying upon you. What are we to do now, my friend? How do you advise me? If you are in that way now, if you have come, so to say, to such a pass, sir, you will have to make some purchases, sir. Say, some sheets, pillows, another fair, another feather bed, a double one. A good quilt. Here are the neighbors downstairs. She's a shopkeeper, sir. She has a good fox fur cloak, so you might have a look at it at once. You need it now, sir. It's a good cloak, sir. Satin lined with fox. Very good, my lad. Very good. I agree. I rely upon you. I rely upon you entirely. A cloak by all means, if necessary. Only make haste, make haste.
For God's sake, make haste. I'll buy the cloak. Only please make haste. It'll soon be eight o'clock. Make haste, for God's sake, my dear Lord. Hurry up, my lad. Petrushka ran up to gather together a bundle of linen, pillows, quilt, sheets, and all sorts of odds and ends, tied them up, and rushed headlong out of the room. Meanwhile, Mr. Golikin, Seize the letter once more, but he could not read it. Clutching his devoted head, he leaned against the wall in a state of stupefaction. He could do nothing either, and could not even tell what was happening to him. At last, seeing that time was passing and neither Petrushka nor the foreclock had made their appearance, Mr. Golikin made up his mind to go himself.
Opening the door into the entry, he heard below noise, talk, Disputing and scuffling, several of the women of the neighboring flats were shouting, talking and protesting about something. Mr. Golikin knew what. Hedruska's voice was heard. Then there was a sound of footsteps. My goodness, they'll bring all the world in here, moaned Mr. Golikin. Bringing his hands in despair, running back into his room, he fell almost senseless on the sofa, with his face on the pillow. After lying a minute in this way, he jumped up. Without waiting for Petrushka, he put on his goloches, his hat, and his great coat, snatched up his papers, and ran headlong down stairs. "'Nothing is wanted, nothing, my dear fellow.
I will manage myself, everything myself. I don't need you for the time. In the meantime, things may take a bitter turn, perhaps.' Mr. Golikin muttered to Petrushka, meeting him on the stair. Then he ran out into the yard, away from the house. There was a faintness in his heart. He had not yet made up his mind what his position, what he was to do, how he was to act in the present critical position. Yes, how am I to act, Lord? Have mercy on me, and that all this should happen. He cried out at last, in despair, tottering along the street at random. That all this must needs happen. Why, but for this, but for just this, everything would have been put right. At one skilful, vigorous, firm stroke, it would have been set right.
I would have my finger cut off, to have set right. And I know, indeed, how it would have been settled. This is how it would have been managed. I'd have gone on the spot. Said how it was. With your permission, sir, I'm neither here nor there in it. I would say, My dear sir, things aren't done like that. There's no accepting an impostor in our office. An impostor, my dear sir, is a man who is worthless and of no service to his country. Do you understand that, my dear sir, I should say that's how it would be? But no, after all, things are not like that. Not a pet like that. I am talking nonsense, like a fool, a suicidal fool. It's not like that at all. You suicidal fool. This is how things are done.
Though, you profligate man, well, what am I going to do with myself now? What am I fit for now?
Come, what are you fit for now? For instance, you, Goliathkin, You—you worthless fellow! Well, what now? I wish get a carriage. Hire a carriage and bring it here. We shall get our feet wet without a carriage, says she. And who could ever have thought it? Fee—fee our young lady of virtuous behavior. Well—well, the girl we all thought of so much of. You've distinguished yourself, madam. There's no doubt of that. You've distinguished yourself, and it all comes from a moral education. And now that I've looked into it, and seen through it all, I see that it is due to nothing else but immortality, instead of looking after her as a child. And there are odd at times. They stop her with sweets and dainties, and the old man is always doting over her, saying, My dear, my love, my beauty, saying, We'll marry you, to account.
And now she has come forward herself and shown her cards, as though to say, That's her little game. Instead of keeping her at home as a child, they sent her to a boarding-school, to a French madame, and a migre, a Madame Falbellas, or something. She learned all sorts of things at that Madame Falbellas, and this is how... It always turns out. Come, she says, and be happy. Be in a carriage, she says. At such a time, under the widows, and sing a sentimental serenade, in the Spanish style, I await you, and I know you love me, and we will fly together and live in a hut. But the fact is, it's impossible, since it has come to that, madam, it's impossible. It is against the law to abduct an innocent, respectable girl from her parents' roof without their sanction.
And if you come to that, why, what for, and what knee is there to do it? Come, she should marry a suitable person, the man marked out by destiny, and that would be the end of it. But I'm in the government service. I might lose my birth through it. I might be arrested for it, madam. I tell you that, if you do not know it. It's that German woman's doing. She's at the bottom of it all, that which she cooked the whole kettle of fish. For they've slandered a man, for they've invented a bit of womanish gossip about him. A regular performance by the advice of Andrei Filippovich. That's what it came from. Otherwise, how could Petrushka be mixed up in it? What was he to do with it? What need for the rogue to be in it?
No. I cannot, madam. I cannot possibly. Not on any account. No, madam. This is the time you will really excuse me. It's all your doing, madam. It's not at all the German's doing. It's not the witch's doing. At all. But simply yours. For the witch is a good woman. For the witch is not to blame in any way. It's your fault, madam. It's you who are to blame. Let me tell you, I shall not be charged with a crime through you, madam. A man might be ruined. A man might lose sight of himself, and not be able to restrain himself. A wedding, indeed. And how is it all going to end? And how will it be arranged? I would give a great deal to know all that. So our hero reflected in his despair. Coming to himself suddenly, he observed that he was standing somewhere in Litainy Street.
