The Double

“See how worked up he is!” our hero thought. “He has the look of a favorite, the swindler! I wish I knew precisely how he gets ahead in high-toned society! No intelligence, no character, no education, no feeling; he’s a lucky rogue! Lord God! how quickly a man can go ahead, if you think of it, and get in with everybody! And, I swear, the man will go on, he’ll go far, the rogue, he’ll make it—he’s a lucky rogue! I wish I knew precisely what it is he whispers to them all! What secrets has he got with all these people, and what mysteries do they talk about? Lord God! Why couldn’t I sort of…and also with them a little…say, thus and so, to ask him…say, thus and so, but I won’t do it anymore; say, I’m to blame, and a young man in our time needs to work, Your Excellency; and the obscure circumstance doesn’t trouble me in the least—so there! Nor will I protest in any way, and I’ll endure it all with patience and humility—so there! Is that how I’m to act?…No, however, you can’t get at this rogue with any words; you can’t hammer any reason into his wayward head…However, let’s give it a try. I might happen to fall on a good moment, so why not give it a try…”

In his uneasiness, in anguish and confusion, feeling that it was impossible to remain like this, that the decisive moment was coming, that it was necessary to discuss it with at least someone, our hero gradually began edging towards the place where his unworthy and mysterious friend stood; but just then his excellency’s long-awaited carriage rumbled up to the entrance. Fedoseich tore at the door and, bending double, allowed his excellency to pass by him. All the waiting clerks surged at once to the exit and momentarily pushed Mr. Goliadkin Sr. away from Mr. Goliadkin Jr. “You won’t escape!” our hero was saying as he broke through the crowd, not taking his eyes off the one he wanted. Finally the crowd parted. Our hero felt himself free and rushed in pursuit of his adversary.

CHAPTER XI

THE BREATH LABORED in Mr. Goliadkin’s chest; he flew as on wings after his quickly retreating adversary. He felt in himself the presence of a terrible energy. However, despite the presence of a terrible energy, Mr. Goliadkin could boldly trust that at the present moment even a simple mosquito, had it been able to live at such a season in Petersburg, could quite easily have knocked him down with its wing. He also felt that he was completely limp and feeble, that he was borne up by some completely peculiar and extraneous power, that he was not walking by himself, that, on the contrary, his legs were giving way under him and refused to serve. However, all that might work out for the better. “For better or worse,” thought Mr. Goliadkin, almost suffocating from running so fast, “but there’s not the slightest doubt that the affair is lost; that I’m totally lost is known, determined, decided, and signed.” Despite all that, it was as if our hero had risen from the dead, as if he had endured battle, as if he had snatched away the victory, when he managed to seize the overcoat of his adversary, who had already hoisted one leg into the droshky he had just hired. “My dear sir! my dear sir!” he shouted finally at the ignoble Mr. Goliadkin Jr., caught at last. “My dear sir, I hope that you…”

“No, please don’t hope for anything,” Mr. Goliadkin’s unfeeling adversary replied evasively, one foot standing on one step of the droshky and with the other straining with all his might to get to the other side of the vehicle, waving it vainly in the air, trying to keep his balance and at the same time trying with all his might to detach his overcoat from Mr. Goliadkin Sr., who for his part attached himself to it with all the means granted him by nature.

“Yakov Petrovich! just ten minutes…”

“Excuse me, I have no time, sir.”

“You yourself must agree, Yakov Petrovich…please, Yakov Petrovich…for God’s sake, Yakov Petrovich…thus and so—to have a talk…on a bold footing…One little second, Yakov Petrovich!…”

“My dear heart, I have no time,” Mr. Goliadkin’s falsely noble adversary replied with discourteous familiarity, but in the guise of heartfelt kindness, “some other time, believe me, from fullness of soul and purity of heart; but now—really, it’s impossible.”

“Scoundrel!” thought our hero.

“Yakov Petrovich!” he cried in anguish. “I have never been your enemy. Wicked people have described me unfairly…For my part, I’m ready…Yakov Petrovich, if you wish, you and I, Yakov Petrovich, shall we go in now?…And there, from purity of heart, as you just said correctly, and in a direct, noble tongue…into this coffeehouse: then everything will explain itself—that’s what, Yakov Petrovich! Then certainly everything will explain itself…”