Fyodor Dostoevsky - The Double

Reasoning thus, Mr. Goliadkin reached the second floor and stopped in front of apartment number five, on the door of which hung a beautiful brass plaque with the inscription:

KRESTYAN IVANOVICH RUTENSPITZ DOCTOR OF MEDICINE AND SURGERY

Stopping, our hero hastened to give his physiognomy a decent, casual air, not without a certain courtesy, and prepared to give the bell-pull a tug. Having prepared to give the bell-pull a tug, he immediately and rather appropriately reasoned that tomorrow would be better, and that now, for the time being, there was no great need. But, suddenly hearing someone’s footsteps on the stairs, Mr. Goliadkin immediately changed his new resolve and, just by the way, though maintaining a most resolute air, rang at Krestyan Ivanovich’s door.

KRESTYAN IVANOVICH, doctor of medicine and surgery, quite hale, though already an elderly man, endowed with thick, graying eyebrows and side-whiskers, an expressive, flashing gaze that by itself apparently drove away all illnesses, and, finally, an important decoration, was sitting that morning in his office, in his easy chair, drinking coffee, brought to him with her own hands by his doctoress, smoking a cigar, and from time to time writing prescriptions for his patients. Having prescribed the last vial to a little old man suffering from hemorrhoids and sent the suffering old man off through the side door, Krestyan Ivanovich sat down in expectation of the next visitor. Mr. Goliadkin came in.

Apparently, Krestyan Ivanovich was not in the least expecting, nor did he wish to see, Mr. Goliadkin before him, because he suddenly became confused for a moment, and his face involuntarily acquired a sort of strange, even, one might say, displeased mien. Since Mr. Goliadkin, for his part, almost always became somehow inappropriately crestfallen and lost at those moments when he happened to abord someone for the sake of his own little affairs, so now, too, not having prepared a first phrase, which was a real stumbling block for him on such occasions, he became considerably embarrassed, murmured something—however, it seems to have been an apology—and, not knowing what to do next, took a chair and sat down. But, recollecting that he had sat down without being invited, he at once felt his impropriety and hastened to correct his error in ignorance of society and good tone by immediately getting up from the seat he had occupied without being invited. Then, thinking better of it and dimly noting that he had done two stupid things at once, he ventured, without the least delay, upon a third, that is, he tried to excuse himself, murmured something, smiled, blushed, became embarrassed, fell into an expressive silence, and finally sat down definitively and did not get up anymore, but only provided himself, just in case, with that same defiant gaze, which possessed the extraordinary power of mentally incinerating and grinding to dust all of Mr. Goliadkin’s enemies. Moreover, this gaze fully expressed Mr. Goliadkin’s independence, that is, it stated clearly that Mr. Goliadkin was quite all right, that he was his own man, like everybody else, and that, in any case, he kept to his own backyard. Krestyan Ivanovich coughed, grunted, apparently as a sign of his approval and agreement to all that, and fixed his inspectorial, questioning gaze on Mr. Goliadkin.

“Krestyan Ivanovich,” Mr. Goliadkin began with a smile, “I have come to trouble you for a second time, and now for a second time I venture to ask your indulgence…” Mr. Goliadkin was obviously struggling for words.

“Hm…yes!” uttered Krestyan Ivanovich, letting out a stream of smoke from his mouth and placing the cigar on the desk, “but you must keep to your prescriptions; I did explain to you that your treatment should consist in a change of habits…Well, diversions; well, and you should visit friends and acquaintances, and along with that be no enemy of the bottle; likewise keep merry company.”

Mr. Goliadkin, still smiling, hastened to observe that it seemed to him that he was like everybody else, that he was his own man, that his diversions were like everybody else’s…that he could, of course, go to the theater, for, like everybody else, he also had means, that he worked during the day, but in the evening was at home, that he was quite all right; he even observed just then, in passing, that, as it seemed to him, he was no worse than others, that he lived at home, in his own apartment, and, finally, that he had Petrushka. Here Mr. Goliadkin faltered.

“Hm, no, that’s not the right order, and it’s not at all what I wanted to ask you. I’m generally interested to know whether you are a great lover of merry company, whether you spend your time merrily…Well, I mean, do you continue now in a melancholy or a merry way of life?”

“Krestyan Ivanovich, I…”

“Hm…I’m saying,” the doctor interrupted, “that you need to reorganize your whole life radically and in some sense break your character.” (Krestyan Ivanovich strongly emphasized the word “break” and paused for a moment with a very significant air.) “Not to shun the merry life; to frequent the theater and the club, and in any case be no enemy of the bottle. Staying at home is no good…staying at home is impossible for you.”

“I, Krestyan Ivanovich, love quiet,” said Mr. Goliadkin, casting a significant glance at Krestyan Ivanovich and obviously seeking for words to express his thought more happily. “There’s only me and Petrushka in the apartment, Krestyan Ivanovich…I mean to say, my manservant, Krestyan Ivanovich. I mean to say, Krestyan Ivanovich, that I go my own way, a particular way. I’m my own particular man and, as it seems to me, I don’t depend on anybody. I also go for walks, Krestyan Ivanovich.”

“What?…Yes! Well, nowadays, going for a walk is nothing pleasurable; the climate’s quite poor.”

“Yes, sir, Krestyan Ivanovich. Though I’m a peaceable man, Krestyan Ivanovich, as I believe I’ve had the honor of explaining to you, my way goes separately, Krestyan Ivanovich. The path of life is broad…I mean…I mean to say, Krestyan Ivanovich, that…Excuse me, Krestyan Ivanovich, I’m no master of fine speaking.”

“Hm…you were saying…”

“I was saying that you must excuse me, Krestyan Ivanovich, for the fact that I, as it seems to me, am no master of fine speaking,” Mr. Goliadkin said in a half-offended tone, slightly confused and thrown off. “In this respect, Krestyan Ivanovich, I am not like others,” he added with some special smile, “and I am unable to speak at length; I never studied how to beautify my style. Instead, Krestyan Ivanovich, I act; I act instead, Krestyan Ivanovich.”

“Hm…How is it…that you act?” Krestyan Ivanovich rejoined. After which, silence ensued for a moment. The doctor gave Mr. Goliadkin a strange, mistrustful look. Mr. Goliadkin, in his turn, also gave the doctor a rather mistrustful sidelong glance.

“I, Krestyan Ivanovich,” Mr. Goliadkin began to go on in the same tone as before, slightly annoyed and perplexed by Krestyan Ivanovich’s extreme persistence, “I, Krestyan Ivanovich, love tranquillity, not worldly noise. With them there, I say, in great society, Krestyan Ivanovich, one must know how to polish the parquet with one’s boots…” (Here Mr. Goliadkin scraped the floor slightly with his foot.) “That’s what’s called for there, sir, and quips are also called for…knowing how to put together a perfumed compliment, sir…that’s what’s called for there. And I never studied that, Krestyan Ivanovich—I never studied all those clever things; I had no time. I’m a simple, unsophisticated man, and there’s no external brilliance in me. In that sense, Krestyan Ivanovich, I lay down my arms; I drop them, if I may put it that way.” Mr. Goliadkin said all this, to be sure, with such an air as to let it be known that our hero did not at all regret laying down his arms in this sense and never having studied clever things, but even quite the contrary. Krestyan Ivanovich, listening to him, looked down with quite an unpleasant scowl on his face, as if anticipating something beforehand. Mr. Goliadkin’s tirade was followed by a rather long and significant silence.