The weather was awful. It was a thaw. Snow and rain were falling, just as at that memorable time, when at the dread hour of midnight all Mr. Golikin's trouble had begun. This is a nice night for the journey, thought Mr. Golikin, looking at the weather. It's death all round. Good Lord! Where am I to find a carriage, for instance? I believe there's something black there at the corner. We'll see. We'll investigate. Lord, have mercy on us. Our hero went on, bending his weak and tottering steps in the direction in which he saw something that looked like a cab. No? I know what I'll do. I'll go straight and fall on my knees, if I can, and humbly beck, saying, I put my fate in your hands, in the hands of my superiors, saying, Your Excellency, be a protector and a benefactor, and then I'll say this and that, and explain how that is an unlawful act.
Do not destroy me. I look upon you as my father. Do not abandon me. Save my dignity, my honor, my name, my reputation, and save me from a miscreant, a vicious man. He is another person, Your Excellency, and I am another person too. He is the part. I am really myself by myself. Your Excellency, really myself by myself. That's what I shall say. I cannot be like him. Change him. Dismiss him. Give orders for him to be changed, and a godless, licentious impersonation to be suppressed, that it may not be an example to others. Your Excellency, I look upon you as a father. Those in authority over us, our benefactors and protectors are bound, of course, to anchorage such impulses. There's something, Kaivalros, about it.
I shall say, I look upon you, my benefactor and superior, as a father, and trust my fate to you, and I will not say anything against it. I put myself in your hands, and retire from the affair myself. That's what I could say. Well, my man, are you a cabman? Yes. I want a cab for the evening. And does your honor want to go far? For the evening, for the evening. Wherever I have to go, my man, wherever I have to go. Does your honor want to drive out of town? Yes, my friend, out of town, perhaps. I quite don't know myself yet. I can't tell you for certain, my man. Maybe you see it will be all settled for the best. We all know, my friend. Yes, of course, sir. We all know. Please, God, it may. Yes, my friend.
Yes, thank you, my dear fellow. Come, what's your fare, my good man? Do you want to set off at once? Yes, at once. That is—now. You must wait at a certain place. A little while. Not long. You'll have to wait. Well, if you hire me for the whole time, I couldn't ask less than six roubles for a weather like this. Oh, very well, my friend, and I thank you, my dear fellow. So come. You can take me now, my good man. Get in. Allow me. I'll put it straight a bit. Now will you wanna get in? Where shall I drive? To Ismailovsky Bridge, my friend. The driver pumped down on the box. With difficulty roused his pair of lean necks. from the trough of hay, and was setting off for Ismailovski bridge. But suddenly Mr.
Golyukin pulled the cord, stopped the cab, and besought him, in an imploring voice, not to drive to Ismailovski bridge, but to turn back to another street. The driver turned into another street, and then minutes later Mr. Golyukin, newly hired equipage, was standing before the house in which His Excellency had a flat. Mr. Golyukin got out of the carriage, begged the driver to be sure, to wait, and with his sinking-hard tramp stairs, to the third story and pull the bell. The door was opened, and our hero found himself in the entry of His Excellency's flat. Is His Excellency graciously pleased to be at home? said Mr. Golikin, addressing the man who opened the door. "'What do you want?' asked the servant, scrutinizing Mr.
Golikin from head to foot. "'I, my friend, am Golikin.' The Titular Counselor. Golyukin. To say, something or the other. To explain. You must wait. You cannot. My friend, I cannot wait. My business is important. It's business that admits of no delay. But from whom have you come? Have you brought papers? No, my friend. I am on my own account. Announce me, my friend. Say something or the other. Explain. I'll reward you, my good man. I cannot. His Excellency is not at home. He has visitors. Come at ten o'clock in the morning. Take in my name, my good man. I can't wait. It's impossible. You'll have to answer for it, my good man. Why, go and announce him. What's the matter with you? Want to save your shoe-leather?
said another lackey, who was lolling on the prince, and had not uttered a word till then. Shoe-leather? "'I was told not to show anyone up. You know, their time is in the morning.' "'Announce him. Have you lost your tongue?' "'I'll announce him, all right. I've not lost my tongue.' "'It's not my orders. I've told you. It's not my orders. Walk inside.' Mr. Gullikin went into the outermost room. There was a clock on the table. He glanced at it. It was half past eight. His heart ached within him. Already he wanted to turn back, but at that very moment the footman, standing at the door of the next room, had already boomed out Mr. Goldilocks's name. Oh, what lungs, thought our hero, in indescribable misery.
Why, you ought to have said. He has come most humbly and meekly to make an explanation. Something be graciously pleased to see him. Now the whole business is ruined. All my hopes are scattered to the winds. But—however—never mind. There was no time to think. Moreover, the lackey, returning, said, Please walk in, and led Mr. Golodkin into the study. When Ahiro went in, he felt as though he were blinded, for he could see nothing at all. But three or four figures seemed flitting before his eyes. Oh, yes! The other visitors flashed through Mr. Golurkin's mind. At last our hero could distinguish clearly the star on the black coat of His Excellency, and whether degrees advanced to seeing the black coat and at last gained the power of complete vision.
"'What is it?' said a familiar voice above Golurkin. "'The titular counsellor, Golurkin, Your Excellency. "'Well, I have come to make an explanation. "'How? What?' Why, yes. I've come for an explanation, Your Excellency. But who are you? Mr. Goldilocks. Your Excellency? A titular counselor. Well, what is he to want? Why, this is how it is. I look upon you as a father. I retire. Defend me from my enemy. What's this? We all know. What do we all know? Mr. Goldilocks was silent. His chin began twitching a little. Well? I thought it was Kuywildruss, Your Excellency. There is something Kuywildruss in it, I said, and I look upon my superior as a father. This is what I thought. Protect me. I tear earfully, and that such impulse ought to be encouraged.
