The Double

“You lout!” cried Mr. Goliadkin. “You brigand! You’ve cut off my head! Lord, where did he unload that letter? Ah, God in heaven, what if it…And why did I write it? As if I had to write it! Fool that I am, galloping away with my vanity! There’s where I got with my vanity! That’s vanity for you, you scoundrel, that’s vanity for you!…Hey, you, what did you do with that letter, you brigand! Who did you give it to?”

“I never gave anybody any letter; and I never had any letter…that’s what!”

Mr. Goliadkin wrung his hands in despair.

“Listen, Pyotr…you listen, you listen to me…”

“I’m listening…”

“Where did you go? Answer…”

“Where did I go…I went to good people! what else!”

“Ah, Lord God! Where did you go first? Did you go to the department?…Listen, Pyotr, maybe you’re drunk?”

“Me drunk? May I die on this spot, not a ti-ti-tittle—so there…”

“No, no, it’s nothing that you’re drunk…I just asked; it’s good that you’re drunk; it’s nothing to me, Petrusha, it’s nothing tome…Maybe you’ve only just forgotten, but do remember it all. Well, now, try to recall, did you go to see the clerk Vakhrameev—did you or didn’t you?”

“I didn’t, and there never was any such clerk. Right now you could…”

“No, no, Pyotr! No, Petrusha, it’s nothing to me. You see, it’s nothing to me…Well, what of it! Well, it’s cold outside, damp, well, so a man has a little drink, well, what of it…I’m not angry. I myself had a drink today, brother…Confess, recollect, brother: did you go to the clerk Vakhrameev?”

“Well, if it’s come to that now, then really and truly—I did go, right now you could…”

“Well, that’s good, Petrusha, it’s good you went. You see, I’m not angry…Well, well,” our hero went on, cajoling his servant still more, patting him on the shoulder and smiling at him, “well, you had a drop, you blackguard…a ten-kopeck drop, eh? you slyboots! Well, never mind; well, you see, I’m not angry…I’m not angry, brother, I’m not angry…”

“No, as you like, but I’m not a slyboots, sir…I just stopped to see some good people, but I’m no slyboots, and I’ve never been a slyboots…”

“Right, you’re not, you’re not, Petrusha! Listen, Pyotr: it’s nothing to me, it’s not to abuse you that I call you a slyboots. I say it kindly to you, in a noble sense. It’s sometimes flattering, Petrusha, to tell a man he’s a stitch, a cunning fellow, that there’s no flies on him, and he won’t let anybody hoodwink him. Some people like it…Well, well, never mind! Well, now tell me, Petrusha, without hiding anything, openly, as to a friend…well, so you went to the clerk Vakhrameev, and he gave you an address?”

“And he gave me an address, he also gave me an address. A good clerk! And your master, he says, is a good man, very good, he says; tell him, he says—I send greetings, he says, to your master, thank him and tell him, he says, that I love him—see, he says, how I respect your master! because, he says, your master, Petrusha, is a good man, he says, and you, he says, are also a good man, Petrusha—so there…”

“Ah, Lord God! And the address, the address, you Judas?” Mr. Goliadkin uttered the last words almost in a whisper.

“And the address…and he gave me the address.”

“He did? Well, where does he live, this Goliadkin, the clerk Goliadkin, the titular councillor?”

“And your Goliadkin, he says, you’ll find on Shestilavochnaya Street. You just go, he says, to Shestilavochnaya, to the right, upstairs, on the fourth floor. There, he says, you’ll find your Goliadkin…”

“You swindler!” shouted our hero, finally losing patience. “You brigand! But that’s me; you’re talking about me. But there’s another Goliadkin; I’m talking about the other one, you swindler!”

“Well, as you like! What’s it to me! Do whatever you like—so there!…”

“But the letter, the letter…”

“What letter? There was never any letter, I never saw any letter.”

“But what did you do with it, you rascal?!”

“I delivered it, I delivered the letter. Greetings, he says, and thanks; a good master, he says, yours is. Greetings, he says, to your master…”

“But who said it? Did Goliadkin say it?”

Petrushka paused for a moment and grinned from ear to ear, looking straight into his master’s eyes.

“Listen, brigand that you are!” Mr. Goliadkin began, breathless, at a loss from rage. “What have you done to me! Tell me, what have you done to me! You’ve cut me down, you villain! You’ve taken my head from my shoulders, you Judas!”

“Well, now, as you like! What’s it to me!” Petrushka said in a resolute tone, retiring behind the partition.

“Come here, come here, you brigand!…”

“And I just won’t go to you now, I won’t go at all. What’s it to me! I’ll go to good people…Good people live honestly, good people live without falseness, and they never come in twos…”

Mr. Goliadkin’s hands and feet turned ice cold, and his breath was taken away…

“Yes, sir,” Petrushka went on, “they never come in twos, they don’t offend God and honest people…”