His Excellency turned away. Our hero for some minutes could distinguish nothing. There was a weight on his chest. His breathing was laboured. He did not know where he was standing. He felt ashamed and sad. God knows what followed. Recovering himself, our Header noticed that His Excellency was talking with his guests, and seemed to be briskly and emphatically discussing something with them. One of the visitors Mr. Golikin recognized at once. This was Andrew Filippovich. He knew no one else. Yet there was another person that seemed familiar. A tall thick-set figure, middle-aged, possessed of very thick eyebrows and whiskers, and a significantly sharp expression. On his chest was an order, and in his mouth a cigar.
This gentleman was smoking, and nodding significantly, without taking the cigar out of his mouth, glancing from time to time at Mr. Golutkin. Mr. Golutkin felt awkward. He turned away his eyes and immediately saw another very strange visitor through a door which our hero had taken for a looking-glass, just as he had done before. He made his appearance. We know who, a very intimate friend and acquaintance of Mr. Goldilocks, Mr. Goldilocks, Jr., had actually been, till then, in a little room close by, hurriedly writing something. Now, apparently, he was needed. and he came in with papers under his arm, went up to His Excellency, and, while waiting for exclusive attention to be paid him, succeeded very adroitly in putting his spoke into the talk and consultation.
Taking his place a little behind Andrew Phillip Oates's back, and partly screening him from the gentleman smoking the cigar, apparently Mr. Goldilocks Jr. took an intense interest in the conversation, to which he was listening now in a gentlemanly way, nodding his head, fidgeting with his feet, smiling, continually looking at His Excellency, as it were beseeching him with his eyes to let him put his words in. "'The scoundrel!' thought Mr. Golurkin, and involuntarily he took a step forward. At this moment His Excellency turned round and came rather hesitatingly towards Mr. Golurkin. "'Well?' "'That's all right. That's all right. Well, run along. Now I'll look into your case, and give orders for you to be taken.' At this point His Excellency glanced at the gentleman with the thick whiskers.
The latter nodded in assent. Mr. Golrikin felt, and distinctly understood what they were asking, that they were taking him for something different, and not looking at him in the proper light at all. In one way or the other, I must explain myself, he thought. I must say, this is how it is, Your Excellency. At this point, in his perplexity, he dropped his eyes to the floor, and to his great astonishment, he saw a good-sized patch of something white on His Excellency's boots. Can there be a hole in them? thought Mr. Golikin. Mr. Golikin was, however, soon convinced that His Excellency's boots were not split. But they were only shining brilliantly, a phenomenon fully explained by the fact that they were patent leather and highly polished.
It is what they call Blick, thought our hero. The term is used particularly in Arthur's studios. In other places with such reflected light is called a ribbon of light. At this point Mr. Golikin raised his eyes and saw that the time had come to speak, for things might easily end badly. Our hero took a step forward. "'I say this is how it is, Your Excellency,' he said, and there's no accepting impostures nowadays.' His Excellency made no answer, but rang well violently. Our hero took another step forward. "'He's a vile, vicious man, Your Excellency,' said our hero beside himself, in faint with terror, though he still pointed boldly and resolutely at at his unworthy twin, who was fidgeting about, near His Excellency.
I say this is how it is, and I am alluding to a well-known person. There was a general sensation at Mr. Goliathkin's words. And there, Philip H. and the gentlemen, with the cigar nodded their heads, His Excellency, impatiently tucked at the bell to summon the servants. At this point Mr. Goliathkin, Jr. came forward in his turn. Your Excellency, he said, I humbly begged permission to speak. There was something very resolute in Mr. Golodkin Jr.'s voice. Everything showed that he felt himself completely in the right. Allow me to ask you, he began again, anticipating His Excellency's reply in his eagerness, and this time, addressing Mr. Golodkin, allowing me to ask you, in whose presence you are making this explanation, before whom are you standing?
In whose room are you? Mr. Goliathkin, Jr. was in a state of extraordinary excitement, flushed and glowing with frat and indignation that were positively tears in his eyes. A lackey, appearing in the doorway, wrote at the top of his voice the name of some new arrivals, the Bassavriuk House. A good aristocratic name, hailing from Little Russia, thought Mr. Goliathkin, and at that moment he felt Some one lay a very friendly hand on his back. Then a second hand was laid on his back. Mr. Goliatkin's infamous twin was tripping about in front leading the way, and our hero saw clearly that he was being led to the big doors of the room, just as it was at all Sofie Vanovich's, he thought, and he found himself in the hall.
Looking around, he saw beside him two of the excellencies Lackey's and his twin. The great court, the great court, the great court, the great court, my friend, the great court of my best friend, whispered the depraved man, snatching the court from one of the servants, and by the way of a nasty and ungentlemanly joke flinging it straight at Mr. Golikin's head, extricating himself from under his coat. Mr. Goliathen distinctly heard the two lackey's nigger, but without listening to anything or paying attention to it, he went out of the hall and found himself on the lighted stairs, Mr. Goliathen, Jr., following him. "'Good-bye, Your Excellency,' he shouted after Mr. Goliathen, Sr.' "'Scoundrel!' our hero exclaimed beside himself.
"'Well, scoundrel, then?' Depraved man!' Well, depraved man, then, answered Mr. Golikin's unworthy enemy, and with his characteristic baseness he looked down from the top of the stairs straight into Mr. Golikin's face, as though begging him to go on. A hero spat with indignation and ran out of the front door. He was so shattered, so crushed, that he had no recollection of how he got into the cab Or who helped him in. Coming to himself, he found that he was being driven to Fotanka, to Ispelovsky Bridge, then, thought Mr. Golutkin. At this point Mr. Golutkin tried to think of something else, but could not. There was something so terrible that he could not explain it. Well, never mind, our hero concluded, and he drove to Ispelovsky Bridge.
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The snow, which had till then been coming down in regular clouds, began growing visible. and here and there tiny stars sparkled in it. It was only wet, muddy, damp, and stifling, especially for Mr. Goliatkin, who could hardly breathe as it was. His greatcoat, soaked and heavy with wet, sent a sort of unpleasant warm dampness all through him and weighed down his exhausted legs. A feverish shiver sent Sharp shooting pains all over him. He was in a painful cold sweat of exhaustion. So much so, the mystical Yadkin even forgot to repeat, at every suitable occasion, with his characteristic firmness and resolution, his favorite phrase that, it all, maybe, most likely, indeed, might turn out for the best.
But all this does not matter for the time, our hero repeated, still staunch and not downhearted, wiping from his face the cold drops that streamed in all directions from the brim of his round hat. which was so soaked that it could hold no more water. Adding that all this was nothing so far, our hero tried to sit on a rather thick clump of wood, which was lying near a heap of logs in Olsofey Ivanovitch's yard. Of course, it was no good thinking of Spanish serenades or silken ladders, but it was quite necessary to think of a modest corner, snug and private, if not altogether warm. He felt greatly tempted, we may mention in passing, By that corner in the back entry of Olsofey Ivanovitch's flat, in which he had once, almost at the beginning of this true story, stood for two hours between a cupboard and an old screen among all sorts of domestic odds and ends and useless litter.
The fact is that Mr. Goliatkin had been standing, waiting for two whole hours on this occasion in Olsofey Ivanovitch's yard. But in regard to that modest and snug little corner, there were certain drawbacks. Which had not existed before. The first drawback was the fact that it was probably now a marked place, and that certain precautionary measures had been taken in regard to it since the scandal at Osovy Ivanovich's last ball. Secondly, he had to wait for a signal from Clara Osofyevna, for there was bound to be some such signal. It was always a feature in such cases, and it didn't begin with us, and it won't end with us. At this point, Mr. Goyadkin very appropriately remembered a novel he had read long ago in which the heroine, in precisely similar circumstances, signaled to Alfred by tying a pink ribbon to her window.
But now, at night, in the climate of Petersburg, famous for its dampness and unreliability, a pink ribbon was hardly appropriate, and, in fact, was utterly out of the question. No, it's not a matter of silk ladders. thought our hero, and I had better stay here quietly and comfortably. I had better stand here. And he selected the place in the yard, exactly opposite the window, near a stack of firewood. Of course many persons, grooms and coachmen, were continually crossing the yard, and there was, besides, the rumbling of wheels and the snorting of horses and so on. Yet it was a convenient place, whether he was observed or not, but now, anyway, there was the advantage of being To some extent in the shadow, and no one could see Mr.
Goyatkin, while he himself could see everything. The windows were brightly lit up. There was some sort of ceremonious party at Ulsev Yovanovitch's, but he could hear no music as yet. So it's not a ball, but a party of some other sort, thought our hero, somewhat aghast. Is it today? Floated the doubt through him. Have I made a mistake in the date? Perhaps. Anything is possible. Yes, to be sure, anything is possible. Perhaps she wrote a letter to me yesterday, and it didn't reach me, and perhaps it did not reach me because Pachushka put his spoke in it, the rascal. Where was tomorrow? That is, wait with a carriage. At this point our hero turned cold all over, and felt in his pocket for the letter, to make sure.
But to his surprise, the letter was not in his pocket. How's this? muttered Mr. Goliatkin, more dead than alive. Where did I leave it? Then I must have lost it. That is the last straw, he moaned at last. Oh, if it falls into evil hands! Perhaps it has already. Good Lord! What may it not lead to? It may lead to something such that—'Ah! my miserable fate!' At this point Mr. Goliatkin began trembling like a leaf at the thought that perhaps his vicious twin had thrown the gray coat at him with the object of stealing the letter, of which he had somehow got an inkling, from Mr. Goyadkin's enemies. What's more, he's stealing it, thought our hero, as evidence. But why evidence? After the first shock of horror, the blood rushed to Mr.
Goyadkin's head. Moaning and gnashing his teeth, he clutched his burning head, sank back on his block of wood, and relapsed into brooding. But he could form no coherent thought. Figures kept flitting through his brain. Incidents came back to his memory. Now vaguely, now very distinctly. The tunes of some foolish songs kept ringing in his ears. He was in great distress, unnatural distress. My God, my God, our hero thought, recovering himself a little, and suppressing a muffled sob. Give me fortitude in the immensity of my afflictions, that I am done for, utterly destroyed, Of that there can be no doubt, and that's all in the natural order of things, since it cannot be otherwise. To begin with, I've lost my birth.
I've certainly lost it. I must have lost it. Well, supposing things are set right somehow, supposing I have money enough to begin with. I must have another lodging, furniture of some sort. In the first place, I shan't have Petrushka. I can get on without the rascal. Somehow, with help from the people of the house. Well, That'll be all right. I can go in and out when I like, and Petrushka won't grumble at me coming in late. Yes, that is so. That's why it's a good thing to have the people in the house. Well, supposing that's all right, but all that's nothing to do with it." At this point the thought of the real position again dawned upon Mr. Goyetkin's memory. He looked around. Oh, Lord, have mercy on me!
Have mercy on me! What am I talking about? he thought. Growing utterly desperate and clutching his burning head in his hands. "'Won't you soon be going, sir?' a voice pronounced above Mr. Glyadkin. Our hero started. Before him stood his cabman, who was also drenched through and shivering. Growing impatient and having nothing to do, he had thought it fit to take a look at Mr. Glyadkin behind the woodstack. "'I am all right, my friend. I am coming soon, soon, very soon. You wait.' The cabman walked away, grumbling to himself. "'What is he grumbling about?' Mr. Goliadkin wondered through his tears. "'Why, I have hired him for the evening. Why, I'm within my rights now. That's so. I've hired him for the evening, and that's the end of it.
If one stands still, it's just the same. That's for me to decide. I am free to drive on, or not to drive on. And my staying here by the wood stack has nothing to do with the case. And don't dare to say anything. Think!' The gentleman wants to stand behind the woodstack, and so he's standing behind it. And he is not disgracing anyone's honor. That's the fact of the matter. I tell you what it is, madam, if you care to know. Nowadays, madam, nobody lives in a hut, or anything of that sort. No, indeed. And in our industrial age there's no getting on without morality. A fact of which you are a fatal example, madam. You say we must get a job as a register clerk, and live in a hut on the seashore. In the first place, madam.
There are no Register Clerks on the seashore, and in the second place we can't get a job as a Register Clerk. For supposing, for example, I send in a petition, resent myself, saying a Register Clerk's place or something of the sort, and defend me from my enemy, they'll tell you, Madame, they'll say, to be sure, we've lots of Register Clerks, and here you are not at Madame Farblaze, where you learnt the rules of good behavior, of which you are a fatal example. Good behavior, madam, means staying at home, honoring your father, and not thinking about suitors prematurely. Suitors will come in good time, madam. That's so. Of course, you are bound to have some accomplishments, such as playing the piano sometimes, speaking French, history, geography, scripture, and arithmetic.
That's the truth of it, and that's all you need. Cooking, too. Cooking certainly forms part of the education of a well-behaved girl. But as it is, in the first place, my fine lady, They won't let you go. They'll raise a hue and cry after you, and then they'll lock you up in a nunnery. How will it be then, madam? What will you have me do then? Would you have me, madam, follow the example of some stupid novels, and melt into tears on a neighboring hillock, gazing at the cold walls of your prison house, and finally die, following the example of some wretched German poets and novelists? Is that it, madam? But to begin with, allow me to tell you, as a friend, that things are not done like that, and in the second place, I would have given you and your parents, too, a good thrashing for letting you read French books, for French books teach you no good.
There's a poison in them, a pernicious poison, madam. Or do you imagine, allow me to ask you, or do you imagine that we shall elope with impunity, or something of that sort, that we shall have a hut on the shore of the sea, and so on, and that we shall begin building and cooing and talking about our feelings? That so we shall spend our lives in happiness and content, and then there would be little ones. So then we shall, shall we go to our father, the civil counsellor, Olsi Ivanovich, and say, We've got the little one, and so on. On this propitious occasion, remove your curse, and bless the couple. No, madam, I tell you again, that's not the way to do things. And for the first thing, there'll be no billing and cooing and pleas don't reckon on it.
Nowadays, madam, the husband is the master." And a good, well-brought-up wife should try and please him in every way. And endearments, madam, are not in favor nowadays. In our industrial age, the day of Jean-Jacques Rousseau is over. The husband comes home, for instance, hungry from the office, and asks, Isn't there something to eat, my love? A drop of vodka to drink, a bit of salt fish to eat. So then, madam, you must have the vodka and the herring ready. Your husband will eat it with relish, and he won't so much as look at you. He'll only say, "'Run into the kitchen, kitten,' he'll say, "'and look after the dinner, and at most, once a week, he'll kiss you, even then rather indifferently. That's how it will be with us, my young lady.
Yes, even then indifferently. That's how it will be, if one considers it, if it has come to one's looking at the thing in that way. And how do I come in? Why have I mixed you up in your caprices? The noble man who is suffering for your sake, and will be dear to your heart for ever, and so on. But in the first place, madam?' I am not suited to you. You know yourself. I am not a great hand at compliments. I am not fond of uttering perfumed trifles for the ladies. I am not fond of lady-killers, and I must own I have never been a beauty to look at. You won't find any swagger or false shame in me, and I tell you so now in all sincerity. This is the fact of the matter. We can boast of nothing but a straightforward, open character and common sense.
We have nothing to do with intrigues. I am not one to intrigue. I say so, and I am proud of it. That's the fact of the matter. I wear no mask amongst straightforward people, and to tell you the whole truth. Suddenly, Mr. Glyadkin started. The red and perfectly sopping beard of the cabman appeared round the wooden stack again. I'm coming directly, my friend. I'm coming at once, you know. Mr. Glyadkin responded in a trembling and failing voice. The cabman scratched his head, then stroked his beard and moved a step forward, stood still, and looked suspiciously at Mr. Glyadkin. "'I'm coming directly, my friend. You see, my friend. I—I—I—just a little, you see. Only a second. More. Here, you see, my friend.' "'Aren't you coming at all?' the cabman asked at last, indefinitely coming up to Mr.
Gliadkin. "'No, my friend. I'm coming directly. I am waiting, you see, my friend.' "'So I see.' "'You see, my friend, I—what part of the country do you come from, my friend?' "'We are under a master.' And you have a good master? All right. Yes, my friend. You stay here, my friend, you see. Have you been in Petersburg long, my friend? It's a year since I came. And are you getting on all right, my friend? Middling. To be sure, my friend, to be sure. You must thank Providence, my friend. You must look out for straightforward people. Straightforward people are none too common nowadays, my friend. He would give you washing, food, and drink. My good fellow, a good man would. But sometimes you see tears shed for the sake of gold, my friend.
You see a lamentable example. That's the fact of the matter, my friend. The cabman seemed to feel sorry for Mr. Goliadkin. "'Well, your honor, I'll wait. Will your honor be waiting long?' "'No, my friend, no. I—you know, I won't wait any longer, my good man. What do you think, my friend? I rely upon you. I won't stay any longer.' "'Aren't you going at all?' "'No, my friend, no. I'll reward you, my friend. That's the fact of the matter. How much ought I to give you, my dear fellow?' "'What you hired me for, please, sir? I've been waiting here a long time. Don't be hard on a man, sir.' "'Well, here, my good man, here.' At this point, Mr. Goyadkin gave six roubles to the cabman, and made up in his mind, in earnest, to waste no more time—that is, to clear off straightaway.
Especially as the cabman was dismissed, and everything was over, And so it was useless to wait longer. He rushed out of the yard, went out of the gate, turned to the left, and, without looking round, took to his heels, breathless and rejoicing. Perhaps it will be for the best, he thought, and perhaps in this way I've run away from trouble. Mr. Goyakin suddenly became all at once light-hearted. Oh, if only it could turn out for the best, thought our hero, though he put little faith in his own words. I know what I'll do, he thought. No, I know. I'd better try the other tack, or wouldn't it be better to do this? In this way, hesitating and seeking for the solution of his doubts, our hero ran to Semyonovsky Bridge.
But while running to Semyonovsky Bridge, he very rationally and conclusively decided to return. It will be better so, he thought. I had better try the other tack. That is, I will just go. I'll look on simply as an outsider. An outsider or nothing more. Whatever happens, it's not my fault. That's the fact of the matter. That's how it shall be now. Deciding to return, our hero actually did return, the more readily because with this happy thought he conceived of himself now as quite an outsider. It's the best thing. One's not responsible for anything, and one will see all that's necessary. That's the fact of the matter. It was a safe plan, and that settled it. Reassured, he crept back under the peaceful shelter of his soothing and protecting Woodstack.
and began gazing intently at the window. This time he was not destined to gaze and wait long. Suddenly a strange commotion began apparent at all the windows. Figures appeared. Curtains were drawn back. Whole groups of people were crowding to the windows at Olsofya Ivanovich's flat. All were peeping out, looking for something in the yard. From the security of his woodstack, our hero, too, began with curiosity, watching the general commotion, and with interest craned forward. To right and to left, as far as he could, within the shadow of this woodstack. Suddenly he started, held his breath, and almost sat down with horror. It seemed to him, in short, he realized, that they were looking for nothing and for nobody but him, Mr.
Goyadkin. Everyone was looking in his direction. It was impossible to escape. They saw him. In a flutter, Mr. Goyadkin huddled as closely as he could to the woodstack. And only then noticed that the treacherous shadow had betrayed him, that it did not cover him completely. Our hero would have been delighted at that moment to creep into a mouse-hole in the wood-stack, and there meekly to remain, if only it had been possible. But it was absolutely impossible. In his agony, he began at last staring openly and boldly at the windows. It was the best thing to do, and suddenly he glowed with shame. He had been fully discovered. Every one was staring at him at once. They were all waving their hands, all were nodding their heads at him, all were calling to him.
Then several windows creaked as they opened, and several voices shouted something to him at once. "'I wonder why they don't whip these naughty girls as children,' our hero muttered to himself, loosing his head completely. Suddenly there, down on the steps, he—we know who—without his hat or greatcoat, breathless, rubbing his hands, wriggling, capering, perfidiously displaying intense joy at seeing Mr. Glyadkin. Yakov Petrovich, whispered this individual, so notorious for his worthlessness. Yakov Petrovich, are you here? You'll catch cold. It's chilly here, Yakov Petrovich. Come indoors. Yakov Petrovich, no, I'm all right, Yakov Petrovich, our hero muttered in a submissive voice. No, this won't do, Yakov Petrovich, I beg you.
I humbly beg you to wait with us. Make him welcome and bring him in, they say, Yakov Petrovich. No, Yakov Petrovich. You see, I'd better—I'd better go home, Yakov Petrovich," said our hero, burning at a slow fire and freezing at the same time with shame and terror. "'No, no, no, no,' whispered the loathsome person. "'No, no, no, on no account. Come along,' he said resolutely, and he dragged Mr. Goliathkin Sr. to the steps. Mr. Goliathkin Sr. did not at all want to go, but as everyone was looking at them—' It would have been stupid to struggle and resist. So our hero went, though, indeed, one cannot say that he went, because he did not know in the least what was being done with him, though, after all, it made no difference.
Before our hero had time to recover himself and come to his senses, he found himself in the drawing-room. He was pale, disheveled, harassed. With lustreless eyes he scanned the crowd. Horror! The drawing-room! All the rooms were full to overflowing. There were masses of people, a whole galaxy of ladies, and all were crowding round Mr. Glyadkin, and he perceived clearly that they were all forcing him in one direction. Not towards the door, was a thought that floated through Mr. Glyadkin's mind. They were, in fact, forcing him not towards the door, but Osefi Ivanovich's easy chair. On one side of the armchair stood Claire Osefivna, pale, languid, melancholy, but gorgeously dressed. Mr. Glyadkin was particularly struck by a little white flower which rested on her superb hair.
On the other side of the armchair stood Vladimir Semyonovich, clad in black, with his new order in his buttonhole. Mr. Glyadkin was led in, as we have described above, straight up to Elsevier Ivanovich, on one side of him Mr. Glyadkin, Jr., who had assumed an air of great decorum and propriety. To the immense relief of our hero, On the other side was Andrei Filippovich, with a very solemn expression on his face. "'What can it mean?' Mr. Glyadkin wondered. When he saw that he was being led to Osovyovanovitch, an idea struck him like a flash of lightning. The thought of the intercepted letter darted through his brain. In great agony, our hero stood before Osovyovanovitch's chair. "'What will he say now?' he wondered to himself.
"'Of course. It will be all above board now. That is straightforward, and—' One may say, honorable. I shall say this is how it is, and so on. But what our hero apparently feared did not happen. Olsofya Ivanovich received Mr. Glyatkin very warmly, and though he did not hold out his hand to him, yet as he gazed at our hero, he shook his gray and venerable head, shook it with an air of solemn melancholy, and yet of good will. So at least, it seemed to Mr. Glyatkin, he even fancied that a tear glittered in Olsofya Ivanovich's lusterless eyes. He raised his eyes and saw that there seemed to be tears, too, on the lashes of Clara Osefevna, who was standing by, that there seemed to be something of the same sort even in the eyes of Vladimir Semyonovich, that the unruffled and composed dignity of Andrei Filippovich has the same significance as the general tearful sympathy, that even the young man, who was so much like a civil counsellor, seizing the opportunity, was sobbing bitterly.
Though perhaps this was only all Mr. Yakin's fancy, "'Cause he was so much moved himself, and distinctly felt the hot tears running down his cheeks. Feeling reconciled with mankind and his destiny, and filled with love at the moment, not only for Olsovya Ivanovitch, not only for the whole part collected here, but even for his noxious twin, who seemed now to be by no means noxious, and not even to be his twin at all, but a person very agreeable in himself, and in no way connected with him. Our hero, in a voice broken with sobs, tried to express his feelings to Ulsof Yovanovitch, but was too much overcome by all that he had gone through, and could not utter a word. He could only, with an expressive gesture, point meekly to his heart.
At last, probably to spare the feelings of the old man, Andrei Filippovich led Mr. Goliatkin a little away, though he seemed to leave him free to do as he liked. Smiling, muttering something to himself, somewhat bewildered, Yet almost completely reconciled with fate and his fellow creatures, our hero began to make his way through the crowd of guests. Everyone made way for him. Everyone looked at him with strange curiosity, and with mysterious, unaccountable sympathy. Our hero went into another room. He met with the same attention everywhere, was vaguely conscious of the whole crowd closely following him, noting every step he took, talking in undertones among themselves of something very interesting, shaking their heads, Arguing and discussing in whispers.
Mr. Glyakin wanted very much to know what they were discussing in whispers. Looking round, he saw near him Mr. Glyakin, Jr. Feeling an overwhelming impulse to seize his hand and draw him aside, Mr. Glyakin begged the other Yakov Petrovich most particularly to cooperate with him in all his future undertakings, and not to abandon him at a critical moment. Mr. Glyakin, Jr. nodded his head gravely and warmly pressed his hand of Mr. Glyakin, Sr. Our hero's heart was quivering with the intensity of his emotion. He was gasping for breath, however. He felt so oppressed, so oppressed, he felt that all those eyes fastened upon him were oppressing and dominating him. Mr. Goliatkin caught a glimpse of the counselor, who wore a wig.
The latter was looking at him with a stern, searching eye, not in the least softened by the general sympathy. Our hero made up in his mind to go straight up to him, in order to smile at him, and have an immediate explanation. But this somehow did not come off. For one instant, Mr. Legatkin came almost unconscious, almost lost all memory, all feeling. When he came to himself again, he noticed that he was the center of a large ring formed by the rest of the party around him. Suddenly, Mr. Legatkin's name was called from the other room. Noise and excitement, all rushed to the door of the first room, almost carrying our hero along with them, and that crushed the hard-hearted counselor in the wig, was side by side with Mr.
Goliadkin. At some distance from the latter, however, everyone in the room sat down. The guests were arranged in rows around Mr. Goliadkin and Osofi Yovanovitch. Everything was hushed. Everyone preserved a solemn silence. Everyone was watching Osofi Yovanovitch, evidently expecting something out of the ordinary. Mr. Goliadkin noticed that beside Osofi Yovanovitch's chair, and directly facing the counselor, sat Mr. Goliadkin, Jr., with Andrei Filippovich. The silence was prolonged. They were evidently expecting something. Just as it is in a family when someone is setting off on a far journey. We've only to stand up and pray now, thought our hero. Suddenly there was a general stir which interrupted Mr.
Lyadkin's reflections. Something they had been waiting for happened. He is coming! He is coming! Passed from one to another in the crowd. Who is it that is coming? floated through Mr. Lyadkin's mind, and he shuddered at a strange sensation. High time, too," said the counselor, looking intently at Andrey Ivanovitch. Andrey Filippovich, for his part, glanced at Ulsovy Ivanovitch. Ulsovy Ivanovitch gravely and solemnly nodded his head. Let us stand up, said the counselor, and he made Michiglyadkin get up. All rose to their feet. Then the counselor took Michiglyadkin Sr. by the hand, and Andrey Filippovich took Michiglyadkin Jr. And in this way, these two precisely similar persons were conducted through the expecting crowd surrounding them.
Our hero looked at him in perplexity, but he was at once checked, and his attention was called to Mr. Glyadkin, Jr., who was holding out his hand to him. They want to reconcile us, thought our hero, and with emotion he held out his hand to Mr. Glyadkin, Jr., and then, then bent his head forward towards him. The other Mr. Glyadkin did the same. At this point it seemed to Mr. Goliadkin, Sr., that his prophetess friend was smiling, that he gave a sly, hurried wink to the crowd of onlookers, and that there was something sinister in the face of the worthless Mr. Goliadkin, Jr., that he even made a grimace at the moment of his Judas kiss. There was a ringing in Mr. Goliadkin's ears, and a darkness before his eyes.
It seemed to him that an infinite multitude, an unending series of precisely similar Goliadkins, Were noisily bursting in at every door of the room. But it was too late. The resounding, treacherous kiss was over, and then quite an unexpected event occurred. The door opened noisily, and in the doorway stood a man, the very sight of whom sent a chill to Mr. Glyadkin's heart. He stood rooted to the spot. A cry of horror died away in his choking throat. Yet Mr. Glyadkin knew it all beforehand. And had had a resentment of something of the sort for a long time. The new arrival went up to Mr. Glyadkin gravely and solemnly. Mr. Glyadkin knew this personage very well. He had seen him before. He had seen him very often.
He had seen him that day. This personage was a tall, thick-set man in a black dress-coat, with a good-sized cross on his breast, and was possessed of thick, very black whiskers. Nothing was lacking but the cigar in the mouth to complete the picture. Yet this person's eyes, as we have mentioned already, sent a chill to the heart of Mr. Goyakin. With a grave and solemn air, this terrible man approached the mediable hero of our story. Our hero held out his hand to him. The stranger took his hand and drew him along with him. With a crushed and desperate air, our hero looked at him. Yes, it's Christian Ivanovich Rutenspats, director of medicine and surgery. Your old acquaintance, Yakov Petrovich. A detestable voice whispered in Mr.
Gliadkin's ear. He looked around. It was Mr. Gliadkin's twin, so revolting in the despicable meanness of his soul. A malicious, indecent joy shone in his countenance. He was rubbing his hands with rapture. He was turning his head from side to side in ecstasy. He was fawning round every one in delight, and seemed ready to dance with glee. At last he pranced forward, took a candle from one of the servants, and walked in front. Showing the way to Mr. Goyatkin and Krestyan Ivanovich, Mr. Goyatkin heard the whole party in the drawing-room rush after him, crowding and squeezing one another, and all beginning to repeat after Mr. Goyatkin himself. It's all right. Don't be afraid, Yakov Petrovich. This is your old friend and acquaintance, you know, Krestyan Ivanovich Rutenspitz.
At last they came out on the brightly lighted stairs. There was a crowd of people on the stairs, too. The front door was thrown open noisily, and Mr. Glyakin found himself on the steps, together with Khrushchevanovitch. At the entrance stood a carriage with four horses that were snorting with impatience. The malignant Mr. Glyakin, Jr., in three bounds, flew down the stair and opened the carriage door himself. Khrushchevanovitch, with an impressive gesture, asked Mr. Glyakin to get in. There is no need of the impressive gesture, however. There are plenty of people to help him in. Veined with horror, Mr. Goyetkin looked back. The whole of the brightly-lighted staircase was crowded with people. Inquisitive eyes were looking at him from all sides.
Osovyovanovitch himself was standing in the easy chair on the top landing, and watching all that took place with deep interest. Every one was waiting. A murmur of impatience passed through the crowd, when Mr. Goyetkin looked back. "'I hope I have done nothing, nothing reprehensible, what they can call for severity.' "'And general attention in regard to my official relations?' Our hero brought out in desperation. A clamor of talk rose all around him. All were shaking their head. Tears started from Mr. Goyetkin's eyes. "'In that case, I'm ready. I have full confidence, and I entrust my fate to Khrushchev Ivanovitch.' No sooner had Mr. Goyetkin declared that he entrusted his fate to Khrushchev Ivanovitch, than a dreadful, deafening shout of joy came from all surrounding him.
and was repeated in a sinister echo through the whole of the waiting crowd. Then Khrushchev Novanovitch on one side and Andrei Filippovich on the other helped Mr. Goliathkin into the carriage. His double, in his usual nasty way, was helping to get him in from behind. The unhappy Mr. Goliathkin, Sr., took his last look on all and everything, and, shivering like a kitten that had been drenched with cold water, if the comparison may be permitted, got into the carriage. Khrushchev Ivanovich followed him immediately. The carriage door slammed. There was a swish of the whip on the horses' backs. The horses started off. The crowd dashed after Mr. Glyatkin. The shrill, furious shouts of his enemies pursued him by way of good wishes for his journey.
For some time several persons were still running by the carriage that bore him away, Mr. Glyatkin, but by degrees they were left behind. Till at last they all disappeared. Mr. Glyatkin's unworthy twin kept up longer than any one. With his hands in the trouser pockets of his green uniform, he ran on with a satisfied air, skipping first to one, then to the other side of the carriage, sometimes catching hold of the window frame, and hanging on by it, poking his head in at the window, and throwing farewell kisses to Mr. Glyatkin. When he began to get tired, he was less and less often to be seen, and at last vanished altogether. There was a dull ache in Mr. Glyatkin's heart. A hot rush of blood set Mr.
Gatkin's head throbbing. He felt stifled. He longed to unbutton himself, to bare his breast, covered with snow and pour cold water on it. He sank at last into forgetfulness. When he came to himself, he saw that the horses were taking him along an unfamiliar road. There were dark patches of copse on each side of it. It was desolate and deserted. Suddenly, he almost swooned. Two fiery eyes were staring at him in the darkness. And those two eyes were glittering with malignant, hellish glee. "'That's not Khrushchevanovitch. Who is it? Or is it he?' "'It is. It is Khrushchevanovitch. But not the old Khrushchevanovitch. It's another Khrushchevanovitch. It's a terrible Khrushchevanovitch. Khrushchevanovitch!
I—I believe—I'm all right, Khrushchevanovitch,' our hero was beginning timidly in a trembling voice. Hoping by his meekness and submission to soften the terrible Kristian Ivanovitch a little, you get free quarters, wood with light and service, the which you deserve not. Kristian Ivanovitch's answer rang out, stern and terrible as the judge's sentence. Our hero shrieked and clutched his head in his hands. Alas, for a long while he had been haunted by a presentment of this.